“…all right, sweetie. I love you.” Layla’s soft words drag my attention away from interior decoration. “Goodnight.” She ends the call and places the phone on the coffee table.

“Everything cool with Axelle?” I run my fingers through her hair.

She flips the channel on the TV once, twice, and one more time. “Yeah, she’s having fun. This new girl she’s hanging out with seems to be a good influence on her.” The channels continue to flip until an image of Julia Roberts flashes on the screen. Layla’s body tenses at my side.

What the hell?

Julia Roberts’s character is racing around an old house, being chased by some psycho guy.

“I hate this movie.” She flips the channel again.

“What was it?”

“Sleeping with the Enemy.” Her voice sounds hollow. “It’s about a woman who fakes her own death to escape her abusive husband.” She laughs, but there isn’t a drop of humor in the sound. “Art imitating life.”

I’m so curious, but not completely comfortable talking about her past. I suppose this is what a boyfriend is supposed to do though. His woman is hurting, he asks, listens, and then fixes. Right?

“How long ago did you leave?” Seems like a good place to start.

She drops her head to my thigh, rolls to her back, and looks up at me. “Hard to say. Mentally, I checked out about twelve years ago. Physically, it’s been forty-seven days.”

I lean back and spread my arms against the back of the couch, my muscles beginning to twitch at the very mention of her past. “How’d you get out? I mean, you didn’t fake your own death, or—”

A sweet smile curves her lips. “Nope, didn’t have to go that far.” The familiar dark shadows in her eyes move in. “But I would’ve if that’s what it took.”

“What happened?” I want her to continue because I know it’s good for her, but I’m terrified of how I’ll react if she opens up more. It’s taking everything in me not to put my fist through my coffee table as it is.

“I stopped… feeling.” She pulls at the ends of her hair and twirls a strand around her finger. “He was pissed at me for something stupid I can’t even remember. It was raining. He dragged me from my room in my pajamas and threw me into the backyard. Locked me out. I remember being wet, hearing my teeth chatter, seeing my bare legs tremble, but I couldn’t feel anything.”

I school my features so that she doesn’t see the rage boiling just beneath the surface. My hands fist into the couch, and I welcome the burn in my joints.

She shrugs. “I knew then that I had to get out. That if I was numb, it was only a matter of time before Axelle would go numb too.” She blows out a deep breath. “I filled out an online application on a career site the very next day, told myself I’d take the first job I was offered. Taylor contacted me three days later, hired me a few weeks after that.”

“Hm.” I nod and hope I’m succeeding in my SNL Church Lady “Well, isn’t that special” tone.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“I’d been saving money for years, hoping that one day I could take my daughter to start a new life somewhere warm. A place where it never rained.” Her thoughtful silence is heavy. “I filed for divorce, told Stewart we were leaving and, you know?” Her face crinkles up. “He wasn’t as upset as I thought he’d be. He must’ve seen that I was done. He let us go, no questions asked.”

My fury is overshadowed by my curiosity. Seems he let her go a little too easily. Dick like him goes to all that trouble to get the girl that doesn’t want him, and one day he just cuts her loose? Fishy.

She rolls to her side, pressing her cheek into my thigh, and resumes channel surfing. “Oh, I love this show. It’s Dog the Bounty Hunter. He’s so badass.”

Badass? So fuckin’ cute. I relax and take in the comfort of knowing she’s safe now, under my roof, and in my arms.

I don’t know what Stew’s motives were for letting go of his wife and daughter. Maybe an attack of conscience, possibly some slut on the side he didn’t have to hold down to get into. Don’t know, don’t care. But I’d like to thank the pecker-head for gifting his girls to me.

After I beat the living shit out of him.

Twenty-one

Layla

I’m warm. Wrapped tightly, but not smothered. Content.

When was the last time I felt this at ease?

Must be a dream. I allow myself the comfort, knowing that waking up will destroy my peace with reality. Just a few more minutes—a deep moan vibrates at my back and I’m shifted in position, my confines growing tighter.

I blink open my eyes. Where am I? The dark blue walls and mahogany furniture reek of masculinity. Just like the strong arms that cage me from behind.

I grin. Blake.

The last thing I remember is watching TV, my head resting on Blake’s lap while his fingers sifted through my hair. It felt so good to be caressed by his tender touch. I thought I could close my eyes for a second. So much for that.

The early morning sun casts the room in a yellow glow. The sound of his breathing at my ear is like a symphony of contentment that pulls my eyelids closed.

His hand skates up my body as he stirs from sleep. “Good morning, Mouse.” His voice is rough and so damn sexy. He rolls me to my back and climbs on top of me, settling between my legs. Oh, boy. Someone was having a good dream. He buries his face into my neck, dropping kisses against my throat.

“Yeah it is.” I spread my legs farther apart and welcome him closer. The heat of his morning hard-on presses against my panties. There’s no evidence of the shorts I wore last night. I wiggle my toes. Socks gone, too. “Did you carry me from the couch last night and undress me?”

“Guilty.” He drops to one elbow and rests his head in his hand. His eyes are really green in the morning. “Don’t worry. I didn’t do anything inappropriate.” A crooked smile pulls at his lips. “Unless you consider a little fondling inappropriate.”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh yeah, sweetheart. I would.” His teasing smile confirms what I already know. Even in my sleep, I’m safe with Blake.

He slides my hair over my shoulder and heaves an exaggerated sigh. “I had big plans for you and this bed last night. You squashed that shit by falling asleep, but…”—he kisses the tip of my nose— “turns out, holding you in my arms all night was just as good.”

My cheeks burn at his compliment. “I slept better than I’ve slept in years, but I would have liked to…” I shrug, suddenly embarrassed at how blunt I’m being. “You know.”

He bites his lip, erasing his cocky smile, and grinds his pelvis into my hip. “No, Mouse. I don’t know. Tell me.”

Butterflies race from my stomach to my throat. The husky sound of his voice, the clear evidence digging into my belly—he wants me. Badly. Just as much as I want him.

“Sun’s barely up. It’s not too late.” I run my hand up his chest to rest at his nape. “We have a few hours before—”

He slides his hand down the front of my panties, turning my words into a gasp. I drop back onto the bed while his hand works between my legs in lazy strokes. Heat blooms below my belly button, and I arch my back.

He nips at my lips. “Let me know this is okay, Mouse.”

“Yes, you’re… this is way better than okay.” My breath catches in my throat as he thrusts two fingers in deep.

“Layla…” The sound of my name from his lips, said with such reverence, stokes my need.

I reach between us and wrap my hand around him, stroking the heated steel of his erection. His fingers mimic the pace of my strokes and fuel the flame of my arousal. He locks his eyes on mine, and we watch each other as the pleasure builds, bringing us both to the brink. Lips parted, eyes heated. Our hips roll and thrust, and we crawl toward the peak at an aching pace.

He leans in and nips at my lip again, his impatience mirroring my own. He’s looking for my permission.

“Yes, I want it. Make…” Not making love, not fucking… what is this? “I need you.”

His hand moves from between my legs to his side table. I slide off my panties as he rolls on a condom. He lifts me to straddle his hips, and grabbing the hem of my shirt, he tugs it over my head. Completely naked and exposed above him, he sits back and runs his eyes over my body in a visual caress. With gentle strokes to my thighs, he coaxes them wider. His gaze falls between my legs. My face heats, but I force my eyes to stay on him.

“Fucking gorgeous. Every inch.” He grips my hips and lifts me up. “Hold on, baby.” He guides my hips down, burying his body inside of mine.

I cry out against the delicious intrusion. Feeling confident, I move above him, slow and steady. He holds my hips, trying to control each stroke, but I keep the dragging pace.

Playing with the different ways I can move, I use him as a human experiment, and make notes of the subtle responses he gives. Arching my back, I roll against him in waves.

He pinches his eyes closed. “Shit, Mouse. You’re driving me crazy.”

My orgasm coils low, and the memory of what it felt like has me driving down harder.

“Fuck yeah, more.” His fingers dig into my hips, and he slams his hips into me.

My heart pounds behind my ribs. The muscles in my stomach tense, and my knees lock onto his sides. I match his pace, thrust for thrust, until I can no longer keep up.

He’s guiding my body on his, and I’m powerless to stop it. My stomach churns, and a feeling of foreboding pricks at my nerves.

Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply and tell myself that I like this side of Blake. His loss of control should be sexy, not scary. And it is. I’m not scared. I’m not scared.