by Eden Bradley
“Not quite everyone. I haven’t spotted Shea and Shep yet.”
“So, all I have still to face is the intimidating Kitty?”
Layla laughed. “If you’re lucky.”
“This party should have come with a warning. Ah, don’t look like that, lovely. I’m joking. I’m ready for anything, and your friends seem like good people. And here comes Kitty.”
Kitty approached, a cocktail of some sort in one hand and fanning herself with the other. “My, oh my. I just met the hottest guy and he mixed my drink for me and asked me to come talk with him. I don’t have long, so let’s get down to it, Duff. You’re Jamie’s cousin and I know he wouldn’t have invited you to go into business with him to represent the SGR name if you weren’t a good guy. But you also have the rep as a bit of a womanizer at The Bastille, so I’m suspicious.”
“I suspect you’re suspicious by nature, yes? Yeah,” Duff responded while Layla cringed a little. “But I’ll admit to having been a bit of a man-whore since arriving in the States, so I can understand your concern. If you’re worried about my intentions toward Layla, well, that I’m still trying to figure out myself, to be honest. But”—he paused, laying a hand over his heart—“I can promise you her well-being is my first concern, and that I’ve hung up my dancing slippers while we figure this out.”
Kitty reached out and patted his enormous biceps. “Good Dom. Nice kilt, too.”
He grinned, his dimples flashing. “Why, thank you, Miss Kitty.”
“You about to tip a ten-gallon hat to me? Because if not, then I think we’re done for the moment and I can get on with the evening’s debauchery.”
“I’m . . . not certain what a ten-gallon hat is, but I think not.”
“All right, then.” Kitty leaned in and kissed Layla’s cheek, whispering, “He’s a good one, honey.”
Layla squeezed her friend’s hand before Kitty moved back into the crowd. Duff immediately looped an arm around Layla’s shoulders.
“I like her, I have to say. I take that sort of loyalty as a good sign. You know, I’ve always felt someone’s friends tell a lot about a person.”
“I’ve always thought so, too. What kind of friends did you have back in Edinburgh?”
“The truth? Not as good as they could have been. It’s a small town, ultimately, and the guys I went to school with didn’t necessarily take the best path—mostly they turned out to be a bunch of knobs. I was closest with Leith for a long time—and with Jamie, of course, although he was far away. I have a feeling I’ll make better friends here. Finn is already becoming one of them.”
“He’s a great guy.”
“Yeah, he is. And I like Rosie quite a lot. Do you think they’d want to have dinner with us sometime?”
“Dinner?” Her stomach tried to tie itself into a small knot. “Isn’t that sort of a ‘couple-y’ thing to do?”
He was quiet for a moment, and she couldn’t read what was going on behind his suddenly blank expression.
“I suppose it could be looked at that way. Would that be a bad thing?”
“I don’t know. Is that really what’s happening here, Duff? I mean, was that your intention coming into this? Because I don’t think it was.”
“Nah, you’re right that it wasn’t my intention. But it seems to be happening anyway.” He paused, his dark brows furrowing; then his voice softened. “Wouldn’t you say so, Layla?”
Looking up into his handsome face, she took a moment, allowing herself to explore every fine, strong feature: the cut jawline; the high, carved cheekbones; his beautiful deep-set eyes. The wide, lush mouth set off by his dimpled cheeks that seemed almost too sweet for his utterly masculine face. And she realized she wanted nothing more than to look at that face, as often as possible. But did she dare want that? Did she dare ask? Instead, she started to shake her head, but Duff grabbed her face in a gentle hand.
“Tell me, Layla. If that’s what’s happening here, do you mind so much? Because I don’t. I like it. I like you. In fact, I care very much—much more than I expected to, but there you have it. Despite our worn and injured souls, this has turned into some sort of romance.”
Her heart jumped, then soared to such sudden heights, she couldn’t find the words to answer. All she could do was smile up at him, and lift her chin for his kiss. When his lips touched hers, the party and all the people in it melted away beneath the force of emotion that sealed their kiss. She knew only the caring between them and the warm press of his mouth. And maybe—just maybe, if she dared to even think it—what she thought could be the beginnings of love.
CHAPTER
Ten
THEY HADN’T BEEN able to get back to her place fast enough. There was something about that knowing moment, standing in the middle of the party at Midnight Ink with his girl—his girl—that made the rest of the world fade away—but not quite enough. He had to get her alone, and it seemed she felt the same.
They’d been quiet on the ride to her house, with Duff holding on to her soft little hand as he drove over the New Orleans streets, packed with the throngs celebrating Halloween. But he barely noticed. She was inside his head, her dark and utterly delicious scent filling him up from the seat beside him. He had to get his hands on her. But it was more than that. He had to get close to her.
When he pulled into her driveway he didn’t even have to warn her to wait for him to come around and open the truck door. When he’d kissed her at the tattoo shop, something in her had truly relaxed for the first time, and he’d felt her give herself over not only to him, but to the moment, and in a way she never had before.
At her front door he took her keys from her and unlocked her house. Stepping into the warm amber light from one hanging lantern in the hallway, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, setting her down on the bed. Then he had to stop and simply look at her—at the gorgeous curves of her body beneath her black dress, even the graceful arch of her foot in her high heels. He let his gaze roam his way up slowly, until he found the luscious rise of her breasts at the low neckline of the lace dress. Then to her face. And ah, Lord, that face. Had he ever seen anything like it?
“You really are exquisite,” he told her, his voice a rough rumble in his throat. The words didn’t convey enough. But he was hard and wanting—needing with more than his dick. Needing to touch her, to hold her, to be inside her not only as a form of satisfaction, but because he couldn’t get close enough any other way.
He was afraid if he stopped to examine what the fuck was going on with him, it would all fall apart, so he chose not to.
Keeping his gaze on hers, he kicked his boots off, shrugged his way out of his shirt, unbuckled his belt.
“Are you going to spank me with that?” she asked. He could read the tension in every line of her body, but it wasn’t fear.
“What? No, lovely. No, not tonight. Tonight I don’t need any of that.”
Blinking hard, her long lashes came down onto her high, dusky cheekbones. She bit her lip for a moment. “You can, you know. You can do whatever you want.”
Shaking his head, he knelt on the edge of the bed and began to undress her, leaving a trail of kisses over her shoulders, her hands, the unutterably graceful lines of her collarbone. Finally she was naked, and he was hard as stone looking at her, tasting her skin. “No,” he whispered. “Right now it’s just you and me. Nothing else.” A surge of desire rippled over his flesh, so strong he could barely control himself. “I need you so damn badly, Layla. So badly.”
There was a small, sobbing moan from her; then her arms went around his neck and he sank down onto the bed with her. Lying on top of her, he ground his hardness against her lithe little body, and she met his undulations with her own as he kissed her mouth, as his tongue found hers. He only grew harder, his need for her transcending the desires of the flesh. And yet it drove him on in a way he’d never known before.
Somehow he got out of his jeans, and he was on top of her once more. She opened her sweet thighs for him.
“Yes. Please, Duff. I need you, too. I need you inside me now,” she whispered, her mouth latching onto his neck and sucking hard. “Don’t make me wait.”
His cock pulsed—his entire body pulsed, hummed, vibrated, even his hands, his lips. What else could he do but comply with her heated, begging request? And the aching, driving desire was too wildly powerful to resist. Overwhelming. Undeniable.
He pulled her upright, and they came together, fluid, melting, desperate, their hands grasping, nails digging into flesh, kissing, sucking, biting each other. She spread her legs over his thighs as he knelt on the bed. Picking her up by the waist, he took a breath as he settled her open, wet sex onto his throbbing cock. It was too damn hard to wait—he couldn’t do it, was totally out of control, and with one urgent, stabbing thrust, he was inside her.
“Ah, Layla.”
“Duff! Yes, yes. It can’t be fast enough. It can’t be hard enough.”
Her hips were pumping as he thrust up into her, his hands wrapped around her waist, helping her move. They were one writhing being—a being made completely of pleasure and sensation and a soul-shattering need neither one knew how to meet. He kissed her breasts, took one nipple into his mouth to suckle; then he bit down. She cried out, but held his head, urging him on, gasping with pleasure. And his own pleasure moved through his body in shattering waves that were already almost like coming. It was all intensity and mindless touching, kissing, fucking. Except that it was something else, something more he didn’t have the words for.
She rose on his swollen, pulsing shaft, then lowered herself, impaling herself deeply. And nothing had ever felt so good as being inside her, wrapped up in her lovely flesh.
“Nothing, baby,” he muttered. “Nothing has ever felt like you. Fucking Christ, this is . . .” He gasped as the first tremors of orgasm shafted deep into his body—balls and belly and heart. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t have the time or the breath to doubt it.
“God, Duff, you feel so good. So damn good. Oh, yes, just like that. More, please, please. Yes . . .”
She threw her head back, her sweet inner flesh shivering around him. And he felt her begin to come, that tightening and loosening, then tightening again, the heated clench of her climax.
“Duff! Ohhhhhhhhh . . .”
He fell over the edge with her, keen and sweet and so intense he could barely breathe through the pleasure. A cry was ripped from his throat, and he growled against her long, lovely neck.
“Ahhhhhh . . . Yeah, fucking amazing, my baby. Yes! Ah, yeah!”
He bucked into her—couldn’t stop. And she moved with him in some mad dance of desire and satisfaction and rippling tremors of scorching heat. Eventually, their bodies slowed, but still pleasure coursed through him, slow and undulating, like a serpent in his veins. And it was like shivers and candy. Like rain and darkness. Like nothing he’d ever felt before. Because it was her. Her. And that was the important part.
Leaning into her, he pressed his cheek to hers. “Good Christ, Layla. You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. Do you know that? Do you know how much I need to be with you?”
She let out a small sob, and he thought he’d said too much. But then she grabbed his face in both hands and held on tight. “Duff. Don’t tell me that unless you mean it. Unless it’s more than how intense the sex is. Don’t tell me unless . . .”
“Layla. I mean it. I mean every fucking word. I do. Do you not feel the same way? Why are you so upset?”
“Maybe because I think I do feel it. And I’m sort of not sure what to do with it.”
He drew back and held her face between his palms, looking into her eyes. “You only think you do? Seriously, woman?”
“That was a figure of speech. I do feel the same.” Her face sobered suddenly. “What if we screw this up?”
“Let’s try really hard not to.”
He laid his palm over her chest, where her heart was thundering. He kept it there, his forehead pressed to hers, until her heartbeat evened out.
“Okay?” he asked, pulling back to lock her gaze with his, to make sure she really was all right.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Right,” he agreed. “So, can I bring you flowers and shit now?”
She cracked a smile. “Let’s not take it that far.”
He leaned in and kissed her hard enough to bruise her. Hard enough to make his own lips ache. Then, pulling back, he told her, “Just for that you’re getting flowers every damn day from now on.”
She laughed. “No flowers. Just this. And spank me once in a while.”
“Are you kidding? I’ll fuck you right through the wall, then take my lovely wand to you. That’s what made you fall for me, after all.”
“Hmm. You might be right about that.”
“As I often am.”
“I hate to say it, but you’re right about that, too. Which I’m sure you’ll never let me forget.”
He bent and kissed her plush mouth, then lifted her hand and kissed her palm over and over. “I’ll never let you forget how I feel about you.”
“Promise?”
When he glanced up, he saw how serious she was.
“Promise me, Duff?” she asked again.
“I promise. Yeah, I do. Come here now, princess. I need to do this again.”
She laughed, a lovely sound. “Already?”
“Always. You’ve turned me into an animal.” He growled and nibbled her ear. Then a thought struck him. “Fuck. Layla, we didn’t use anything.”
“Oh. Shit. But . . . I really don’t think we have to worry—it’s not the right time in my cycle. Okay?”
He shifted and let his softening cock slip from her body. “Damn it. I’m always so careful. I swear it. I’m clean—got tested two weeks before we got together.”
“So am I. I’m sure it’s fine. It was just once, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyway, you just told me you need to be with me and you’re going to bring me flowers, and now I need to be held, like a regular girl.”
He wrapped her up in his arms, holding on tight. “You are a regular girl, you know, except there’s nothing ‘regular’ about you. You’re amazing.”
She didn’t respond, other than by snuggling into him, her head buried in his neck. And nothing had ever felt better than holding her. The warmth of her skin. Every sensuous curve of her body against his.
Except that she was right. Despite him having reassured her, this was bound to get fucked up. Only, he would be the one most likely to make that happen.
Buck up, man. Do it right, whatever it takes.
It was the first time he’d told himself that. He’d only ever given it a halfhearted try before, and he knew it. But he couldn’t do that with Layla. This was the real thing—the real goddamn thing. He had to get it right, finally.
• • •
IT WAS A Monday morning and Duff had just kissed her good-bye and left for work. She usually hated Mondays, but she’d spent the last few days with ideas nagging at the back of her mind, things that had felt too complicated to talk to Duff about. She was dying to talk to Kitty, but it was only eight o’clock, and it was her friend’s day off. She tried to busy herself by blasting Amy Winehouse while cleaning her kitchen, but soon enough the counters were sparkling, the sink had been scrubbed, and her mind was bus
ier than ever. Sitting down with her second cup of coffee at the small wood table in a corner of her tiny kitchen, she brooded.
It had been just over three weeks since Duff had declared he’d give her flowers, and true to his word, flowers showed up at her door every single day—other than those nights when she saw him and he brought the flowers himself. It was adorable, really—if one could ever call a six-foot-seven man built like a wall “adorable.” He’d stand in her doorway, a bouquet of roses or daisies or lilies clutched in his hand, a self-satisfied grin on his face. And those damn dimples. Okay, so maybe he really was adorable.
They’d done everything together in these last weeks—walked the French Quarter, gone bowling, climbed over the walls and explored one of the city’s infamous cemeteries, made out in the back of a movie theater—even though he and Jamie were in the final stages of putting SGR Motorcycles together. The mural on the back wall of the shop was done, and it was gorgeous—a trio of vintage bikes against a background of smoke in blue and black and silver. Very fitting for the man she knew, and for the business. They’d been working hard, and although Duff had been tired, he seemed to be sailing through this, utterly fearless about the success of his business venture with his cousin, and Layla admired his confidence and positive nature, something she knew she needed more of in her life.
She got to see him on the nights he wasn’t working late, and even sometimes when he did—some nights he’d come over at midnight and climb into her bed, curling up behind her and spooning her. And she liked it—loved it, which she’d been trying not to think too hard about. They’d played a bit, and he kept a toy bag at her place now since it was often easier for him to come by after his late work hours than for her to meet him at his place. Their sessions had been less rough, even when he used the violet wand on her, but she didn’t mind. She knew that if things worked out and they kept seeing each other, they would have plenty of time to go back to the hard play they both loved. This was a time when he was investing his energy in his future in New Orleans. And she liked the fact that the break from the harder-core BDSM play was allowing them to explore each other on a deeper level than even the kink dynamic could take them. They were really getting to know each other, which was amazing, even when it made her want to run from the sense of vulnerability it created. But it was too damn good not to stick it out and see where this could go, despite the fear and the doubts.