Ugh. I need to get out of here. “Look, um, you can call me a cab if you want.” I’m searching the dimly lit room for my purse. “I’m sure you’ve got to—”
“Here.”
I squeak and jump at his one fierce word spoken from right behind me. “Jeez, Blake. What do you have, like, kitten feet?” I hold my hand over my heart, feeling it pound away beneath my palm.
He shoves a pad of paper and a pen toward me. “Here. Take it.”
“Okay?” I take the items from his hands.
“Write it down. Address, phone number, social security number, whatever you’ve got.” He taps the pad of paper. “I want it all.”
I glare at the paper and pen then swing my eyes to him. “I don’t understand.”
“Write it fucking down, Layla. I’m not kidding. I want his address, phone number, blood type, fuckin’ coffee preference. Write it.”
“Blake—”
In one stride, he’s in my face. He hooks his fingers beneath my chin, holding my stare. “Don’t want to scare you, sweetheart, but this shit’s ending now. Some guys need to be taught a lesson. Your ex is one of those guys. And I’m the man to teach it. Write it down.”
He’s a fighter, born and bred to defend, to settle wrongs with punches. To submit the enemy until they give up. This is him, strong and caring, poetic in a way that cramps my chest. I place my hand against his hard jaw. “Snake, you—”
“No.” He flinches, his face screwed into a grimace. “You don’t get to call me that when I’m pissed. Makes my dick hard, and when that happens I forget to be pissed.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Almost.”
“Wait, so… you’re not giving up on me?”
“Giving up?” His expression sours. “Mouse, you’re insane if you think something like that would chase me away.” He shoves the paper and pen at me again. “Here, take it.”
“You’d be with a girl who can’t, I mean, who’s never…”
His mouth goes soft. He cups my neck and drags his thumb beneath my ear. “I like the challenge, sweetheart. You’re capable, you just haven’t had the right partner. What I saw tonight? Fuck, you light up like that, baby, I know you can. In time, if you’d let me, it’d be a damn privilege to show you.”
My mouth battles a smile. A warm and comforting feeling fills my chest as relief washes over me. I bob my head. “Sure. Er… yes, please.” I sound like an idiot, but the mental images his words have painted have scrambled my thoughts.
“Good. Now, write down the douchebag’s info.”
“I don’t want you getting into it with Stewart. He’s a jerk. He fights dirty.”
An evil smile cuts through his handsome face. “The dirtier the better.”
“I’m not writing it down.”
“I’ll find out anyway.”
“How?”
“Got sources.” His fingers trace my collarbone, sending a shiver down my spine. “If I told you, I’d have to kiss you.”
Sources? This is Las Vegas, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a guy like Blake had some mafia connections. That’s all I need.
I lick my lips and push up to my tiptoes. He leans down to meet me halfway. Our mouths come together in a feather-light touch, a simple, slow caress. “There. Now talk.”
“The Internet.”
We smile against each other’s lips. Apparently, I need to lay off the Soprano re-runs.
“Despite what happened tonight”—our faces are so close I can feel the breath of his words—“that was hot. I know we’re going to be working through some shit. But you should never hold back with me. You’re always safe when you’re in my arms.”
I nod into his hold. “I believe that. I do. It’s just old habits die hard.” And slow. And painful.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He looks over his shoulder then back to me. “Now, let me get you home to Axelle before you get grounded for being late.”
I groan and drop my forehead to his chest.
“I’ll pick you up in the morning. We’ll ride to Flesh together,” he says into my hair.
I breathe his scent in deeply one last time and straighten from his hold. “That’d be great. Then Elle will have the car.”
“Did you and Raven touch base?” He doesn’t need to explain. I know what he’s talking about.
“Yeah.”
“Good girl.” He runs his hand from my shoulder down my arm and interlaces our fingers.
My body tingles all over at his touch. All that the innocent act of holding hands conveys spins in my mind. Security. Loyalty. Hope.
It goes against everything I know about his kind of male. Egos so big it’s impossible to see anyone else. And the worst is the guys who have the looks and the talent to justify the pride. Just like Blake.
Could I be reading him all wrong? As much as I try to convince myself of that, I can’t. I tried to fight all the feelings, to force myself to believe the worst about him even when he’s proved otherwise time and time again.
Blake Daniels is a good guy. A really good guy. And this exceptional man wrapped up in a delicious bad-boy package likes me.
Is it possible that my luck has changed?
Heck yeah, it is.
Seventeen
Blake
Blue-balls are a bitch. Last night with Layla, my body was a live wire of carnal energy waiting to be unleashed. And although I relieved most of the tension in the room, pounding away until I was too exhausted to stand, my nuts still ache.
But the pain in my pants is nothing compared to the cramp I felt in my chest when she crumpled on my couch and exposed another piece of her past. It almost killed me to sit there and watch her duck her chin, her cheeks flaming, as she told me how he broke her. Like she’s some piece of equipment that’s been rendered useless because it doesn’t perform. It’s sickening. And impossible.
Not with the evidence I saw last night. She wasn’t at all like I thought she’d be. Not timid or reserved, but initiating and confident, asking for what she wanted. She writhed on my lap, moaning and begging for more when my fingers were already drenched inside her. Making out with her was hot, and even with her inability to let go, it was still one of the sexiest experiences of my life. If I hadn’t been so worried about pushing her too far, I probably would have detonated and embarrassed myself.
But when she tensed in my arms like she did, whimpering into my neck like she was struggling between intense pleasure and horrific pain… Fuck. How something can be so beautiful and so damn heartbreaking is a mystery. I vowed in that moment that if I—when I—come face to face with Stew Moorehead, he’s a fucking dead man.
I’m already hopped up on hatred for the prick, and now I get to spend the day at Flesh. No doubt dudes will be checking her out. And my patience is running thin.
Pulling into the parking lot at Layla’s apartment, I push back my vengeful thoughts. I’ve been preparing myself all morning, telling myself that she’s only doing her job. But all my pep talks are pointless as I park my car and groan at what I see. “Oh, shit. Today’s gonna suck ass.”
Shaking my head, I hop down and walk toward the gorgeous blonde leaning against the wall. Layla’s wearing a net-like sweater that hangs off one shoulder. The loose, open stitches make it so I can see through it to the white triangle-top bikini underneath. Her straight-leg pants hang low on her hips, accentuating her tiny frame. The style is a mix of pure class and straight-up sex.
“What’re you doing out here?” I move close and push her hair behind her bare shoulder, making sure my fingertips linger against her warm skin. “I’d have come up to get you.”