“Something like that.”
Jamie stepped forward and leaned over Duff’s big desk. “You’re awfully closemouthed when I’d have figured you’d be crowing from the rooftops about your victory.”
Duff rubbed a hand over his stubbled head. “I wouldn’t call it a victory just yet. I’ll know more after we talk tonight.”
“Talk? You’re not usually the talking kind. No offense, cousin.”
“Oh, I know what I am, and no offense taken. But this girl . . . Well, fuck, Jamie, this girl is a whole different thing.”
Jamie straightened, grinning at him. “We told you she would be.”
“Yeah. But maybe not quite in the way you warned me about. She’s tough enough, and all that. But . . .”
“But what?” Jamie waited a beat, then leaned in again. “You’re smitten, cousin.”
“What? Fuck off, Jamie.”
“You are! Jesus. Never thought I’d see the day. You were never like this over Bess. Not even that crazy chick Eileen. How many years has it been?”
“Yeah, well, really fuck the hell off, cousin, and thanks for mentioning them.”
“I will fuck the hell off. Just as soon as you tell me why your panties are in such a wad.”
Duff rubbed at his head again, blowing out a long breath. “Stupid American saying, that,” he grumbled. “Particularly since I always go commando.”
“It is stupid. I have more of them, if you like. Or you can choose to fess up.”
“Fine. Fuck. Whatever.” He paused, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk. “So, I’m meeting her for a coffee and we’re negotiating.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Serious as death and taxes.”
“Tell me again why you getting exactly what you wanted is turning you into such a dick?”
Duff pounded both fists on the desk, making the pens he had scattered there jump. “Goddamn it if I know. Ridiculous, right? Right. Fuck.”
“You’re nervous. Wow. You’re nervous because you like her.”
“Maybe I am. We can stop the grand goddamn inquisition anytime now, cousin,” he growled.
Jamie raised both hands in surrender. “Okay. I’ll stop giving you a hard time. I guess I’ll just have to wait until you show up at the club to see how things went. Or maybe you’ll stop being so weird and talk to me like you always do.”
“Yeah. Maybe. Look, I don’t know what my problem is. I need to see her. Then maybe I can work it out in my head. And then maybe—maybe—we’ll talk. Sorry for being such an arse.” Duff glanced at the clock high on the wall and got to his feet. “Gotta go, cousin. Lock up for me?”
“Sure,” his cousin agreed.
Jamie gave him a hard pat on the back as Duff moved past him toward the front door. By the time he was on his bike and gunning the engine around the corner, he wanted to kick himself a bit for his behavior. But he knew Jamie understood that he needed to work through this himself. His cousin was right—getting to play Layla was exactly what he wanted. And he’d been through dozens of negotiations—hell, maybe hundreds—with gorgeous girls. It wasn’t as if this was anything new. But still . . . there was one new factor, and that was Layla herself. And he had to admit he’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted her—so deep in his belly it made his gut ache to think about her. So badly he’d wanked off a good six or eight times a day since the first time they’d spoken—twice in the bathroom at the damn shop in the middle of the day. His dick was sore as hell, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t seem to stop. Even porn wasn’t doing it for him these days, which was saying a hell of a lot.
He followed the GPS on his bike and pulled up across the street from the Swamp Water Café on St. Claude Avenue, glancing over to see if he could spot her. And sure enough, there she was, standing on the sidewalk in the shade of a tree. She was wearing a short red dress and sandals, her hair up in a tumble of dark curls on top of her head and tied with a floral print scarf, the ends of it stirring in the faint breeze, brushing her shoulder. How she managed to look so fresh and so exotic at the same time was beyond him. And sexy. As fucking sexy fully dressed as any other woman was naked.
Layla naked.
He growled, shifting against the growing hard-on beneath his blue jeans, silently cursing at it to go down so he could get off his bike. A few moments later he was able to draw in a breath and swing his leg over, taking his helmet off and clipping it to the bike seat before striding across the street.
But the closer he got, the more his dick hardened again, and he had to give himself a good internal cussing to get it under control.
“Goddamn fucking ridiculous, this,” he muttered, pulling off his leather jacket to hold in front of his growing crotch. “What are ya, a twelve-year-old lad? Fucking. Control.”
Luckily he was done grumbling by the time she looked up to see him, and when she did his chest went tight at the light in her eyes, eyes like emeralds in the gleam of the setting sun. She smiled and his dick stiffened even more, his chest doing that tightening thing at the same time, leaving him fucking confused and his brain entirely drained of blood.
Get a grip, man.
Ach, he’d like to grip, all right. On his hard dick. On her body. And the things he would do to her once he had her under his hands were too scandalous to contemplate in a public place.
“Save it for later. Because there damn well will be a later,” he grumbled under his breath.