“What is wrong with you?” she asked herself quietly.
The evening was going well, and each time she saw Duff she felt closer to him, the chemistry burning hotter and hotter. And maybe that was the problem.
Was she running scared? Because there was plenty to run from. The guy seemed sincere, despite his playboy reputation. But more than that, she wanted him to be. Not simply so she could turn herself over to him and give herself completely to the power dynamic, but because she was definitely falling for the guy.
“Oh, God,” she groaned. “I really am falling for him. Already fallen. Totally fallen. Shit.”
Pressing her hands to her cheeks, she tried to swallow that admission. To take it in so she could either deal with it or reject it. But she knew damn well there was no denying what she felt. She really was falling for this amazing man, and she was freaking out because when a person fell, where did they inevitably fall to? And why was she reduced to a teenager under these circumstances? She wished she’d taken her purse into the bathroom with her so she could call Kitty. But that was absurd. She was a grown-ass woman who could handle any situation on her own. Wasn’t she?
“Goddamn it,” she grumbled, turning the faucet on and washing her hands simply to have something to do, to calm herself down. “No need to freak out. Everything is fine. You’re here with one of the hottest men in existence. He’s into you, you’re into him. In reality, that’s as far as it’s really gone, right? You trust him. He’s an amazing Dom. And he’s cooking a lovely meal for you, so stop being such a drama queen.”
She took a deep breath, patted her curls into place, squared her shoulders and opened the door, moving back to her stool at the counter.
Duff was just setting their food down on the countertop, which he’d set with place mats and cloth napkins.
“Fancy,” she said, trying to maintain a casual demeanor as she ran her fingers over the gray-and-white-patterned cloth.
“They’re Jamie’s, but I do like them. Ready to eat?”
“Yes. I’m starving, actually,” she said, realizing only then it was true.
Duff placed a small bowl of grated Parmesan between their plates, then settled onto the stool next to hers, his big frame barely fitting—he had to turn to the side to find room for his long legs. But she didn’t mind—it kept him turned toward her.
He still made her nervous. Or, more correctly, her own feelings about him made her nervous. But if she focused on Duff she always felt better.
“So,” he began, “tell me more about your friend Kitty.”
“About Kitty?”
“Yeah. You can tell a lot about a person by who their friends are, don’t you agree?”
“Sure.”
“But first, take a bite and let me know what you think.”
She did as he asked, swirling the creamy pasta onto her fork, making sure she caught a piece of sausage and a bit of basil.
“Oh my God. This is amazing,” she said as soon as she’d had a chance to chew and swallow. “I’m impressed.”
He dusted his knuckles on his chest. “Knew you would be.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your ego never ceases to amaze me. But you really can cook, Duff.”
He grinned at her, his dimples creasing his cheeks. “I know a few dishes. I’d like to learn more, if I can ever find the time.”
“You could be practicing your cooking instead of having me here taking up your evening,” she suggested, teasing him, then glanced away when she realized how needy she’d sounded.
He caught her chin in his fingers—something he seemed quite practiced at—and forced her gaze to his. His hazel eyes were glittering. “No. I couldn’t.”
There was that damn melting sensation again. She would have found it impossible to tear her gaze from his if his features hadn’t softened as he released her chin.
“Eat up, my lovely. You’ll need your energy tonight.” He took a sip from his glass. “So, about Kitty?”
She busied herself with another mouthful of her dinner, giving herself a moment to recover from his heated gaze and the intensity of his words before answering. “What haven’t I mentioned already? She owns a successful salon. She’s worked so hard at it, and her business is really taking off. Recently she’s hired some new staff, and the marketing she’s done has really paid off. She’s a very savvy businesswoman. I have so much respect and admiration for her.”
“I can see that. It’s good to have a friend you feel that way about. Good for her, as well. What about your other friend? Rosie? I’ve come to know her a bit myself, by the way—she did the tattoo on my forearm, which I think I’ve mentioned. And I’ve hung out with her and Finn a time or two. He’s a mate of mine, being that we’re the only giant foreigners at The Bastille. We get each other.”
“Life has to be . . . I don’t know . . . different, being as big as the two of you are.”
“Yeah. That whole thing where other guys feel some need to challenge us. To see if they can take us down. It gets old, but you learn to deal with it. We’ve both had to.”
“I think it takes a pretty insecure man to behave that way.”
“Agreed. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make it happen any less often. But back to Rosie. She seems like a pretty cool girl.”
Layla finished her bite of food, took a sip of her sparkling water. “She is. We’ve been closer the last few months. I think we connected initially because of kink, then because we’re both artists. We can relate to each other in a way that’s maybe hard for other people to understand, even Kitty, as much as she loves me.”
“I get it. No one friend can give you everything. No one partner, for that matter, which is something I’ve had to learn the hard way.”