Luca makes a show of ignoring Layla’s existence. She poked at his ego with a very sharp stick. Not only did she snap back, but he couldn’t fucking deal with her temper.
Welcome to the club.
Every time she shifts into battle mode, hissing like an enraged pussycat, I want her naked body writhing beneath me, begging for release. Her biting tongue works like a magnet. I regretted being a decent guy with each sentence she spoke to Luca. If she’d let me, I’d lock her in the bedroom for hours.
Spades tells me about the all-new Charger while my thumb grazes Layla’s thigh. I’ve never touched any woman like this before her. Never touched a girl just because. Never sought physical connection unless my cock was involved. Things are much different with Layla… she craves closeness, and I love rising to her expectations. Love the smooth texture of her skin under my fingertips. Her warmth and scent.
She bounces softly under my touch to the music like the other girls. Spades stops mid-sentence, pointing his chin at Layla, one eyebrow half raised, half drawn into a confused question mark.
Turns out she’s patiently waiting until we’re done talking. I wouldn’t mind if she’d cut in, but I’m glad she didn’t.
I pull her closer to me and kiss her temple, keeping my lips there as I speak. “Good girl. What do you need, Star?”
She covers my palm with hers, lacing our fingers. “We’re all heading downstairs. Can you get me lemonade and another mojito?”
“I can. Can you come back before you dehydrate, or will I have to come and get you?”
She pecks my lips, sighing ever so softly. “You’ll have to come and get me, baby.”
Baby. I’ve never had a pet name before. I’m not sure if I like it, but I don’t comment, busy keeping desire at bay before I need another cold shower. That sure is a test for my fucking patience when she sighs like that.
The girls leap out of their seats when Layla rises to her stilettoes. They look ready to jump off the balcony just to get downstairs faster. I stand, holding my finger up to signal security. They know their job even without me pointing at Layla. Last night, everyone who works for me was informed who my star is and that there’ll be hell to pay if a single hair falls off her head.
With a drink in hand, I stop by the railing to watch Layla dance. There’s something innocent yet incredibly arousing about her delicate movements. For thirty seconds, she sways in sync with Bianca and Luna before she wanders away toward the DJ’s station. One of the bouncers follows suit, aware of what will happen if they leave her unattended for even half a minute. A moment later, I’m rushing downstairs too, when a tall guy blocks her path, pulling her into his arms. Possessiveness kicks riot in my head, pushing me to break his hands.
“Daddy knows, but I’m a big girl now. I won’t be bossed around,” Layla tells the guy. “I’m here—”
“You’re here with me, Star.” I yank her to my chest, wrapping a protective arm around her waist like a python. “Introduce us,” I add, glaring at the guy.
Layla tilts her head with a smile, lacing her petite fingers with mine. “This is Michael, my ex-boyfriend.”
Right about now, I’m ready to laugh at my own blindness. Skinny jeans, concealer on his face, and theatrical gesturing. Everything about him screams I like men but consumed with voracious jealousy, I didn’t notice.
This girl, the pretty little bug in my arms… she makes me fucking crazy. “Invite your friend upstairs for a drink.”
Michael shakes his head a bit too eagerly. “No, no, no, I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’m looking for my boyfriend. He’s here somewhere. It was good to see you, Lay.” He inches forward to hug her, but one glance at me changes his mind. He leaves, disappearing into the crowd.
I spin Layla around, and at the same time, a guy imitating Michael Jackson’s moonwalk a step away from us bounces off my shoulder. I shove him away, still focused on Layla, but from the corner of my eye, I see how his face hugs the floor.
“Lay?” I ask.
“Hey! You got a problem, dude?” Fake King of Pop taps my shoulder. “I’m talking to you, dickhead!”
As an amateur boxer, he steers a half-assed punch. Unlucky for him, he almost hits Layla. His fist flies between us, landing on thin air, but it’s enough to get me from calm to all-out raging.
I grab his shirt, towering above him. “Don’t try that again. If you hit her, you’ll be introducing yourself to God.”
Either the alcohol makes him courageous, or he’s just plain fucking dumb because he makes a fist. I hit his face before he decides his next move or reassesses the situation. The bouncer picks him up, knocks him down again with a powerful blast to his ribs, then hauls his ass out of the club.
“Lay, Laylee,” Layla says, ignoring the last minute as if it never happened. “He always called me that.”
“Lay sounds like something you clean the shower with. Don’t let people call you that.” I lead her back to the girls, but she walks around them, following me upstairs.
“Am I imagining things, or were you jealous?” She asks, failing to conceal the excitement.
“You’ll get used to it.” I press my lips against her temple. “Go sit down. I’ll get your lemonade.”
The bartender appears when my elbows touch the countertop. “Another round?”
“Yeah, send the waitress over but give me a glass of lemonade now.”
Layla’s in the booth, her shoulders back, chin raised, eyes shooting daggers at Luca when I approach. “You’re mistaking me for someone who cares what you think,” she says. “But just so you know, the guy Dante knocked out bumped into him by accident. It wasn’t my fault.” She snatches the lemonade out of my hand.
A slow glow of anger works its way up from under Luca’s collar. “All just a big coincidence, isn’t it? The thing is, everything turns to shit when you’re around. What’s wrong with you?”
“Never ending story.” She rolls her eyes. “You want a list?”
“I won’t sugar coat it for you just because you’re dating the boss. I don’t trust you.”
“I ordered a mojito, not your opinion, Luca.”
That one sentence sends my desire through the roof. I’m absolutely wild with the feral need to claim her body. Layla tucks her hair behind her ears, casually sipping through the twirly straw, and I can’t focus on anything other than being inside her.
“You think you’re so crafty?” Luca snaps. “You’re all talk.”
“Of course, I’m all talk!” Layla slams her hands on the table. “You thought I’d fight you?”
Everyone at the table looks between Layla and Luca as if they’re watching Roger Federer play against Rafael Nadal. Everyone’s expressions make it clear I’m not the only one in awe of her or annoyed with him.
“Dating the boss doesn’t mean you can disrespect his people,” he growls, determined to get ahead.
Layla squeezes my hand again as if sensing my patience wearing thin. “It doesn’t mean you can disrespect me, either.”
“Respect has to be earned.”
“Exactly. Next time when you’re on your period, let me know. I’ll get you pain relief. Are you done for the night, or do you have something creative you’d like to add? I’d like to go back downstairs.”
“You better don’t fucking move, or someone else will get their face smashed.”
“If you don’t shut up, it’ll be you,” I snap.
Layla clipping his wings is amusing to watch, but enough is enough. Luca glares at me for a moment as if debating whether to keep talking, but he decides against it and lights a cigarette, sparking a conversation with Jackson.
I pull Layla closer, lowering my voice. “Go, Star. Join the girls, or I’ll take you home.”
She grips her waist, pinning me down with a forceful stare. “Excuse me, but I won’t let him use me as his punching bag. I can go home, no problem, but don’t count on me keeping quiet if you want me to stay.”
“The way you hurt his ego is far more painful than my right hook. You’re beyond sexy when you’re aggressive. If I keep listening to you hiss, I’ll take you home, and I won’t give a fuck if you’re ready or not, so go join the girls.”
A cheeky, slightly shy smile curves her lips. She pecks my cheek, letting her lips linger on my skin a little longer before she walks away without another word. I watch her hips sway until a random guy blocks the view.
“What’s your problem with her?” I ask Luca, readjusting my position to disguise the apparent bulge in my pants.
“It took five minutes, and someone got knocked out because of her. Saturdays are our time to unwind, Dante. Her stupid ideas don’t fucking help.”
“Since when do you care if someone gets fucked up?”
“I don’t, but…” He exhales, folding his arms over his chest. “Snap out of it! Shit, just look at the whole thing the way I do. You’ve saved her ass three times in two days. You got yourself a little damsel in distress, and we’ll be doing all the work.”
Rookie tears himself from his seat. “What the fuck did you do? Dante took care of everything himself. You didn’t lift a finger, but you complain like you haven’t stopped fucking people up for days. Lay off her.”
Luca opens and closes his mouth, a fish out of the water, surprised that no one took his side. If he argues any more, he’ll end up looking like Cannon or Loki.
I hold my hand up before he says another word. “Get the fuck out. Take Sandra and go home before I make you bleed.”
“I didn’t mean anything bad, Boss, but none of this feels right. She came out of fucking nowhere! She’s Frankie’s daughter!”
Why does everyone insist on reminding me who Layla’s father is? I don’t have Alzheimer’s. I know damn well who her father, mother, grandmother, and great grandfather are, but that doesn’t mean shit. Layla’s here for me. She’s here because the chemistry between us is undeniable. Because she cares about me as much as I care about her. Frankie has shit all to do with any of it.
“I know her family tree, Luca. It doesn’t alarm me, so it shouldn’t alarm you. Do yourself a favor and don’t argue with her. She keeps shooting you down, and it’s really fucking sad to watch when you can’t handle shit.”
He falls silent, sulking for the rest of the night, not one more word to Layla or me until the club closes. Good choice. He knew that one more sentence in her direction would cost him his teeth.
