CHAPTER THIRTEEN
UNDER THE BLAZING fluorescent lights in the Sunrise Pictures archives room, Layla fought to keep still. “Really, I’m fine,” she told Teague the firefighter, who was gingerly sifting through the hair at the side of her head. “No big—”
“What the hell?” Vance exploded into the room, fingers catching hold of the doorway to halt his headlong run. His gaze zeroed in on Layla, then flicked to the man tending her. At that same moment, Teague found the knot on her skin and she flinched.
In a blink, Vance had pushed his way between her and the firefighter. “Don’t touch her,” he spat over his shoulder, then took her chin between his fingers so he could gently turn her face to the side. He blew softly on her hair to part it, and she shivered. His thumb caressed her skin. “What happened?”
A cacophony of voices burst into the shocked silence brought on by Vance’s impromptu arrival. “Wait, wait.” It was Baxter speaking now. “Slow down. One at a time.”
Skye’s quiet voice started the story. “Addy wanted to show Teague and Layla the archives room. I tagged along. When Addy unlocked the door, it was dark inside. As we walked in, a dark-clothed figure burst out, pushing through us and taking off at a run.”
“I would have gone after him,” Teague said, sounding frustrated, “but I heard Layla cry out.”
“Sweetheart.” Vance blew on the sore spot again. “How’d you hit your head?”
“When the...intruder...or whatever, ran past, he knocked me into the doorjamb. It’s just a bump,” she said, though now that she’d had some time to process, she couldn’t suppress her shudder.
Vance made a sympathetic sound, low in his throat. “I’ll be careful,” he said, then probed around the spot, his fingers barely grazing the skin.
Still, Layla winced. “I’m such a wuss.”
“Nah.” He leaned close to brush a kiss on her temple. “You need an ice pack.”
“Maybe she needs a hospital,” Teague said.
Vance turned toward him, his earlier animosity dialed down a notch. He held out his hand. “I’m an army medic. Vance Smith. We’ll just head out now and I’ll take care of her.”
“Great,” the other man responded, returning a solid grip. “Some ice right away will help.”
“I’m good,” Layla protested. “We can’t leave Skye here.”
“It’s okay. I’ve called the police,” the woman in question said.
“We’ll wait with you.” Layla sensed Vance about to say something and shot him a look. “I haven’t had my tour yet.”
“We don’t want to touch anything,” Skye remarked. “Addy, I’m sorry, but it looks as if your work has been disturbed.”
Vance moved, and without his or Teague’s shoulders blocking her vision, Layla got her first clear view of the room. Oh, she said, in soundless dismay. Hung on the walls were colorful movie posters and black-and-white glossy stills. Their frames were askew now, as if someone had been searching for something behind the advertising pieces. Even more messy were the floors. Papers were strewn all about, presumably from the tumbled cartons that sat on a long table.
“What would someone be looking for?” Teague murmured. “Addy, what did you say you were researching again?”
From his place at her side, Baxter answered for her. “She wants to find out the truth of the relationship between the actress Edith Essex and her husband, the head of Sunrise Pictures.”
Addy glanced at him sharply. “That’s just a sidebar. I’m...I’m chronicling the rise and demise of the movie company.”
“You want to know if love survives,” Baxter murmured.
The blonde sucked in a breath, her green eyes widening.
Teague frowned. “How does that translate into something intruder-worthy? Maybe it was a vagrant looking for a warm place to spend the night. Or a burglar hoping for a way into the art studio next door. There’s a cash drawer there. Maybe a safe.”
Layla ignored the slight throbbing in her head. “Didn’t you say something about a famous jeweled piece, Addy?”
“Yeah, but it’s definitely not in here. I would have found it.” She gestured to the paper-covered floor. “And I’ve gone through all of this. Haven’t found a clue to its whereabouts, either. It was a famous piece, priceless—imagine one of Elizabeth Taylor’s incredible jewels—so you’d think there’d be a record if it was sold or turned up in someone else’s collection. But there’s been nothing.”
“Just rumors,” Skye said, “that have been around forever.”
“But the story gets new energy every so often. It popped up again a year ago. That’s when my interest was piqued,” Addy confessed.
Suddenly, Skye sat down heavily on a chair. Vance patted Layla’s shoulder, then crossed to the other woman. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “You’re pale.”
She waved him away. “Take Layla to No. 9 for ice. The police will arrive soon. I can handle it.”
Vance shot a look at Baxter. “Staying,” the other man said. “I’ll be here as long as I’m needed.”
With a nod, Vance strode back to Layla. “No argument now. Let’s go home.”
In this mood, he was impossible to dissuade. She walked from the room, Vance’s protective arm around her waist. With a little wave, she sketched a goodbye to the others. But when she crossed the threshold, Layla had to glance back. “Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought,” she told Vance.
He glanced down, gaze alert. “Why?”
“There might be something wrong with my vision.”
His concern showed itself in the tighter way he held her against him. “What makes you say that? What do you see?”
“Baxter. Looking rumpled.” She took another look over her shoulder. “And whiskered.”
Vance laughed. “Your eyesight’s just fine. He’s got woman problems.”
Back at No. 9, Layla decided she had problems, too. Since having sex with Vance—well, since the morning after—she’d been strict with herself. Though she’d understood his urgent wish to leave California had to do with his confrontation with Fitz, she couldn’t help but be a little hurt. Still, that sting had served a purpose. It had reminded her there was no point hoping for more, no point hoping for another night when the guy couldn’t wait to get away. Even a woman who didn’t count on forevers didn’t make that mistake.
But now Vance was holding her, touching her, assessing her with those electric-blue eyes. When he held a dish towel of crushed ice against the side of her head, she worried he might detect that her little quiver wasn’t a reaction to the cold, but to his nearness. They sat close on the living room couch, his thigh against hers.
“You’re cold,” he said, brows drawing together.
“A tad,” she lied. Their little ritual. He misconstrued her trembling, and she went right along with it.
He rose to his feet, making her regret the fib, and headed toward the fireplace. They’d not bothered with it before, although the air could be quite cool in the evenings. Wood was already stacked on the grate. A key built into the white-painted bricks lit the gas, which in turn lit the kindling and logs.
More quickly than she would have believed, the room warmed. Or maybe that was because Vance was sitting beside her again. “Are you okay holding the ice?” he asked. “Or would you rather I did?”
She squirmed, trying to get more comfortable. “Maybe I could trade places with you. Then I can prop the unbruised side of my head on a pillow and the pack will stay in place.”
“Why don’t you lean on my shoulder instead,” Vance suggested and, without waiting for her answer, put his arm around her and arranged her so that she was snuggled close to him, her head resting on his chest, the cold weight of the ice pack soothing the last of the throbbing ache from her scalp. He’d had her swallow two pain relievers earlier and apparently they’d kicked in, too.
Using the remote, he clicked on the TV across the room. Baseball. They hadn’t even tossed a coin, but she didn’t mind. There was no way she could follow any kind of storyline with her cheek absorbing the beat of Vance’s heart. She closed her eyes, breathing him in, and her bones seemed to go lax, while her blood stayed at that whenever-I’m-around-him simmer.
As minutes passed, though, she could feel the growing tension in his body. His hard chest turned rigid, his short breaths more shallow. Uneasy, she shifted a little and the ice pack slid down her bare arm, making her twitch. He plucked it away.
“Done?” he said, his voice low.
“Sure.” She watched him toss it onto the tray that was centered on the coffee table. Uncertain if she should move, Layla remained in an awkward half-raised position until she heard Vance sigh and he pulled her back against him.
But she couldn’t relax at all now, not with the way the walls seemed to squeeze inward. The noise of the baseball game didn’t permeate her consciousness. In her head she heard only Vance’s breaths and her own, a syncopated, unsettling rhythm. Layla’s temperature climbed. Growing up, she’d had a dog, a mutt named Stewart. He’d had the softest ears and the sweetest disposition and had positively craved human attention. When you petted him, he’d warm in that exact location—the pink stretch of his belly, the dip between his shoulders, the top of his head. Layla felt as though she was doing that now, every point of contact with Vance its own singular hot spot.
She cleared her throat, searching for something to say that might ease the strain. “So...Baxter has woman trouble?”
“All men have woman trouble.”
Her mouth curved. “Not Uncle Phil.” The dedicated bachelor stayed way clear of it.
“You’re wrong. He worries about you.” There was a hesitation. “I worry about you.”
Uh-oh. Slowly, Layla straightened to a sitting position and met his gaze. “Why did you go to Captain Crow’s tonight?” She’d be annoyed if he was playing big brother again. “Were you worrying about me then?”
His expression didn’t flicker. “We’re out of beer. Baxter wanted a drink.”
“Oh,” she said, somewhat mollified. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you worried about me?”
His gaze slanted to the side, avoiding hers. “I don’t want you hurt, Layla.”
More uh-oh. Why did that sound like a patronizing I don’t want to hurt you, Layla?
She glowered at him. “I don’t want you hurt, either, Vance.”
“We should call it a night.” Pushing off the cushions, he rose to his feet. When she didn’t follow suit, he huffed out a breath. “Look, I’m in a mood.”
Layla raised an eyebrow. “A mood for what?”
For a moment he went still, and then his lips pressed together. “Don’t push me.”
Half thrilled and half wary, Layla found she wanted to do just that. For days and days, he’d been so controlled and polite and...civilized. He didn’t look that way now, he looked bigger than usual, edgy and impatient, as if some force inside him was ready to spring loose.
God, please, spring loose on her. A woman didn’t have to want forever to want that. Because the chemistry between them had never gone away. “Or what?”
He sent her a quick glance. “Or what, what?”
She licked dry lips. “What happens if I push you?”
His electric eyes shot to hers. Held.
The visual contact came with a physical jolt. Then that sexual tether snapped into place, hook-to-eye, the connection made, the two of them engaged in a torrid tango without moving a muscle. Frustration, irritation, caution crossed Vance’s face and he narrowed his eyes at her. “Stop,” he said.
Lifting her hands, Layla shrugged. “Green flash.”
The room’s temperature jacked up another few degrees. Though she held herself still, her nipples contracted to aching points. She glanced down reflexively, worried he might be able to tell, but then she knew he could.
“Layla,” he groaned. A flush ran across his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m trying to be noble here, but my temper’s pointing away from white knight and sliding straight toward hell-raiser.”
She shivered at the thought. That restless energy of his, unleashed.
“So...I think you should just head to your room.”
That restless energy of his, wasted. As if she’d sleep, thinking of him down the hall. “What about what I want?” Layla asked, rising from the couch.
His chest rose up and down on hard breaths and his nostrils flared as she came toe-to-toe with him. “You’re in a vulnerable place. You don’t know—”
“I’m not so fragile.” It infuriated her that he believed differently. Colonel Parker’s daughter had a spine of steel and a better understanding of the world than Vance gave her credit for. “All my life I’ve lived with the knowledge that things can turn on a dime. Which means I enjoy the moment I’m in—because I don’t expect anything to last forever.”
His nostrils flared again. She saw his fingers flex beneath that cast. “The other night, that wasn’t the real me,” he warned.
“How so?” Shivering, she remembered a very real kiss he’d pressed to the small of her back. The scrape of his whiskers up her spine.
“I’m not a gentle man,” he said. “And definitely no gentleman.”
She reached forward and crumpled his T-shirt in her fist. Yeah. This felt right. “I can handle whatever you dish out, soldier boy.”
And on her next breath, he yanked her close.
Be careful what you wish for, her head said. Her blood just sang.
* * *
VANCE DROVE HIS MOUTH against hers. Their teeth clacked and he pushed between hers to bury his tongue deep in her wet heat. His heartbeat was unruly, his blood rocketing through his system. His control was unraveling.
She melted against his chest and it almost calmed the beast in him. He’d gone a little crazy when he’d heard Layla was hurt, and then even crazier when he’d seen another man’s hands on her. A primitive compulsion had surged from the depths of his belly once again. She’s mine.
He speared the fingers of one hand in the hair at her nape, guiding back her head so he could taste the line of her jaw and the smooth, tender skin of her neck. She moaned and the sound spoke directly to his animal lust. He sucked on the tender flesh, wanting to taste more of her, wanting to mark her.
Maybe he should feel ashamed—but he’d warned her, hadn’t he? There wasn’t anything of the soulful lover in him tonight. She could run if she wanted, he’d let her go the instant she balked, but until then she was getting Vance, full throttle.
“No softness for you tonight, baby,” he murmured as he ran his mouth back to hers.
She shoved her hands under the hem of his T-shirt. Her touch on his bare skin made it jitter and his cock jumped in his jeans. “I didn’t ask for soft,” she said against his ravaging lips.
He angled his head to deepen the kiss, surging into her mouth at the same time as he caught the tight jut of her nipple between scissoring fingers. She bowed into the little pain, her hips pushing hard against his. He caught one round ass cheek in his other hand and held her to him as he ground his shaft against her, not trying to be pretty about what he wanted.
This is who I am, he was telling her. The man in the tea shop, the sensitive lover who coaxed instead of demanded that first time was a facade. Vance’s training made him a warrior first, a medic second and, before that, he’d come out of the womb restless and ready for action.
He released her nipple, only to pinch it anew, her needy moan gasoline to his fire. She tugged at his shirt and he managed to let go of her long enough to strip it off. With a little noise, she moved into him again, her mouth pressing here, there and everywhere.
Jesus. He felt like a tuning fork, vibrating in short jerky waves, each of Layla’s kisses a new strike.
He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her scent. Shampoo, salt air and baking notes: vanilla, cinnamon, a hint of lemon.
She found his nipple and licked the scrap of flesh. Vance shuddered and his fingers shook as they reached for the skinny straps of her top. Time to get this off. Time to get her naked.
He stripped off the stretchy cotton. She was naked beneath it, but there was a faint red line below her perfect breasts where the shirt’s elastic liner had pressed her skin. With a flick of his hand, he tossed the fabric away. “Don’t wear that again,” he muttered. “It hurt you.”
“No—” she started, but then her mouth and eyes closed as he bent to trace the stripe with his tongue. He followed it to the side of her body, lifting her arm to not miss an inch of it. Layla was breathing hard, her fingers curled around the waistband of his jeans. “I’m going to fall,” she whispered. “You’re making my knees melt.”
He straightened to pull her close then, groaning at the goodness of her soft breasts and hard nipples meeting the hot plane of his chest. His arms held her tight, and she pushed her hips into him again, ratcheting up the crazy.
“Bedroom,” he said, suddenly remembering Baxter and Addy. They could have company at any moment.
Their fingers tangled, he drew her toward the hallway and the master bedroom. At the threshold, he hesitated. The room was unlit, and he imagined them in that darkness, bodies writhing on the bed. His blood was pulsing close to the surface of his skin, the head of his cock was beating as if it had its own heart. When he got her flat he was going to be all over her.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. Even to his own ears his voice sounded smoky and hot, like his desire. A dragon wanting to devour.
In answer, Layla pulled up their linked hands and rubbed his knuckles against her swollen breast, over her beaded nipple. Vance squeezed shut his eyes, waiting for the words. “Sure,” she said. “Very sure.”
He didn’t remember getting her to the bed. But she was on it, her back to the mattress, his fingers already fumbling on the clasp of her jeans. He muttered a curse, the cast always in the damn way, so she took it over herself.
The zipper was loud in the quiet, and he was already yanking the material down her long legs. Then he crawled between them, the denim of his pants sliding against the silkiness of her panties. He stroked there, a teasing rhythm, as he bent to take her mouth again.
She wound her hands in his hair and opened for him. Their tongues tangled, eager friends, and then she sucked on his, her fingernails tight against his skull. Vance pushed into that sweet heat at the juncture of her thighs, grinding hard into her softness as she continued to feed on him.
He broke away from her mouth, needing air, and sucked in oxygen, staring down. The darkness was so absolute she was just a deeper shadow in the shadows, but he didn’t need to see her to see her. Like the scents of this summer month, she was etched in his brain. There would be no freedom from the memory of her frilly lashed brown eyes, her oval-shaped face, that mouth with the upper lip just made for sucking.
He did so now, finding it with his own and tugging at it rhythmically. It had her pressing her hips to his, her whole body writhing when he gave that lip a delicate bite. The friction against his cock made heat flare up his spine.
“What do you like?” he heard himself demand. The beast was clamoring for action, and it certainly didn’t want to pause for direction, but Vance suddenly needed to make her feel the crazy as bad as he did.
Her hands clutched his shoulders. “You...” she moaned. “Your skin, your mouth. Your voice.”
His voice? He smiled, and it felt feral. Did Layla Parker like a little dirty talk in bed? His skin shivered at the thought, then tightened against his bones, making it that much more sensitive. He licked her bottom lip and felt her quiver.
“I thought you were sugar and spice and everything nice,” he said, then kissed his way down her neck. She turned her head to give him easy access and she undulated as he sucked on her again. “But maybe you have a naughty side.”
Her body stilled, but under him he felt the temperature of her flesh spike. He chuckled against her throat, the sound almost devilish in the heated darkness. “Let’s see if I can find it.”
Her breath was ragged, and her breasts rose and fell against his cheek as he rubbed his evening whiskers across them. “I love your nipples. They’re such a pale pink but they blush to red when I suck them into my mouth, when I tongue them all shiny.” He touched the tip of one, lapping at it until she made a frustrated sound and buried her hands in his hair.
“Greedy girl,” he whispered, then opened to take a soft bite of her areola, his teeth pulling up to scrape the jut of flesh.
Layla groaned and he did it again, the lap, the bite, the scrape. Her lower body pushed against him in slow rolls, and her taste, her body, her need, they all enticed the beast, teasing it without mercy. But Vance held on and moved to the other breast, playing with that one, too, listening to her little cries.
Finally, he needed something more. “Greedy girl probably wants something hard inside her,” he said. “I’ve got it pulsing and ready right here.”
And she stilled again, shocked, he thought, then aroused, because her hands shot down to his pants to divest him of the confining denim. He laughed, low and uncivilized, and rolled away to take care of the issue.
She made another of her frustrated noises, an appetizer that fed his animal as he struggled with the jeans. His erection wasn’t making things easy.
“Vance,” she breathed, anxious.
“Shh,” he said, and rolled his head on the pillow to kiss the warmth of her cheek. “Settle down. I’ll fill you up soon enough.”
Her mutter sounded like a curse and a plea.
Vance threw his pants over the side of the bed, then yanked at his boxers. Again, the cast and his cock made the process more labor-intensive than it should be. Suddenly Layla’s hands were on him, and she was tugging at the material, too, shoving it down his legs.
Then he was naked and Layla was on her knees beside him. “Oh, I like this,” he whispered, touching one flank with his knuckles. “Straddle me, sweetheart. Put your breast to my mouth.”
Her breathing hitched, but then she obeyed. With a knee on each side of his hips, she leaned toward him. He lifted his head and caught her nipple, feasting, suckling, hard and deep. His hands found her hips and he held her there, drawing her in to slake his hunger.
“Vance,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Now the other,” he instructed, and she shifted her weight. “Offer it to me, Layla. Let me have you.”
She was shuddering as he pulled on her second breast now, and her glorious bottom dropped so that the juncture of her thighs kissed his cock. She was wet there, hot and wet, and the moisture bathed his shaft.
He sucked harder on her, ravenous for her taste. But when her wetness slid over him again, his mind clicked. “Condom,” he said, releasing her nipple. “We need a condom.”
His hand reached blindly for the bedside table. Now it was his turn to curse as the drawer’s knob eluded him. Every moment of delay aggravated the raging appetite inside of him. His cock was throbbing, his pulse was pounding, the blood racing around his body was scalding and he was primed to go off. So ready to shoot.
Sweet Lord, he tried telling himself as the drawer squeaked open. Take it easy. The beast was on a short chain and despite the warnings he’d given Layla, he didn’t want to scare her. But then his fingers found a foil square. When he lost it again he almost screamed.
“Can you reach into the drawer, honey?” he asked, his voice tight. “I’m a little desperate here.”
“You’re desperate?” Layla said, the edge to her voice making him laugh despite his urgency. “Let me get it.”
She was more efficient than he. A triumphant sound and the tearing of foil. He meant to protest but from his mouth came only inarticulate sounds meant to represent words—I can put it on oh my God your touch is going to send me over sweet baby what are you doing now oh yeah oh yeah like that. Just like that. What she was doing now was sinking down on him.
His head pressed back into the pillow. “You’re so slick inside,” he muttered. “So damn tight.”
And then she had taken all of him in. He was rooted deep and they both stilled, absorbing the sensation. His hands were on her hips, the sleek insides of her thighs on either side of his.
She shivered and then he felt her muscles gather. His fingers tightened on her. “Don’t move,” he said. “Give me a minute.”
Another shiver ran over her skin. “Have to move,” she said, her husky voice breathy. “Have. To. Move.”
Then she did, rising off his cock. The beast inside him groaned, but Vance managed to let Layla set the rhythm. Her hips rolled as she rode, her sweet bottom high in the air as she came down on her elbows in order to kiss him. Vance went full crazy on that kiss, the meeting of their mouths and tongues carnal and wicked.
He caught her nipples between his fingers as her plunging hips became more frenzied. She broke their kiss, her breath frantic as he pushed into her wet warmth and said, “Touch your clit, naughty girl. Touch yourself and come for me.”
The dirty words put a hitch in her pace.
“Lick your fingertips,” Vance encouraged, his voice low and deeper than the dark. “Get them nice and wet and then circle yourself, honey. You know what to do.”
And she did it. He could make out the gleam of her arm in the dark, imagined the swipe of her tongue against skin. Her hand moved low and she hesitated. “Ride me,” he said, and he reached to the place where they were joined, farther spreading the soft layers to expose the small bud above. “Touch yourself right here and ride me. I want to feel you come all over me.”
With a little sound of surrender, Layla obeyed. Her body moved on his, her hand touched her clitoris, and Vance gritted his teeth at the absolute pleasure of her hot center surrounding him, sliding wetly on him, up and down, up and down, up and down.
There was no tenderness, no gentle sweetness, just the slap of their bodies and the harsh rasp of their breaths, and that animal hunger that rose and rose and rose. His body strained, desperately holding the beast at bay until Layla cried out and her internal muscles clamped on his cock, telling him she was at the precipice. He grabbed her hips then and jerked up into her in short, urgent jabs. Her moan was low, ratcheting his need for her body, for her response. He grunted, grinding up and into her one last time.
“Now,” he said, riding the edge. “Now.”
His need shattered as she did, fragmenting into a thousand points of sharp bliss that hurt so good. Groaning, Vance squeezed shut his eyes and let the delicious ecstasy of violent release pulse through his body.
Minutes later, he came to awareness as she rolled off of him. His head was spinning and he felt half-drunk and whole-certain. The beast was a possessive bastard that was no longer willing to be caged. “Don’t go far,” he said in its devilish voice. “This is your bed until the end of the month.”