Layna’s apartment door opened suddenly and there she was. Her hair was tied in a low bun at the nape of her neck and she looked as though she had just gotten out of bed. She wore sleep pants and a purple tank top with no bra. I couldn’t help but notice. I was attracted to Layna in ways that were still founded in something absolutely physical.
Her eyes met mine and I felt frozen from the inside out. She was not happy to see me.
Her face was impassive as always but her eyes…they gave her away. She was pissed off. I really wasn’t sure how to make things right with a girl like Layna. Flowers and chocolates would never work. Perfumed promises and emphatic declarations wouldn’t sway her.
“There you are, sweetheart, Chloe and I made you some brownies. We’ve been baking all morning.” Mrs. Statham nudged me aside and handed Layna the plate in her hands.
I thought very seriously about body checking the old lady.
The granddaughter hung back, and I noticed that she directed several coy glances my way. A smug smile on her full lips. What sort of woman gave such a blatant unspoken invitation to a man they didn’t know? To a man obviously there to see someone else?
Chloe bit down on her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows in question. What did she expect me to do? Drag her into the corner with her grandmother and Layna five feet away?
I glanced away, my lip curling in annoyance, to find Layna looking over Mrs. Statham’s head at me. She hadn’t missed the looks her neighbor’s granddaughter was slinging my way.
And while she smiled at Mrs. Statham as the woman explained why she used wheat instead of white flour, her eyes snapped and sizzled. There was fire there. Fuck. I was burning in it.
“Elian,” Layna murmured, interrupting the old woman.
I stepped forward, away from Chloe and her overly familiar eyes. I pushed past a surprised Mrs. Statham, who seemed unused to this less patient side of her sweet neighbor.
Layna held the door open, giving me room to come inside, and then she turned to her unwelcome intruders. Her eyes on Chloe, not her grandmother. “He’s here to see me.”
There was a warning there. Low and threatening. I didn’t miss it. And neither did Chloe. Her eyes went wide and she quickly looked away.
“Of course he is dear. I recognized him immediately,” Mrs. Statham filled in, not seeing the territorial pissing that was occurring in front of her.
I grinned. I couldn’t help it. Layna had laid claim to me. I knew it was in my genetic make-up to drag her back to my cave. To rip and shred any perceived threat. But I found it unbelievably sexy to watch her cut another woman down with only her lethal eyes. Just because she wanted me for her own.
I shouldn’t have let anything get in the way of being with her last night. A woman like Layna was too easily loved and lost. Too easy to slip through unsuspecting fingers.
I had to hold on and hold down while I could.
Before it was too late.
“Thank you for the brownies,” Layna said, giving her elderly neighbor a smile that never reached her eyes. Eyes still trained on Chloe who wasn’t casting flirting glances anywhere anymore.
“You’re welcome. If you have time, you could come up and have something to eat later. I made chicken salad this morning. It’s Chloe’s favorite.” Mrs. Statham beamed at her shrunken granddaughter.
Layna, still staring at the increasingly uneasy Chloe, bared her teeth, more of a sneer than a grin. “Thanks, but we’ll be busy.” Again, those words were meant as a brand. For me. For this stranger who dared to step on what was hers.
Then Layna closed the door, carefully putting the plate of brownies on the table just inside the entryway. She walked past me and into her living room, turning on lights as she went, even though the sun streamed through the windows.
“I waited for you,” she said without preamble. My moment of reckoning had come.
“I’m—” I couldn’t say sorry. She would never accept the apology. What could I tell her that she would understand?
“I had a rough night,” I admitted, settling on the honest truth.
Layna nodded and folded herself into an overstuffed armchair. She looked small, vulnerable even, enveloped in cushions and pillows.
“I should have called.”