by Donna Hill
“Friendship,” they chorused.
“So tell me,” Melanie began, “what’s been going on, girl? How is life in New York?”
Layla took a soothing sip of her cool drink. “Hmmm. This is good.” She set her glass down on the table. “Hey, what can I say? Things went from fabulous to WTH.” She tucked one leg beneath her. “Lost my job at the paper, unemployment started running out, wound up taking a job at a lounge in the West Village, lost my man. But I did get to test the waters of doing my own thing with massages. And I love it.” She gave a half smile. “Fortunately, I learned good financial lessons from your mother Aunt Carolyn. Otherwise…” She shook her head and her voice drifted off.
Melanie blew out a breath. “Well, you’re here now.” She reached over and patted Layla’s thigh. “And in a few weeks we are going to be partying!” She snorted a laugh. “Humph, we can start now,” she teased.
“Speaking of partying, you will never guess who is staying at The Port,” Desiree said.
Layla flashed her a warning look, which Desiree ignored.
“Who?”
“Maurice Lawson.”
Melanie frowned. “Maurice Lawson.” She ran the name across her tongue then angled her head to the side and looked at Desiree. “Branford’s nephew?” Her right brow arched.
Desiree slowly bobbed her head.
“Wow,” Melanie said in wonder. Her mind trailed off to a long ago conversation of the mysterious Maurice Lawson. “No one in his family has seen him in almost ten years. At least that’s what I recall Claude telling me. I knew Branford had a brother, David, but I’d never met David’s son. Apparently something major happened after David died and Maurice totally cut himself off from the family.” She stirred herself back from her reverie and gazed at her friends. “And he’s here.” She shook her head in amazement. “Go figure. I wonder if his family knows. I swear I thought Claude told me he was in the military or something.”
“Navy SEAL,” Layla offered. “Tall, built, handsome, sexy, dripping in warm chocolate…”
Melanie gave her an arched look. “Hmmm. Impressive.”
“And she slept with him,” Desiree added like a kid itching to tell a secret.
Layla’s mouth dropped open. She thought they were going to find out about Maurice and she would be the one to ease out the information about her afternoon sexcapade. She tossed Desiree a scathing look and rolled her eyes so hard she thought they would stick in the back of her head.
Desiree lowered her head and snickered behind her glass.
“Well…dayum, girl,” Melanie laughed. “Good for you. But should I make that a statement or a question?”
“I barely know the man,” she blurted. “I went over there only with the intention of giving him a massage,” she said, emphasizing the word only. “And one thing just led to the other and the next thing I knew…”
“‘I had the time of my life…’” Desiree sang off-key from the Dirty Dancin’ theme song. She slapped her thighs and cracked up laughing.
Layla wagged a finger at Desiree while looking at Melanie who was fighting back her own laughter. “Her I’m going to kill. I swear.” She reached for her glass to hide her smirk.
“So…” Melanie breathed. “What happened after…”
“I pretty much ran back to my cottage.”
Melanie frowned. “Why, for heaven sake?”
“I don’t know. I was…embarrassed. I felt like a call girl.”
Melanie pursed her lips in annoyance then she leaned toward Layla. “Listen. You are a grown woman. He didn’t pick you up on some corner. Did he leave money on the nightstand?”
Layla shook her head.
“So what makes you think he believes anything less of you?”
Layla tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth. “We had dinner the week before,” she added meekly. “He’d come to the spa earlier for a massage…and,” she hesitated, trying to find the words, “there was this thing that happened between us. I don’t even know how to explain it.”
“Humph,” Melanie hummed in appreciation. “I know just what you mean. And when it defies explanation giiirrrlll,” she held up her palm as if testifying, “you have something on your hands.”
They all broke into laughter and gave high fives.
“Whew…” Desiree exclaimed, and wiped the corners of her eyes.
“Okay, so now that ya’ll are all in my business, what do I do? He must think I’m…”
“That’s just it, you don’t know what he thinks because you ran out of there like someone was chasing you,” Melanie scolded. “Look, what happened, happened. Put your big girl panties on. The next move is up to him. Either he will make it or he won’t. Whichever way things turn out, you have nothing to lose and may have plenty to gain. And you got yourself an afternoon you won’t forget for a long time in the process.”
“You got that right,” Desiree piped in.
Layla finished off her mimosa and poured herself another one. “Okay.” She bobbed her head.
“I’m going to do some checking. As a matter of fact—” She stretched toward her cell phone that was on the circular glass and chrome table. Quickly she scrolled through her contacts and hit the name she was looking for.
Layla and Desiree gave each other puzzled looks.
Melanie tapped her nail on the arm of the chair while the phone rang. “Hello, Rafe, it’s Melanie.” She winked at her two friends. “Hey, sweetie, still breaking hearts everywhere…of course I’m still with my husband…” She tossed her head back and laughed. “Oh you are so awful…behave. Listen, you’ll never guess who’s here at the Harbor…”
The next morning Layla unlocked the door to the spa and stepped inside. The cool, dim confines were exactly what she needed. She hesitated to take off her shades, fearful of what the light would do to her eyes and her mildly pounding head.
She’d definitely had too much to drink the night before. That was so unlike her. But, the truth was everything that she’d done since she got the invite from Melanie and then accepted Desiree’s crazy offer had been unlike her: from putting her fledgling business on hiatus, having wild uninhibited sex with a man she barely knew, to drinking mimosas with the girls all night.
Lincoln drove the two miles from The Port to Melanie’s estate on the Harbor to pick up his wife, who giggled all the way to the car while Layla opted to spend the night at Melanie’s lavish abode.
Melanie had dropped Layla off at her cottage on her way into Manhattan for a meeting with some potential clients. She’d showered, dressed and stopped off at the restaurant for a quick breakfast, praying as she sipped her coffee that she wouldn’t run into Maurice. She wasn’t ready to face him yet, especially with her thoughts still fuzzy.
She dropped her oversized tote bag in the chair and booted up the computer to check for her appointments. Her first appointment was at 10:30. She had a half hour to prepare.
While she checked the sauna, showers and massage rooms, she thought about what Rafe had conveyed to Melanie about Maurice. Basically, he’d been MIA from the family for almost a decade. Following his father David’s death—an apparent suicide—Maurice took off, cut all ties with the family and joined the Navy. It seemed that no one knew exactly what happened between Maurice and Branford before Maurice took off, but they’d had a major blow up argument at the family home in Louisiana. Maurice stormed out, accusing Branford for his father’s death. When Branford’s children tried to ask him about it, Branford refused to discuss it.
Rafe had said that he knew his father had been devastated by what happened between him and Maurice but he would never talk about it. Rafe did say that he got a postcard from him about five years earlier, which was the first time anyone had heard from Maurice, and that was how they knew he was in the Navy. Rafe was surprised that Maurice was stateside. He�
��d written on his card that he had plans to never come back.
Layla took fresh towels from the bin and rolled them before she stacked them on the shelves. Why would Maurice believe that his uncle was responsible for his father’s death? Did anyone else believe the same thing? One thing she did know for certain, when you were as politically powerful and connected as the Lawsons, you could make bad news disappear.
She shook her head to dispel the ugly thoughts. She knew nothing about what happened ten years ago, other than it broke up a family and sent a man thousands of miles away, only to return not only emotionally scarred but physically scarred as well. She couldn’t begin to imagine what Maurice had endured.
The bell over the door chimed. She glanced over her shoulder and her insides went on high alert. Her face felt like it was on fire.
She placed the last towel in the shelf. “Hi,” she was finally able to manage.
Maurice let the door close softly behind him. He stepped inside. “Morning.”
She wished she could see his eyes behind his dark shades and as if in answer to her silent request he took them off and she felt herself turn to liquid when he looked at her. She leaned against the row of shelves to steady herself. “You’re out early.”
“I believe this is yours.” He raised his hand and dangling from his fingers was a small brown shopping bag, the kind you get in novelty shops.
Layla’s heart thumped. Oh dayum. She tried to look like she didn’t want the floor to open and swallow her whole and had no idea if she succeeded or not. She reached for the bag and peeked inside. She shut her eyes and knew that were it not for her cinnamon brown complexion she would flame fire engine red. Her wayward bra was nestled politely inside.
She cleared her throat. “Um, thank you.”
“Anytime.”
Her gaze jerked to his. What did that mean? A shadow of a smile played around the corners of his mouth. Was he laughing at her?
She lifted her chin. “Thanks for…bringing this.” She glanced around the room. “I uh, really need to get to work.”
He bobbed his head. “Sure. Don’t let me hold you up.” He turned to leave.
“I don’t usually do that kind of thing,” she called out to his back.
Maurice’s hand stopped on the doorknob. He looked at her over his shoulder. “Neither do I,” he said softly.
Oh my. The simple declaration fluttered in her belly. She licked her lips. “How is your leg?” she asked in a small voice.
“Better. Better than it’s been in a while.”
Her heart felt as if it was doing somersaults in her chest. Maurice did something to her senses and the overwhelming need to touch him she was only able to contain by gripping the small shopping bag.
“Well, don’t hesitate to stop by…when you need to…for a massage treatment.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I have an opening in the schedule later this afternoon if you want to stop by,” she said in a rush.
His eyes slowly stroked her up and down and she felt the heat unfurl deep inside. He released the knob and turned toward her. She stopped breathing. What choice did she have? She couldn’t concentrate on breathing and succumbing to the breathtaking maleness of him at the same time.
“What time?”
She watched his lips and a flash of them suckling her nipple flashed in her head. She blinked rapidly. He’d said something. “Um…I’m sorry. What did you ask me? My mind is in a million places at once this morning.” She ran her left hand through her hair and tucked it behind her ear.
“I asked what time would work for you?” His lashes lowered ever so slightly over his eyes.
“Two o’clock.”
“I’ll see you then.”
The best she could do was nod her head in agreement. And then he was gone and it felt like the light in the room had dimmed. A rush of air expelled from her lungs. She leaned against the desk to steady her shaky legs.
Two o’clock. He’d be back at two. Her heart sang a little song. She pressed her hands to her chest. Just a therapeutic massage. That’s it. Maybe. She smiled.
Chapter 11
Layla moved through her day in a daze. It took all of her concentration to focus on her clients. She must have dropped the bottles of oil a half dozen times while she was with her customers. She lost count of how many times she had to apologize for going too deep while her mind wandered. And the hours seemed to crawl by. What would it be like with the two of them together in a dimly lit, aromatic room, with him partially clothed—after what had happened between them? She was excited and terrified at the same time.
Her last customer for the first half of her day walked out at one-thirty. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought as she busied herself with straightening up the rooms. Maybe what she should do was leave before he arrived.
She glanced up at the clock. He said two. Ten minutes. The door chimed. Her heart jumped.
“Hi.” Kim closed the door behind her. “I was hoping you could squeeze me in,” she said with a big smile. “I know I should have called.”
“Hmmm.” Layla flipped her wrist and looked at her watch. “Actually, I have a client coming in a few minutes. Can I schedule you for first thing in the morning?” She moved to the computer and pulled up the calendar.
Kim looked crestfallen. “Oh.” She pouted prettily. “I could wait…”
“I’d really love to accommodate you. It’s just that this afternoon is booked.”
Kim blew out a breath of frustration. “Okay. Tomorrow, then. What time?” She tried to peek at the schedule.
Layla was trying to keep her fingers from trembling as she typed in Kim’s information. All she wanted was for her to be gone before Maurice arrived. The vibe between the two of them was not the best the last time around, and Layla didn’t want Kim to prick Maurice the wrong way.
Layla printed out the confirmation and handed it to Kim. “I’ll see you tomorrow at ten-thirty. And I’ll throw in a facial.”
Kim’s green eyes widened. “Wow. Thanks. I’ll have to pop in unannounced more often.”
Layla made herself laugh while her mind was saying “go, go.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t work too hard.”
“I’ll try,” she responded in a singsong. She finger-waved goodbye. Her shoulders slumped and she plopped down in her chair at the sound of the door closing behind Kim.
For a moment she shut her eyes. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so anxious about Kim and Maurice meeting again. It was her gut instinct that told her it would not be a good move. Whether it was or not she was glad that Kim was gone. Kim seemed a bit too astute to miss the sparks that flew between her and Maurice and she didn’t want some stranger in her developing business with Mr. Navy SEAL. If there was any business to develop. For all she knew Maurice could simply be coming for a massage to keep his injured leg limber and pain free.
But if she had to tell the story, based on his mobility and flexibility at his cottage, his leg wasn’t the problem.
The door chimed. Her body jerked. As casually as she could she looked toward the door and everything inside spun. He was simply gorgeous. Muscular but lean from years of physical training, tall, with piercing eyes, a solid jaw that she remembered trailing her fingers across, and a full rich mouth. But it was more than his physical self that drew her. There was something about Maurice Lawson that oozed sexuality and drew her like a magnet to him without him even trying. It was nothing he said, nothing in particular that he did, yet everything about him was sensual, predatory. Even his cane was sexy. He moved it in unity with his body so that it was a part of him and not a distraction but an accessory. And even more, beneath that gorgeous exterior there was a tender spot inside of him that he worked hard to keep hidden and she wanted to discover why.
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br /> She inhaled deeply to steady herself before slowly pushing up from her seat. “Hi. You made it.”
A glimmer of a smile played around his mouth.
He wore a black fitted T-shirt that outlined his broad, muscular chest and a pair of faded jeans that looked cottony soft to the touch from years of wash and wear. They hung low on his waist and the image heated her blood. She ran her tongue across her lips. “Let’s, uh, get you started.”
Layla locked the front door then led the way to the sauna. Maurice had yet to say a word and a crazy part of her mind thought that maybe this was all her imagination and that he wasn’t really there at all. But that was ridiculous. She could feel him right behind her and his delicious scent—clean, manly and all Maurice—teased her sensibilities.
“How was your morning?” she asked, his silence jangling her already frayed nerves.
She stopped in front of the sauna and turned. Her heart leapt to her throat and beat like crazy. The burning look in his eyes engulfed her, fueled the longing in the pit of her belly and sparked outward. He rested his cane against the wall. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled.
And then before she could blink, he’d slid his large hand behind the back of her head and pulled her toward him. His other arm snaked around her waist and tugged her against his erection that throbbed against her stomach.
A sharp intake of breath was all she had time for before his mouth swept down and captured hers. His warm, soft lips, grazed over hers, and his teasing tongue coaxed them open.
His kiss was sweeter than the last time. She adored the taste of him, the feel of his tongue as it played with hers, explored her mouth, possessed it.
Maurice tugged her closer, threading his fingers through her hair, molding her body to his. And then he broke the kiss and she felt as if she’d fallen from a great height. She blinked him into focus and his gaze was dark, hungry almost. She couldn’t breathe.
“I’ve been thinking about kissing you all morning.”
Her pulse was pounding so loudly in her ears that she felt her body vibrate. She took a small step back. “I’ve been…feeling the same way.” She swallowed.