Second Draft

by C. M. Seabrook

  Chapter 7

  Carter

  “I’m not reneging on my contract. I just need a week to deal with a family situation that’s come up.”

  “Christ, Carter. We’re right in the middle of playoffs.” My boss’ voice is near hysterical, and I can’t really blame him. “I need you here. I need you doing the damn job I’m paying you for.”

  Paying me shit for.

  “One week,” I barter.

  “Four days. I want you in New York on Monday.”

  I hang up and curse under my breath. I don’t need this damn job. I have more than enough money in savings, and even with constantly bailing Travis’ ass out of debt, I can get by on the interest.

  But this job is the only thing that keeps me connected to my old life.

  The magazine I write for is a piece of shit. But it gets me through the doors of pretty much any sporting event I want to attend. And it got me off the couch and out of the depression that had been my life since my injury.

  But right now the last thing I want to think about is leaving.

  Travis isn’t answering his cell. Knowing him, he probably trashed the damn thing so I wouldn’t have a way of tracking him down and beating the shit out of him.

  Unlike Layla, I didn’t get a note, just a voicemail telling me he was sorry and not to look for him. Of all the asshole things Travis has done, this has to be the worst.

  The soft padding of footsteps travels down the hall, and I hear Layla open the door to her room, then shut it.

  Fuck if I know what I’m going to do about her.

  There’s no way in hell I’m letting her leave. I was serious when I told her this is her home now. My name might be on the mortgage, but I’d always intended on giving it to Travis once he got his shit together. But that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen. At least not in the foreseeable future.

  It’s only right that the house goes to his kid, or to the mother of his kid.

  The thought of just giving it to her, signing the papers in her name, crossed my mind. It would be the cleanest solution. Layla and the child would be taken care of.

  But then what?

  I’d go back to New York. Travel. Work. Maybe come visit once or twice a year – if she let me.

  The thought twists my stomach.

  My parents would be rolling over in their graves right now if they could see what’s become of Travis…of me...of our once happy, normal family.

  Family was everything to them. They poured their hearts and souls into making sure we knew we were loved, that we belonged. Sometimes I think Travis forgets all of that. That his memories are twisted and distorted because of his pain.

  Layla’s door creaks open again, and I can hear her tiptoeing down the hall towards the bathroom, the sound of the shower turning on.

  I groan at the thought of her naked only a room away.

  Remembering the heat in her soft brown eyes when I’d kissed her in the bar, and again when she’d seen me for the first time the other night.

  The connection is still there – maybe stronger than before.

  But this whole situation is one big clusterfuck.

  I should let my lawyers handle it. Go back to New York and not look back. That would be the smart thing to do.

  Who is she to me anyways? The only thing that connects us is an unforgettable kiss and a child that isn’t even mine.

  But damn if I wished it was. I drag my fingers through my hair, not knowing where the thought came from.

  Sure, the woman is gorgeous, and there’s no denying the chemistry between us. That there’s something about her that makes me want to protect her.

  But she’s pregnant with my brother’s baby.

  Getting involved, more than just financially, wouldn’t just be stupid, it would be emotional suicide.

  And I just finally stepped back from the edge of darkness. The last thing I need in my life is more bullshit.

  Layla. Me. It can’t work.

  And yet, even as I think it, I know I’ve already made up my mind. The moment I knew Travis was gone, I’d made my decision.

  I’m not going to walk away.

  The inner caveman inside of me claimed her months ago – the first time I saw her, the first time I tasted her.

  My cock hardens at the memory, my body pulsing with the need to fill her. Seeing those big, innocent eyes watching me as I fulfill all my dark, wicked fantasies. I’ve never wanted to lose myself to a woman as much as I do Layla.

  Sick as it is, that’s my reality.

  But she’s going to need time.

  The last thing I want is to scare her. And from the way she tiptoes around me, trying not to meet my gaze, I know that wouldn’t be difficult to do.

  I’m not normally a patient man, but I know I’m going to have to be with her.

  Despite my better judgement telling me to run in the opposite direction, I know exactly what I have to do to make her mine. I’m a man who would go to any lengths to get what he wants. And I’ve never wanted anything more than I want her.

  Chapter 8

  Layla

  I stare at the blank screen in front of me like I’ve done for the past twenty minutes. But the harder I try to think about a story to write, the more my brain becomes a fuzz of static.

  Nothing.

  Frustrated, I slam the laptop cover down and push my chair back.

  It’s pointless. I can’t write.

  I grab a paperback off the shelf, and lay down on my bed. But a few pages in, I’m ready to toss it across the room, because I’m so sick and tired of reading about other people’s love stories. For once in my life, I want my own.

  My stomach grumbles, and I glance at the electric clock by my bed.

  It’s almost midnight, but I can’t sleep.

  I’m restless and not just because of the whole Travis leaving shenanigans, but because I’m constantly aware of the sexy, tattooed, bad boy that’s currently living under my roof.

  Rather his roof.

  Travis hadn’t told me that his brother owned the house. But it makes sense, considering Travis can’t seem to hold a job, let alone pay a mortgage.

  I roll out of bed, and slowly open my bedroom door, peeking out like I’m ten years old again, expecting to get reprimanded for being out of bed past my bedtime.

  All the lights are off. Even the one under Carter’s door.

  As silently as I can, I tiptoe down the stairs towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out the carton of chocolate milk.

  I’m in the middle of pouring a glass when the lights flick on.

  With my already frayed nerves, I startle, and both the glass and the carton drop from my hands, bouncing off the kitchen counter, spewing milk everywhere, before landing on the floor, the glass shattering in a hundred little pieces by my feet.

  “Shit.” Carter curses, rushing towards me, then demanding, “Don’t move.”

  I hear him, but it’s as if my feet have minds of their own, and I quickly take a step back, then yelp when a piece of glass slices into my heel.

  “Damn it. I told you not to move.” With the agility of a trained boxer, he maneuvers through the broken glass and chocolate milk, and I don’t know what he’s doing until his hands are on my waist lifting me up, then plopping me down on the counter. He points a finger at me, “Stay.”

  I swallow hard and nod, now rendered speechless because I finally take in his appearance.

  Wearing only a pair of navy pajama bottoms that hang low on his hips, his muscular chest is bare, exposing all the glorious patterns I haven’t seen before.

  He’s even more ripped than I’d imagined. While Travis was toned and on the thinner side, Carter is all rippling muscle.

  As he sweeps up the glass, he glances up at me, and catches me staring, and his blue eyes go dark.

  I want to look away, but I can’t. It’s like he’s got some superpower to control my body. Infusing it with heat with a single glance. I shift my position on the counter, f
eeling all that heat go straight between my legs.

  His lips twist up just slightly, and I swear he reads my thoughts.

  Heat suffuses my cheeks, giving me the strength to look away.

  “You scared me,” I say, breaking the tense silence between us.

  “I came down to get a drink,” he grumbles, dumping the glass in the trashcan.

  More strained silence.

  When he’s finished mopping up the mess, he pulls out a clean dishtowel from the drawer, then runs it under the tap.

  He’s beside me, only a few inches separating us. Ringing out the towel he looks at me, then down at my legs, which I realize now are bare and splattered in chocolate milk.

  “What foot did you hurt?”

  “My right.”

  “Let me see.” His expression is stoic, hard and unyielding.

  I lift my leg and he captures my ankle in his large hand. All my muscles tense as I try to control the shiver that races down my back and through my limbs.

  He crouches slightly to inspect the damage, then gently presses the wet dishtowel against my heel.

  “It looks like a clean cut. I don’t see any glass. Where’s your first aid kit?”

  I nod at the cupboard beside the fridge. “Second shelf.”

  He pulls it out, and rummages through it until he finds a Band-Aid, then moves back to me.

  “Hold this.” He hands it to me, then moves back to the sink, and rinses out the towel.

  His nostrils flare slightly when he turns back to me, takes one of my legs in his hand again, and starts to wipe it down with the dishtowel.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You have milk all over you.”

  “Oh. Right.” It’s a stupid thing to say, but then his touch does that to me – makes me say and do senseless things.

  One calloused hand cups the back of my calf gently.

  I can’t think.

  Can’t breathe.

  All I can do is watch him as he drags the towel, in slow, deliberate movements across my lower leg.

  Energy spins between us, filling the space with a heat that makes my body feel feverish.

  I need to get away from him. Because with every small touch, he’s distorting my judgement, making me feels things I have no business feeling.

  A soft hum vibrates in my throat, and I pray to God that he doesn’t hear it.

  His gaze remains on my legs, lifting the other one and spending just as much time, if not more, on it.

  When he finally releases me, every cell in my body is vibrating, crying out for more of his touch.

  Holy hell but the man is hot.

  And sweet.

  And so freaking off limits.

  He tosses the towel in the sink, then looks up at me, one palm out. After a few seconds, one eyebrow goes up. “The Band-Aid.”

  “Right.” Crap. I hand it to him, watching as he takes the wrapper off, then gently places it on my heel.

  His fingers linger on my ankle, his gaze once again on my legs.

  “All better.” As light as his words are, his expression is just as dark.

  “Thank you.” I swallow past the lump in the back of my throat.

  He nods, then his hands go around my waist again, lifting me, then slowly sliding me down his body until my feet hit the floor.

  There’s no hiding the huge erection he’s sporting, or the fact that it’s digging into my belly now.

  I lick my lips and look up at him, lust warring with fear.

  “Go to bed Layla,” his voice is a deep, barely contained growl.

  A warning.

  He takes a small step back, but from his expression, I can see it takes all his strength to do it.

  I do the only sensible thing I can think of. I turn and walk away from the hulking temptation, knowing I’m going to need to keep a lot more distance between us if I’m going to survive him being here much longer.

  Chapter 9

  Carter

  I try to give Layla space, which isn’t hard, because I realize pretty quickly that she’s juggling two jobs, as well as volunteering a few hours each week at the local Animal Shelter.

  That, and she’s avoiding me.

  She’s going through a lot. I get it. Which is why I’m not pushing things. At least not yet.

  Sitting on the living room couch, I rub the back of my neck and read through the piece I’m currently working on, scratching out the last line that I wrote.

  The whole article is shit. Mostly because I can’t focus. The only thing I can think about is Layla, and how I’m going to play this.

  Slow and steady. It’s not my typical speed, but I’m going to have to be patient. There’s more at stake than just getting her in my bed – which will happen.

  But what I really want is her trust, and eventually her heart.

  Two things that I can tell she keeps safely guarded.

  Three days I’ve been here and I still know barely anything about her. What I do know is that she’s got her walls up, and it’s going to take a fucking militia to tear them down.

  I crumple the paper I’m working on and toss it on the coffee table beside my laptop.

  Work is on me, pressuring me to come back to New York. I’ve used the family emergency excuse, but I have to leave soon.

  The creak of footsteps on the stairs has my gaze jerking up.

  Wearing black pants that hug her curvy hips, and a loose fitting blouse that’s buttoned up to her neck, Layla strides into the room, a look of determination tightening her features.

  My sexy librarian.

  The things I’m going to do to her when I finally get her in my bed.

  “Here.” She leans over and places a pile of bills on the coffee table beside my laptop. “I’m twenty short, but I’ll get it to you by tomorrow.”

  She turns and starts to walk away.

  I frown down at the bills, not understanding.

  “Layla, wait.” My voice is gruffer than intended. It always is with her, even though I keep reminding myself to be gentle.

  She stops, back turned to me, and her shoulders rise and fall on a heavy breath before turning to look at me.

  “What is this?” I pick up the bills, which after a quick count is around five hundred dollars.

  “Rent.”

  Is she serious?

  “I’m not charging you to stay here.”

  “It’s what I was paying before, and it’s less than I’d pay anywhere else. So take it. Please.”

  There’s something in her tone that stops me from arguing.

  “All right.” I put the money back on the table. “If that’s what you want.”

  “I do.” Her expression is stoic, but even though she tries to hide it, there’s a flash of emotion in her eyes when she finally meets my gaze, and her cheeks turn a cute shade of pink.

  That’s right, sweetheart. You’re mine. You’re body knows it. I’m just waiting for your heart and mind to catch up.

  She licks her lips and looks down at the floor, as if she wants to say something.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I was wondering…” She shifts nervously, from one foot to the other.

  God, she’s fucking beautiful. She draws her plump lower lip between her teeth and I have to suppress the groan that rumbles in my throat.

  “Just ask, Layla.”

  “I’m not sure if you noticed, but the washing machine doesn’t work. I don’t mind using a Laundromat, but it might be easier…”

  No I hadn’t noticed, because I had my own clothes dry cleaned.

  “I’ll buy a new one today.” Frustration bubbles inside of me. I’d given Travis money for a new one two months ago. God only knows what he spent it on.

  “Thanks.” She gives me a stiff smile, then walks to the door.

  “Layla.” Her name sounds like a growl on my lips, because no matter how hard I try to suppress my need for her, the minute she walks into my line of vision, I’m instantly rock hard. And right now, seeing
that sweet little ass of hers walking away is killing me.

  She stops with her hand on the doorknob and looks at me, eyes wide.

  Does she know how much I want her? I doubt it. Because if she had even the slightest clue of the things I want to do to her she wouldn’t be walking away, she’d be running.

  “Whatever you need. Don’t be afraid to ask.” I say the last word with emphasis, “Ever.”

  There’s reservation in her eyes, but she nods before shutting the door behind her.

  I slam my laptop shut and head upstairs to the shower, my rock hard cock in my hand before the water is even lukewarm. My balls are drawn painfully tight against my body, my seed begging to be spilled.

  Having her under the same roof as me and not being able to touch her is painful. Brutally painful.

  Patience, I remind myself, placing a hand on the shower and stroking myself, to the vision of Layla’s mouth stretched around my cock, her gorgeous eyes looking up at me with the trust and uninhibited desire I long to see.

  Soon.

  Very, very soon.

  She will be mine.

  Heart.

  Body.

  And mind.

  Chapter 10

  Layla

  “You look exhausted,” Kira says, when she comes into the bookstore, half an hour late for her shift as usual.

  I should never have hired her knowing how unreliable she is. But she needed the job after being let go of her last one.

  “I haven’t been sleeping much,” I mutter, shelfing the book in my hand.

  Kira shrugs off her jacket and throws it behind the counter, then comes to help me with the new arrivals. “Still stressed about Travis leaving?”

  If only that was the reason.

  Lying awake at night, knowing that only a few feet and a door separate Carter and I hasn’t just been hard, it’s been fricking torture.

  I don’t know how much longer I can take having him around. But so far he’s given no indication that he has any intention of leaving. Ever.

  I’m nervous and on edge all the time. Not because he’s done anything wrong, but because he’s done everything right. My nerves are fueled by my awareness of him.