Leaning over the side of the sea chest, he found the plastic container, pulled a few wipes out and used them as he slipped out of her, pausing to clean her up before sliding the condom off and wrapping it in the wipes, which he placed on the lid of the box. Then, climbing up onto the bed, he pulled her into his lap, where she nestled, eyes closed, a smile on her lips. And for some reason he couldn’t understand, he could do nothing more than pet her hair and her cheek and the slender length of her neck, watching her, absorbing the weary pleasure on her face. The loveliest face he’d ever seen.
He noticed now how thick her black lashes were, curling at the ends. How the flush on her cheeks only brought out the perfectly curving cheekbones even more. How delicate her chin was beneath the plush pout of her pink mouth.
He ran a fingertip over her lips, needing to touch them, to make her smile, and she did. And he smiled. He couldn’t help it. He’d never felt so damn pleased with the presence of a woman in his life.
Never before . . .
His chest went tight. Fuck.
But he wouldn’t think about the words that had run through his head, unbidden and unwanted, or that he’d never felt this way or thought these things about anyone. Not Eileen. Not Bess. He couldn’t think about it. Not now, when he felt so ridiculously good. After all, they’d not promised more than sex and play to each other, and that’s all this was. Spectacularly good kinky sex. He hadn’t done anything to mislead her, and she was no innocent thing he was leading down the kinky path. It was all fine.
Right?
Then why was his heart slamming against his ribs without him even being out of breath? Why did he feel this need to touch her? Just touch her face and her hair and stare at her, drinking her in, as if he couldn’t get enough?
Don’t think about all that shit. Nothing more than the aftermath of a killer orgasm. That’s. Fucking. It.
That was it. Right?
CHAPTER
Seven
LAYLA WOKE TO the pleasant weight of Duff’s big hand on her breast. She turned to look at him, but he was dead asleep. How was it possible that this enormous, wicked man could look so sweet while he was sleeping? But then, he was sweet to her, in between all the wickedness. There had been plenty over the weekend, which reminded her that it was Monday morning and he’d have to get up soon and take off for work. Glancing at the clock she saw it was a quarter to seven. All she had with him was another few minutes.
Why did that feel like precious time? She was being ridiculous. She’d only known the man for a week—it had only been eight days since she’d barged into his shop and told him to back off. It wasn’t like her to let things progress so fast. It wasn’t like her to let things progress at all in the last year. Did that mean she was ready for more? Or was it only because he was the first man she’d wanted to submit to since she’d left her last failed relationship behind? The first man to bring that out in her since then, and in such a spectacular fashion she was completely unable to resist. Maybe she should have been resisting. Maybe it would have been better to just stop this madness now, and go back to her comfortable life, with no dramatic ups and downs, with nothing to scare her, no one to leave her. No one to matter.
Morbid thoughts on a rainy morning.
She usually loved the rain, and this morning it was a light rainfall, just enough to hear through the windows, to cool the air deliciously. Pulling the blanket up around her shoulders, she rolled onto her side, allowing herself to revel in the heat of Duff’s big body next to hers. But watching him sleep made her want to touch him, and she knew if she did, seeing him walk out the door would feel even worse.
Blowing out a breath, she flipped onto her back. What in the world was wrong with her? Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared up at the ceiling. And suddenly she couldn’t wait for Duff to leave. She was still brooding when the alarm on Duff’s cell phone went off. He slapped at it to shut it off, then grabbed her, his eyes still closed, and pulled her into a bear hug.
“Hey. Aren’t you going to be late?”
“What? Yeah, probably. But you feel better than riding my bike in the rain will. You feel better than most things.”
She started to smile, then stopped herself.
Don’t give into it. It doesn’t mean anything.
“I can make you some tea, if you want,” she offered.
“Nah. I’ll stop and get some. What do you have planned today?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly with sleep.
“I have to meet with one of the galleries where I show. We’re going over placement for some new pieces. Then a few errands, and tonight I want to start a new piece.”
“It’s pretty fucking awesome, what you do. Have I told you that?”
“Um . . . maybe?”
“Well, it is.” He pulled her in tighter, burying his face in her neck, then kissing her there. She didn’t want to shiver in response, but her body had other ideas.
“Hey, lovely? What’s up?”
“What do you mean?”
“You just went tight as piano wire all over. You crashing again?”
“No, I . . .” Was she? Or was she simply being reasonable about what was or wasn’t happening here. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll take a nice, long shower and have some hot chocolate. I’ll be fine.”
He dragged her body onto his strong, broad chest, until she had to look down into his face. His dark brows were drawn. “You call me if you need to—you hear me?”
She started to shake her head. “Oh, I really don’t think I’ll—”
“Layla,” he interrupted. “You know the rules. You call me if you find yourself crashing. Now, who else can you talk to if I’m unable to pick up the phone?”
“I can talk to Kitty. Or Rosie.”
“She’s Finn’s girl, yeah? Great girl. Great tattoo artist, too. She did the biomech piece on my forearm soon after I arrived from Scotland. Glad you’re friends with her.”
“So am I.”
“All right. Will you do it? Call one of them if you start to drop and you can’t reach me?”
“Are you saying you don’t believe me?”
“Not entirely.”
She rolled her eyes, partly because she knew he could see right through her. “Okay, I promise.”