More danger, sweetheart. Much more.
I watch her doe-like gaze as I lean in and press my lips against hers.
Her hands come up to my chest, but she doesn’t push me away, instead she leans into the kiss, and I feel her body tremble against mine.
Like I expected, the chemistry between us is off the charts intense.
Deep inside of me something stirs, and something foreign shivers through my senses.
Damn, but the woman does something to me. Something I haven’t felt before.
Hating to break the contact, but knowing the douchebag is still watching us, I slowly pull back, gaze locked on hers.
“You mind?” I raise an eyebrow at the guy who’s looking at me like I’m a celebrity or something.
Which I’m not.
At least not anymore.
He turns back to his buddies, and I hear my name being tossed around among them.
“You okay?” I lean against the bar and see her gaze linger across the ink on my forearm, following the pattern until it disappears beneath my t-shirt.
Her lips tighten and she swallows hard.
“You didn’t have to kiss me,” she says, trying her best to feign indignation, but her gaze rests on my mouth, and I can practically feel her body begging me for more.
“No.” I grin, trying to suppress the small chuckle that rises in my throat. “But I wanted to.”
She licks her lips, a mix of fear and excitement in her eyes. “Apparently sitting alone means I’m looking for someone to take me home.”
“Are you?”
“No.” She shakes her head, but again her gaze trails down my torso.
“You sure about that?” I raise an eyebrow, and smirk.
Immediately her cheeks turn scarlet and she looks away. “I’m just waiting for my roommate. She works here and I’m picking her up…” She lets out a small, frustrated breath. “I don’t know why I’m explaining myself to you.”
She’s definitely got the good girl act down. If it is an act. She’s pretty convincing. I stay away from her type, because I know they always expect more. She’s not the kind of girl that just hooks up for a night. And that’s all I’m looking for.
But my mind races with all the things I want to do to her. My body aches with the need to taste her again, to hear my name on her lips when I make her drive myself balls deep inside of her.
You’ll only break her my brain warns. There’s something fragile about her, something that makes me want to do more than just fuck her. An unfamiliar need to both possess and protect her.
I know I should walk away, leave her to her book, but she has me intrigued, and wanting to know more about her.
“Can I buy you a drink while you’re waiting for your friend?”
“I’m good with water.”
I chuckle.
“What?” Her eyes narrow.
“You’re an enigma.”
“An enigma?” she frowns.
“A mystery, a puzzle. Something difficult to understand.”
“I know what the word means.” There’s a hint of frustration in her voice. “I just meant, how?”
“You’re reading a book in a bar. You kind of stand out.”
She glances down at the novel and shrugs.
“It also doesn’t hurt that you look like a…”
Her head jerks up, gaze hard on me like I was about to insult her, which is the furthest thing from the truth.
“Like a what?” she demands.
“Nothing.”
“No. Say it. Like a what?”
Like a good girl that’s just begging for a real man to fuck the innocence out of her.
“Like a librarian.”
“A librarian?” She glances down at the white button down and black skirt she’s wearing and frowns.
“Or a school girl. But not one of the naughty ones–”
“Okay, I get it.” She rolls her eyes. “I just came from work.”
“At the library?” I chuckle, teasing.
“No.” She tucks her hair behind her ear nervously, and admits with a small smile, “A bookstore.”
Of course. That’s the first thing about the girl that’s made sense to me.
Without thinking, I reach out and trace the curve of her jaw, and feel her tremble beneath my touch.
Her eyes widen and she sucks in a shuddering breath, expression churned with uncertainty and confusion. Desire. Need. Fear.
Everything about the girl screams innocence.
I pull my hand back, and she lets out the breath she was holding in.
“Are you even old enough to be in here?”
“I’m twenty-one.” Her chin juts out defensively.
The same age as Travis. And yet they couldn’t be more different. There’s a vulnerability to her, but also a strength.
I lean back, elbows resting on the bar. “So, you’re twenty-one. You like to read…in a bar, on a Saturday night, while drinking water–”
“I told you, I’m waiting for my friend.”
Friend. Not a boyfriend.
“What else do you do?”
“Why?”
“You intrigue me. And I want to know more about you.”
Her brows are tightly drawn down and she’s watching me like she can’t figure out the game I’m playing. But the truth is, it isn’t a game. I’m genuinely interested to know what makes her tick.
She glances down at the book in her hand, suddenly looking extremely vulnerable. “I write.”
“Really?”
“I wrote a book.” Her cheeks flame at the admission.
“Impressive.”
“Not really. It never got published.” Her tongue darts out across her soft, pink lips, and I can’t help the filthy thoughts that fill my mind. Her on her knees in front of me, lips stretched around my cock.
Holy hell, when was the last time I’d had this reaction to a woman? Maybe never.
I clear my throat. “What’s it about? The book.”
A small grin plays at her lips. “You know, the whole good girl meets the bad boy in a bar, they fall in love instantly, and live happily ever after.”
I pause, something stirring in my chest.
“Really?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No. I’m kidding. But that would probably get published. Because that’s what people want.”
“Bad boys?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “And happily ever afters.”
“Ah the stuff of fairytales.” I take a swig of my beer.
“Exactly.”
“So, write that story.”
She shrugs. “I can’t write what I don’t believe.”
Interesting.
“You don’t believe in happy endings?”
She shrugs. “Life is just so much messier. Think about it. How many people do you know who are living their dream? Or who’ve found the one.”
I open my mouth, then shut it, because she’s right. I can’t think of one. Except maybe my parents. They had the marriage books are written about, but then bam. One drunk driver, and both of their lives, were snuffed out too soon.
My chest tightens at the memory. Four years has done little to dull the pain.
“Maybe that’s why people want to read that stuff.”
“Why?”
“A way to forget the shittiness of life. To believe in something that will fill the gaping wound in their chests.”
“You’re probably right.” She tilts her head, studying me, like she can see right to my core.
It’s unnerving, and yet so fucking tempting. To remove the detachment I usually carry around with me like a shield, and let her see the darkest, most tainted parts of me. Maybe it’s because I see it in her too. Secrets and demons that haunt those beautiful eyes.
“And you?” She asks, gaze boring into mine with an intimacy that makes my heart race. “Is that what you’re looking for? To fill the gaping wound in your chest.”
“I don’t read romance n
ovels.” I grin, until I realize how close to the truth it actually is. Instead of books, I just use alcohol and pills to push through the haze of regret and loss.
“Layla, you ready?” A strawberry blonde stands at the edge of the bar, watching us, brows raised.
“Coming.” Layla slides off the stool, and gives me a small smile, then starts towards her friend.
Am I really going to let her walk away? It’s been years since I’ve felt anything but grief, but this woman stirs something inside of me.
Hope.
A desire to change.
A desire for more than just unbridled sex with nameless women.
“Layla,” I growl out her name, watching her body react in a way that makes my cock harden painfully.
She turns, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, brows raised. “Yes?”
I grab a pen that’s sitting in a cup on the bar, then scribble my number on one of the paper coasters.
“Here.” I hand it to her. “I’m going out of town for a few months, but when I get back, I’d love to read your book. I know a really good publicist, and I’m sure I could get him to look at it.”
She blushes. “Like I said, it’s not very good. The ending–”
“Can always be altered.” I lean down, my mouth close to her ear, “And maybe I can change your mind.”
She looks at me with confusion. “About what?”
“Happy endings.” I cup her chin and tilt her chin, then lean in so that our lips our almost touching. “Finding the one.”
Because as crazy as it seems, part of me wonders if I’ve just found mine. I’ve never believed in love at first sight, or fairytales, but I’m pretty sure this woman is a whole lot of everything that I need.
Her breath hitches, eyes widening.
“Layla, come on. Max is waiting,” her friend complains, popping her gum, and texting frantically on her phone.
She gives me an apologetic smile. “I really have to go–”
I crush my lips against hers. This time there’s nothing soft or innocent about the kiss. It’s hard, demanding, a promise of what I want to give her.
One a breathy sigh, her lips part, and she melts against me.
Pure, undiluted pleasure.
When I pull back, I grin down at her. “Call me.”
She nods, eyes glazed, face flushed, then turns and walks away, glancing over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
I drag my fingers through my hair, and let out a heavy breath, hating that I’m just letting her walk away. Even though she has my number, there’s no guarantee that she’ll call.
My number…
Shit. I realize my screw up. I changed servers a few days ago for my new job, and I’m pretty sure I gave her my old cell number.
Normally I wouldn’t care. It’s not like I don’t have a lineup of women begging to jump in my bed. But the thought of not seeing her again makes my stomach clench.
I move through the bar quickly, and push open the metal door, shivering when a cool blast of air hits me.
The parking lot is packed with people, but none of them are Layla.
Damn it. I comb my fingers over my face and curse.
She’s gone. And I have no idea if I’ll ever see her again.
Chapter 3
Carter
One year…
A line of cars outside my house is my first indication that my brother is throwing a party. The second is the thumping music that vibrates through the bay windows.
Fuck.
I was hoping to get Travis alone.
He wouldn’t tell me over the phone, but I’m pretty sure he’s dug himself in another hole. One that I’m going to have to bail him out of – again.
This shit is getting old. And so am I. Too old to be cleaning up after him.
Sure, I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but there comes a time when you need to grow the hell up.
From the foyer, I can see a handful of people in the living room, and another half dozen in the kitchen. But no sign of my brother anywhere.
I drop my luggage at the front door, and a few heads turn to look in my direction, then continue on with whatever they’d been doing, which consists mostly of drinking and smoking up.
The house smells like a goddamn fraternity. Beer. Cigarettes. Pot. Sex.
There’s a group of three guys sharing a bong on the living room couch. A couch I just replaced six months ago because Travis’ buddies set fire to the old one, nearly burning down the damn house.
“Do you know where Travis is?” I growl out.
One of the guys looks up, eyes glazed. “He’s with some chick upstairs.”
I shake my head when he raises the bong for me to take.
This shit has got to stop.
I take the stairs, and pound on Travis’ door.
“Busy,” is the muffled reply, followed by a woman’s moan.
“Travis, open the fucking door.”
There’s a few curses, followed by a couple thumps, before the door opens, and my brother stands half naked in front of me.
“Nice party,” I say sarcastically, getting a full glimpse of the red head’s breasts, before she pulls her top over her head.
Her eyes rake over me and she gives me an appreciative smile.
Ignoring her, I glance back at Travis who takes the t-shirt the woman hands him and shrugs it on.
He motions for the girl to leave with a dismissive tilt of his head.
“I didn’t expect you until next week,” he says, dragging his fingers through his shaggy, brown hair.
“Obviously.”
He grabs a half empty beer bottle off his desk, and chugs it back, then looks at me and slurs, “What’re you doing here?”
Technically, it’s my house. I don’t need a reason. But I’ve let him live here so long that I swear he forgets who pays the bills.
“Your text sounded pretty urgent.”
He shrugs, but I see the guilt that crosses her expression. “I’m just dealing with a lot of shit right now.”
From the way he shifts to lean against the wall, I’m thinking he’s got a good six or seven beers in him.
“You’re not in jail, so I assume it’s about money.”
“Ouch.” He winces, rubbing the back of his neck.
“How much?”
“Want a drink? I’ll grab you one–”
“How much, Travis?” I hate being an ass, but I need to know the damage. I do well enough, but the last time I received a text like the one I got the other night, it ended up costing me forty grand in property damage and another five in lawyer’s fees.
“It’s not about money.” Travis sucks his top lip over his teeth and looks away.
Shit. This is going to be bad.
“What is it then?” My stomach twists.
“You just got here. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” So it isn’t that urgent. The squeezing in my chest subsides slightly, but in the back of my head there’s a flashing neon sign warning me it’s not going to be a simple fix this time. “Fine.”
I’m already in a pissy mood after an hour delay on my flight. And my knee is throbbing from sitting for so long. I’ll probably handle whatever he has to say better after a good night sleep.
I start down the stairs towards the kitchen, and say over my shoulder, “You mind telling your buddies to take the party somewhere else?”
“Seriously, bro?” Travis’ hands slam down on my shoulders. “Come on, have a couple beers with us. When’s the last time the two of us got tanked together?” He gives me one of his easygoing grins. “Or better yet, stoned.”
“One beer.”
“Good man.”
I grunt, following him into the crowded kitchen, choking on the fumes.
“I’ll meet you in back. I need some fresh air.”
Travis nods, before being dragged into a conversation with a guy sucking back a joint.
I head through the sliding doors
that lead to the backyard, and breathe in the fresh air.
Boxes of empty beer bottles line the back of the house, but other than that it looks like Travis has actually kept the yard up. There are even flowers in the few pots that sit on the large wood deck.
I frown at that, because I know there’s no way in hell that Travis planted any damn flowers.
Maybe they’re just weeds. I pick one of them, and look at it more closely.
“Definitely not a weed,” I mutter.
“They’re Begonias,” a woman says behind me.
I glance over my shoulder, following the sound of the voice and freeze.
All I see are her eyes. Those soft brown eyes that could pierce a man’s heart, and make him wish he were a better man.
I’d know them anywhere.
Layla.
Sitting on the old wooden swing, with another damn book in her hands, she blinks up at me, eyes wide. “You?”
I can’t believe my luck. I doubted I’d ever see her again when she walked out of that bar.
“What are you doing here?” It’s a stupid question. The answer is obvious. She’s friends with Travis somehow. The thought makes my stomach tighten.
“I–” Her face turns a shade of red, clearly as flustered by my presence as I am by hers. She shuts her book and stands. A small frown tugging at her lips. “I live here.”
“Here?” I blink in confusion.
Travis said he was getting a roommate, someone to help pay the bills. Which is ridiculous, because I already pay them. But I couldn’t fault him for being resourceful.
“Yeah.” She continues to frown up at me.
“You live here, in my house?” I laugh, because what are the fucking odds?
“Your house?” Her face pales. “Oh my God. You’re Travis’ brother?”
There’s something in the way she says it that makes me uneasy. A premonition that leaves my heart thudding painfully in my chest.
“He is.” Travis comes through the sliding doors, carrying two beers. He hands me one, then slaps me on the back, hard enough that it makes me grunt. “My big, perfect, brother. Saint fucking Carter.”
“Don’t be an ass.” I give him a look of warning, but he’s too drunk to notice or he doesn’t care.
“But it’s my thing.” Travis grabs Layla around the waist and plants a hard kiss on her cheek roughly. “It’s what the girls love about me. Right, darling?”
Second Draft Page 2