Lusting After Layla

by Theresa Paolo

  “Want to do me a favor and tell me which key it is to get in?”

  “It’s open,” she said.

  “Open?” he repeated.

  “Yup, just turn the knob and we’re in.”

  He knew people were carefree when it came to locking doors in this town since the crime rate was practically nonexistent, but she was a single woman living alone.

  “You should really lock your doors.”

  “Then I’d have to get up and let people in. It’s easier to just leave it unlocked.”

  That was definitely not the answer he wanted to hear. He not only locked his door at night but he also dead bolted it.

  “Promise me, with Brooke and Chase gone, you’ll lock the door.”

  “Uh huh. Sure.”

  He stepped into the house, closed the door, and locked it before bringing Layla over to the couch. He placed her down and went to stand when she latched onto his shirt. “Don’t go,” she said. “I hate the silence.”

  The sadness that filled her tone and the desperate plea tugged at his heart. He lifted her head and sat on the couch. She immediately snuggled into his chest.

  “Thank you,” she said, rubbing her cheek against his flannel. “Tell me more about you.”

  “Like what?” He ran his fingers through her hair; it was softer than he imagined. He wondered how it would feel trailing up his chest, but he quickly pushed that thought out of his mind. She was drunk, and it was bad enough that he’d kissed her.

  When they finally got together, he wanted her completely sober so she could feel every touch and remember every desire he stirred inside her.

  “Why’d you leave California?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was the million-dollar question he’d never shared with anyone.

  Maybe it was because he was tired and wasn’t thinking clearly, or maybe it was because she felt so perfect lying in his lap, but he decided to tell her the truth.

  “My life and your life are very similar in that we both have been dealt shitty hands but have managed to still be standing. I left home because if I didn’t, I would’ve been killed. My father was in an outlaw motorcycle gang and I grew up in it. When he died, the members became my only family. It’s not a life I’m proud of and some would say I didn’t have a choice, but I didn’t have to stay as long as I did. I could have found a way out, but I didn’t. My family weren’t good people, even though they pretended to be for society’s sake, setting up charity events and acting like they weren’t criminals. I knew who they really were and what they did. I got out, went on the road for a while, and then wound up in Red Maple Falls. Something felt right about this place. I wasn’t planning on staying long, but the universe had a different plan for me.”

  He had been holding that information in for so long; he felt like a literal weight had been chiseled away from his shoulders. He waited for the line of questions from Layla—he was sure she had plenty, especially since it wasn’t even the whole story and she was smart enough to know that, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Layla?” He looked down, expecting her to be staring at him in disgust or fear, instead her chest rose and fell in a steady cadence, lips parted ever-so-slightly and eyes closed peacefully.

  He finally opened up and she wasn’t even awake to realize it.

  Chapter 7

  Layla awoke, her head pounding and her mouth so dry her tongue stuck to the roof. The soft murmur of the television filled the silent void. She moved her hand to press it against the throbbing in her head, when she realized the warm, hard chest beneath her.

  “Good morning,” Declan said.

  Momentarily shocked, memories from last night started to filter in through her brain, but they came in pieces, leaving her confused as she tried to form the whole picture.

  “Morning.” She pushed from his chest and rubbed at her eyes.

  Declan put the remote down and sat up. “I was wondering when you’d wake up.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Pretty much since I got you here.”

  She massaged her temples. “I don’t remember.” She turned to him. “Why are you still here?”

  “You asked me to stay.”

  “I did?”

  He nodded. “You said you didn’t want to be left alone in the silence.”

  Layla stared at him, trying to figure him out. He was so secretive and acted like he didn’t want her to know anything about him. Then he did sweet things like this. He was a walking contradiction, and damn it if she wasn’t falling for him more and more by the day.

  The sound of the door knob jiggling echoed through the living room. “Yoohoo!”

  “Oh shit! It’s Terry,” Layla whispered like she was a teenager being caught with a guy for the first time. Terry was as close to a grandmother that Layla ever had. When her mom died, Terry showed up one day, and she continued to show up every day after that, making sure Layla had a handle on things. If it wasn’t for Terry, Layla had no idea how she would have gotten through those first few months. She was grieving for the loss of her mother, but she was also helping two young teenagers grieve, too. Her older brother, Jax, had immediately enlisted in the Marines because he had no idea how else they would support Brooke and Chase and pay the stack of bills. Though, Layla suspected it was more than the money. Jax had never been good with expressing emotion.

  Their mother’s unexpected death was the hardest thing Layla had ever dealt with in her life, but thanks to Terry, she’d survived, and she had the success of her siblings to show for it.

  Terry was also the town gossip. There wasn’t much that went on in Red Maple Falls that she didn’t know about, and seeing Declan would stoke her gossip-loving fire.

  “So?” Declan said. “It’s not like we slept together.”

  “We didn’t? I mean of course we didn’t, but she’s not going to know that. All she’s going to see is you with your sexy sleep hair and droopy eyes and come to her own conclusions.”

  “You think I have sexy sleep hair?”

  Layla froze. “Irrelevant.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “I don’t think it is.”

  She put a hand over her mouth and turned her head away. “It is.”

  He looked at her like she’d lost her mind, and maybe she had; she was feeling a little crazy.

  “I am hungover and I need a cup of coffee and a toothbrush before I can have a conversation this close.”

  He laughed. “I don’t care about that.”

  “I do.”

  “Layla, I see your car in the driveway. I know you’re here. I’m coming in.” A key clicked in the lock, echoing through the house.

  The door opened, and Layla jumped back from Declan. A sharp pain reverberated in her head, an intense throb settling in her right temple. She brought her hand to her head, hoping she could rub the pain away, but the pain only shifted to her eyeball.

  Terry strolled in, red hair piled high on her head, leopard print stripes going up her black track suit. She held a bag from her café, The Happy Apple, in her hand. “I brought—” She hoisted the bag up but stopped mid-sentence, eyes fixating on Declan. “Oh!” she exclaimed, then a satisfied smile bloomed on her face.

  Declan looked right at Terry. “We didn’t sleep together,” he said as casually as he would about the weather. Layla was in too much pain to be embarrassed.

  Terry’s shoulders slumped. “Well, isn’t that disappointing.”

  “She was drunk, and I’m a gentleman,” he said.

  Layla scoffed. “Ouch.” She pressed her palm into her eye socket.

  Declan pointed at her and smiled at Terry. “Now she’s hungover.”

  “Good for you!” Terry said. “It’s about time you went out and got a little tipsy. I’ve only been telling you for the past ten years to go have some fun.”

  “While I’d love to continue this bizarre morning chat, I need coffee.” Layla stumbled into the kitchen to sta
rt a pot.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” Declan said, coming into the kitchen. “I can start the coffee.”

  “It’s already taken care of.”

  “She has a problem with letting people help her out, even when she needs it most.” Terry plopped the bag in front of Layla with a little too much gusto, and Layla jerked. The marching band that had taken up residency in her head drummed their way into a never-ending crescendo.

  Layla pressed two fingers into each temple, drawing circles and applying a little pressure. “My head hurts too much to defend myself.”

  “Eat up,” Terry said. “I brought you some apple cider pancakes with a side of walnuts and maple syrup to sprinkle on top.”

  “The carbs will be good for you,” Declan said. “And here take this.” He held his hand out and dropped two Advil in her hand.

  “I would have brought extra if I knew you had company,” Terry said.

  “He can have some of mine.” Layla pushed the bag to the middle of the table. Terry’s portions were always too much for one person.

  Layla eased from her seat, and Declan put a hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. “I need to get plates.”

  “I can get them, just point me in a direction.”

  “Top left,” Terry said.

  Declan moved to grab the plates, and Layla went to get up again, but like he had super sonic senses, Declan’s hand landed on her shoulder. He gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  “I got them.” He put the plates down in front of her.

  “I need my coffee.”

  “I got it.” Declan brought her favorite mug to the table that always sat right next to the coffee pot and poured the dark heavenly liquid. “Drink up.”

  She wrapped her hands around the mug and pulled the warmth close to her. She bent her head, letting the aromatic scent of freshly brewed coffee fill her senses. Her eyes slipped shut as she brought the godsent liquid to her lips. That first sip was like heaven—blissful, soothing, and energizing. Two more cups and she’d hopefully be a functioning member of society again.

  She popped the pills into her mouth and prayed they kicked in soon.

  “What did you in?” Terry asked.

  “Old Man Simpson’s coffee flavored moonshine.” Her stomach heaved at the mere mention of the headache inducing liquor.

  “Oh, that stuff could take the varnish right off a table. I had two shots of it one night and next thing you know I think I’m Demi Moore in Striptease, flinging my clothes and whipping my head back. It’s a wonder you two didn’t sleep together last night. That stuff is the strongest aphrodisiac this town has ever seen.”

  “Thank you for the visual,” Layla said. “Definitely not how I thought my morning would start.”

  “Where are the forks?” Declan asked.

  “I’ll get them.” Layla went to stand, but Declan’s hand was on her shoulder again, holding her in place, not that she minded. Any and all movement was proving to unsettle the band in her head.

  “Top drawer to the left,” Terry said, pointing a red manicured finger in the direction.

  Declan came back to the table and rested a fork in front of her before sitting in the chair that Brooke usually sat in. The chair had been looking so pitifully empty since her sister had left, and Layla was happy to see it filled again.

  “You really don’t know how to let people do things for you, do you?” Declan divvied up the pancakes.

  “I told you she didn’t,” Terry chimed in.

  “At least you’re learning,” Layla said, throwing a glance in Declan’s direction and wincing when the movement proved to be too much. “Explain to me why people drink? Because this sucks, and I have to be at work in a couple hours.”

  “Maybe you should take a day off.”

  She sat straight up and ignored another round of pounding. “And here I thought I was the one who didn’t know you.”

  “Uh oh,” Terry said. “Will you look at that?” Her eyes landed on her wrist, adjusting a watch that wasn’t there. “I need to get back to the café before Walt losses his mind.” Layla had a feeling Walt, Terry’s husband, was as happy as a pig in mud with Terry out of his hair.

  “I need a lift back to town,” Declan said.

  “I’m sorry, I came on my bike.” Terry had a custom design bicycle done by Caleb at the Chain and Spoke and that had more leopard print than Scary Spice. She’d been riding it around town for over a year, becoming a sight to see as she pedaled around, red hair unmoving against the wind.

  “I’ll drive you,” Layla said. “Once I get some food in me and a shower, I’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe Declan could help you with the shower.” Terry winked, and Layla let out a sigh. She was surrounded by old people who had no filters.

  “Goodbye, Terry. Thanks for the pancakes.”

  “Anytime, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.” She stood from her chair and waved at Declan. “Good seeing you. I hope to see more of you.” She pushed the chair in, and as she walked away, she called over her shoulder, “Now go make the bed rattle.”

  Layla listened as the door opened and closed then she let her head fall into her arms. “That went well.”

  “I thought so.” Declan smirked, his scar disappearing slightly into the natural lines of his face.

  The conversation from last night slowly started to come back to her. How he finally opened up, gave her something tangible as he broke down the walls bit by bit. He was still a mystery she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully figure out, but now she knew more than what he wanted people to know. He trusted her with a glimpse into his past and…

  “Oh my God… Did I kiss you last night?”

  He ran a hand over his beard, tugging at the edge. “Yup.”

  She covered her face with her hands. “Oh no.” She finally had her first kiss with Declan, something she’d fantasized about for years, and not only did she barely remember it, but from what she did remember… “I’m usually not that aggressive,” she said.

  “No? That’s a shame.”

  “This morning cannot get any worse,” she said, and it was as if the universe looked down at her and said hold my beer. From the living room she could hear the faint utterings of a reporter, but then a voice so distinctly familiar came into focus. She bit against the anger rising inside her, overtaking the pain of the hangover, and shoved her chair back.

  “Where are you going?” Declan asked. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  She was far from embarrassed. No, she was pissed. She told Chase and Brooke to ignore the man who’d helped create them; he was nothing more than attention seeking loser, but deep down, his never-ending pursuit to talk to the media every single chance he got was awakening the mama bear inside her who would fight to the death for her baby brother and sister, even if they were old enough to take care of themselves.

  She stopped in front of the television, staring into the eyes of the asshole who was waxing-poetic about a family that he missed and who wouldn’t take his calls. “Because you never called!” she yelled at the TV, unable to control her rising emotions.

  The television went black, the asshole disappearing from her view. Declan’s hand came down on her shoulder again. He tossed the remote onto the couch and turned her into him. He wrapped her in his embrace, engulfing her in his large frame and holding her against his warmth.

  She’d been strong for so long, putting on a tough façade for Brooke and Chase, pretending like their father smearing their family across the media didn’t bother her when in reality it cut deeper than any knife could.

  The man was an abusive jerk, but when their mom died, Layla would have given anything to have him realize his kids were important and he needed to step up to the damn plate and care for them. But he was nowhere to be found. He wanted nothing to do with them until Chase started dating a celebrity. Now the asshole would talk to anyone as long as they paid him, creating a ridiculous narrative that she and her siblings were the villains in all this.

 
; She’d been holding everyone up and didn’t realize how many cracks she bore, threatening to give at any moment. A tear slipped from her eye, months of emotion, years of pain and heartache boiling to the surface, and for the first time in her life, she was defenseless against it. Her body shook as her resolve weakened. Ugly gasps of air sucked from her chest as the wall she’d carefully constructed collapsed. Tears poured down her cheeks in an endless stream, her broke body becoming too much for her to hold up. Her knees buckled, and Declan swept her up in his arms, carrying her to the couch.

  He cradled her against his strong frame, rocking her gently and smoothing her hair. He kissed the top of her head and held her tighter. “It’s okay, baby girl,” he said, and she cried harder. She cried for a man who never wanted them, for the death of her mother and whose loss cracked a portion of her heart that would never heal, for Chase and Brooke for not getting to spend more time with their mom, and for Jax who was off fighting his own demons in war torn countries. She cried for the girl who gave up her dreams so her brother and sister could have a chance at theirs. She cried for the years that passed in a blur and for the time she’d never get back.

  She cried until there were no more tears to cry.

  She sucked in a jagged breath and took a moment to gather herself before pushing off of Declan. Wet ugly tears stained her cheeks, pathetic trails of weakness. She swiped them away in a futile attempt to discard the evidence. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I think the hangover is messing with my head.”

  Declan looked at her with sympathy, but all she could see was pity, and it was too much. She never wanted pity from anyone. Pity meant she was failing, and people felt bad for her, but they had nothing to feel bad about. She was stronger than this.

  She got up, wanting to forget this ever happened when Declan’s big hand wrapped around her wrist. “You are not walking away,” he said, and her lip quivered.

  She dropped her head, refusing to look at his eyes because the minute she did, he’d be able to see beyond the façade. He was the only one who could break her walls down, and that scared her. She worked her whole life putting those walls into place, and he decimated them in one night.