“Do you want to tell me what happened, this ‘fuckup’? Or is it too much your family’s business?”
“No, I’ll tell you.” She pulled in a breath, exhaled, took a slow sip of her beer, then set the glass down before answering. “When I was a kid my mother got caught cheating on my dad. I wish they’d kept it from us, but there was yelling . . . and kids hear more than parents give them credit for. I heard every ugly accusation, every ugly, angry word. And the thing is, I can’t blame him, because I knew he was hurt by it. Of course he was. My mother was so contrite, but he’s never really forgiven her. And now, as an adult, I’ve come to realize that there’s as much concern about him being judged by his congregation as there is pain—maybe more so. But still, it’s been really hard for me to let it go, to forgive her. In my head I understand how awful it must have been for her living in a largely loveless relationship. My mother is so sweet and loving. God, thinking about it now, I feel like I’ve let her down, because I’ve sort of held my affection back from her. But after all the cheating men I’ve been with, I think I allowed it to harden me a bit. Or maybe a lot. And that’s a really hard thing to admit.” She looked up at him, her eyes big and round. “Does that make me a terrible person? Because right now, saying this stuff out loud, I’m kind of feeling that way.”
“Nah, I think it just makes you human.” He lowered his tone, trying to be gentle with her. “And I know you’re feeling a lot right now, but I like to see this in you—to see how deeply you feel things. To know you’ll let yourself go there with me.”
Her gaze narrowed, and she bit her lip. “Do you, Duff? Why?”
Sitting back in his chair, he felt a bit as if he’d been punched in the gut. Because he damn well knew the answer to her question. He wasn’t ready to say it all. He wasn’t ready to face it. But he said what he could. “Because I like you, Layla. I like who you are. You’re a good woman and probably more than I deserve.”
“Because you’re such a bad seed?”
He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Maybe.”
“If you are, then I am, too.”
He cracked a smile. “A perfect match, then.”
Her face went perfectly still, and he realized what he’d said. But it was the truth. Grasping her small hand in his, he gave it a squeeze, his chest going tight. This woman touched something in him he knew he’d never felt before. Not with Bess, not with Eileen. He understood now, with a sharp and undeniable clarity, that Eileen had been nothing more than a dizzying lust—lust that didn’t even begin to match the chemistry he felt with Layla. And Bess had been more about trying to do the right thing than anything he’d truly felt for her, and shame on him for doing that to the girl. No, this was the real thing. For the first time. And sometimes he felt like a goddamn giddy schoolboy.
Some big, strong Dom you are.
Yeah, he didn’t like that part. But the rest of it was so good, he was caring less and less about the part that told him he was being weak. Being foolish.
Maybe he’d talk to Jamie in the morning, see if his cousin could help him get his head on straight—and damn if he wasn’t about to become one of those guys who had deep, emotional talks with people. But that’s what she did to him, how off-balance she had him. Meanwhile, he had Layla right in front of him, and she’d never been more beautiful.
“Woolgathering, Duff?” she asked.
“Yeah. Thinking about all the things I could be doing to you right now if I had you back at my place. The spanking bench. My violet wand.”
She smiled, batting her long, dark lashes. “Let’s go, then.”
He knew they were both avoiding a subject neither one was comfortable with. But it was easy enough to let his need to touch her override everything else, and it seemed she was relieved to be back on surer footing herself. Kink and sex were their comfort zone.
You are one fucked-up dude.
Yeah. But he was willing to let that go for the time being. As long as he could be with Layla, and thank Christ the girl was willing. He could happily lose the giddiness and the overthinking in the lush curves of her gorgeous body, in doing lovely, wicked things to her. Well, the overthinking, anyway. The giddiness, he feared, was there to stay.
He slapped some cash down on the table and stood to hold her chair. “Let’s go, darlin’ girl. Despite this wonderful meal, I could eat you alive about now.”
? ? ?
IT WAS THURSDAY afternoon before things calmed down enough at the shop for Duff to have a quiet minute or two with Jamie. Lunch was po’boy sandwiches at Duff’s desk, but it was the first quiet moment they’d been able to find all week, and it suited him just fine. They’d sent the work crew to lunch and it was just the two of them in the nearly finished shop.
“Work’s going well,” Jamie remarked, unwrapping his sandwich, his feet propped up on the opposite side of the big desk.
“Yeah, seems to be on track.”
“We should be able to get the mural started by Monday. I have the artist on standby”
“Yeah, good, that.”
“You could show a little more enthusiasm, cousin.”
“Hmmm . . . what?”
“Earth to Duff. Where are you, man?”
“Eh? Sorry. I’m distracted.”
“Too distracted to eat, apparently, which for you means it’s something major. Do I need to get you to a hospital?”
“Could be,” Duff said, wanting to talk about it, but not knowing where to start. “You ever have that feeling in the pit of your belly, like it wants to turn over like an engine full of fuel?”
“I’m assuming you’re not describing a stomachache from eating too much jambalaya?”
“I’m not. I’m talking about . . . fuck, I can’t believe I’m saying this—me!—but I’m talking about Layla.”
“Well, well. How the mighty have fallen.”
Was this what it was to be falling? If so, he was going down like a fucking ton of bricks. But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He rubbed a hand over his shaved scalp. “Fuck me,” he grumbled.
“You’re not my type, cousin. And you’re my cousin, which is just sixteen kinds of wrong.”