“You’re still not off the hook with the FCC,” Layla tells me with a smirk as we ride through Manhattan in my limo. I’m not ready for my night with her to be over, so I’m having my driver take her home.

I laugh. “You’re kidding, right?” Though I’m not sure she actually is. Layla strikes me as someone who takes her job very seriously. She also gives me the impression she wouldn’t let the fact that we just had hot, crazy sex override her work ethic.

She just lifts her eyebrows mysteriously.

I pull her a little closer to me. “Why are you doing this?”

“What?”

“Trying to get my show canceled.”

She sighs as she settles against me. “I’m doing my job. I’m trying to protect people.”

“People don’t need to be protected from pleasure, Layla. People deserve this kind of pleasure.”

You’d think this conversation would be awkward or filled with some kind of anger or regret considering what we just did. But it’s not at all. It feels very relaxed and natural. Just two people talking about their thoughts, their philosophies.

Layla is someone I could really enjoy spending time with. Yeah, she fucks like a champ, and she’s incredibly gorgeous. But she’s also intelligent and opinionated. I like her a lot, and even if we have differing views, I still respect her opinions.

“So, do you watch any other TV shows?” I ask.

Her head bobs, her blonde hair fanning out over my shoulder. It smells really fucking good. Some heady, sexy vanilla scent. “I actually never miss an episode of Manhattan Reign. It’s my guilty pleasure.”

“Babe, guilt and pleasure should never be in the same sentence,” I tease. Then I remember something I heard about that show. “Isn’t that the show where the two lead characters actually had sex on camera during a love scene? And it aired live? Why weren’t they fined?”

Layla nods again. “That’s the one.” She waves her hand dismissively. “But that’s just a rumor.”

I’m not so sure it is. If so, why haven’t they been slapped with a fine like the FCC is trying to do to me? They had full on sex on live TV, yet I’m getting a seven million dollar fine slapped on me for every single episode ever.

“Anyway,” she continues, “I have to uphold values. There have to be standards.” She says it like she isn’t fully convinced. Not at all like she did the first day she came to the studio and called my show obscene.

I wonder if she’s starting to view things differently now that she’s seen behind the scenes and gotten to know me personally. But still, her word choice is off.

“Values?” I turn her chin toward me and try to read her face. “Whose values are you upholding, Layla?”

Something tells me they aren’t necessarily hers. Someone with a prudent moral code wouldn’t have just had sex in a public place, let alone a quiet, exclusive restaurant.

Just then the limo pulls to a stop in front of what must be Layla’s building, and she doesn’t answer me.

“Nice digs.”

She smirks. “Yeah, can you believe it? A government agency pulling out all the stops on a place for me to live?”

Layla reaches for the door handle, but I stop her, placing a hand over hers and pulling her back toward me.

“Not so fast.” I slide my hands around her waist and grip her hips, lowering my mouth to her ear. “Is the verdict in yet? Have I been proven guilty?”

She threads her fingers in my hair and pulls me tighter to her when I start to nibble on her neck, using just a hint of teeth. I’m rewarded with a shiver racing through her body.

Pulling back slightly, she gives me a wicked grin. “Yes, Mr. Kent. You're definitely a very bad boy. I think you’re one hundred percent guilty as charged.”

“That’s what I thought,” I growl.

Then I lower my mouth to hers and kiss her softly. Her lips part with a sigh, and I sink in deeper to the kiss as she melts against my chest. Our tongues tangle and stroke, slowly and languidly, and I wonder if she might invite me up for another round.

But then she pulls back and gives me a saucy little smile. The sass is back. “You better clean up your act or you just might be looking at some serious punishment.”

I laugh. “Yeah right. I’m as filthy as they come, baby, and you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Goodnight, Jacob.”

I shake my head. Jacob. This woman still insists on calling me Jacob.

“Night, Layla.”

I watch until she’s disappeared inside her swanky building, and then get lost in my thoughts as my driver continues down the streets of New York, taking me home. I really enjoyed tonight. Every bit of it. Not just the fucking, though that was fucking incredible. I like debating with her just as much. Having a real conversation with someone that actually meant something.

I think I could get used to that. I wonder when I’ll see her again. After a night like this, I know I haven’t had enough.