Layla was sitting right next to me, and the way I felt her presence, the heat from her body was even more intense than I could imagine.

I curled my hands tightly around the steering wheel, trying to calm my breathing and steady myself. But she smells so damn good. Like warmed vanilla, sweet and sugary.

My mouth watered; my throat tightened. I wanted to drag my tongue along every inch of her, memorizing every dip and hollow of her body. I wanted to taste her pussy, see how wet she got for me.

I shifted in the seat uncomfortably, my dick hard, my balls drawn up tight. I didn't look at her, though, not full on. I could see her out of the corner of my eye, her focus out the passenger-side window. Her body was stiff, her hands in her lap twisting together. She was nervous; I could practically smell it coming off her.

We arrived at the house the party was being held at far too soon. Even if we sat there in silence, having her that close to me, smelling so fucking good, was better than anything else.

“I'll be close.”

She glanced at me then, the blue of her eyes so startling that even the darkness of the interior of the car couldn’t dim them. And when she licked her lips and nodded, I was transfixed by the sight. My cock jerked painfully, almost violently.

She nodded and climbed out of the car, and I watched her walk into the house. I was out of the vehicle a few seconds later, scanning the surroundings, taking in the people. I was strapped and loaded, always prepared with a weapon in case I needed to react.

The little assholes that looked at me were already drunk, the beers and cups in their hands already overflowing, about to be consumed, so they had no common sense or rationalization.

I scoped out the sides and the exterior of the house, taking in all the exits and vantage points. Chances were I wouldn't have to do anything, just watch Layla and make sure some drunk asshole didn't put his hands on her. But I was always prepared, always willing to throw down when it came to her.

The truth was I would die for Layla, and it had nothing to do with me being employed by her father.

* * *

The red plastic cup in my hand was filled with chilled beer I’d just gotten from the keg. It was my second cup of the night, and although I was only halfway finished with this one, I did feel a little buzz going on. I normally didn't drink, so my tolerance was next to zero.

I watched as Robin flirted with her crush, and although I kept a close distance in case she needed her wing woman, I also stayed back. I really didn't want to hear what they were talking about, especially given the fact her crush was saying something that made Robin turn bright red and giggle.

I brought the cup to my mouth again and took a long drink. My thoughts retuned to Lachlan, as they always seemed to do. Knowing that he was just outside, waiting, making sure I was safe, made me feel very much alive.

I knew if I'd asked him to come inside, to stay right beside me, he would have in a heartbeat.

Just thinking about him made me wet. Given the fact I was in a roomful of people and extremely aroused, I felt highly uncomfortable and embarrassed. Even if nobody knew the thoughts that ran through my head, I knew how filthy they were.

Lachlan was quite the looker, but not in a handsome kind of way. He was brutal and savage, his attractiveness coming from the fact I knew he could kill a man with his bare hands if he wanted to. He was alpha all the way, big and muscular, and put all these other guys to shame.

I was about to finish off the beer when somebody bumped into me from behind, causing me to spill the alcohol down the front of my shirt.

I gasped from how cold it was, the wet material of my shirt now sticking to my skin. I turned around, more than annoyed at what had just happened, but not surprised. I was at a party with a bunch of drunken people, so this was obviously bound to happen at some point. Of course I just happened to be that person.

“Oh shit.” The guy who’d bumped into me slurred but sounded genuine. “Here, let me help clean you up.” He reached out, maybe trying to brush the liquid off me, but I shook my head and took a step back.

“I'm fine. No help needed.” Was he that drunk that he would've just smoothed his hands down the front of my shirt?

I walked away before he tried to help me again, and went into the bathroom. I had to wait five minutes for the couple inside to quit having sex, but once they were finished, I went inside and locked the door.

I stared at myself in the mirror, the whole front of my shirt drenched with beer. I picked up the material, pulling it away for my chest, the scent of alcohol wafting up around me. No way I could stay here.

There was a hand towel on the rack beside me, and I grabbed it and dampened it with water. I started patting my shirt, but it was useless. Although I didn't really want to leave since I hadn’t been here very long, I also didn’t want to walk around smelling like a brewery.

Pretty much all the people here already smell like that.

I put the towel aside and stared at myself in the mirror. I pushed the long strands of my dark hair over my shoulder and smoothed my finger under my eye, the slight dark circles intensified by the harsh fluorescent lighting.

Was this what—who—Lachlan saw? Did he see me as a silly young girl? Was he aware of how I felt? A part of me had to assume he knew, given the fact he was with me constantly, and nothing got by him. He was trained to pick up on slight subtleties, in the way someone shifted, in the way they looked.

The very fact that he possibly knew how I felt for him should have embarrassed me, but instead I felt this sting of disappointment over it. If he did know how I felt, he certainly didn't act like it, didn't reciprocate the feelings.

I closed my eyes and exhaled, but jumped, a surprised sound leaving me when somebody pounded on the door. A second later I heard a female giggle.

“Are you done in there or what?” a deep male voice called out.

I opened the door, and the couple all but pushed me out. The door was slammed shut, and I instantly heard a female moan. All I could do was shake my head, knowing this was so not my scene. I needed to hunt down Robin and tell her I was leaving.

Once I found her, she was making out with her crush. I asked her if she wanted me to take her home. She was sober, not really the drinking type, and I was glad she was at least in her right frame of mind.

“I’m actually heading home anyway,” she said and winked, and I didn’t need to ask what she meant by that.

After I said my good-byes, I pushed my way through the crowd of people and left out the front door. The scent of cigarettes, weed, and liquor filled my nose. I made my way down the front steps but immediately was pushed to the side by a drunken guy who stumbled forward.

“Fuck, girl, I'm sorry,” he slurred out. He grabbed my arm—maybe to steady me—but his grip was a little too forceful and I yelped in pain.

He stumbled forward again, causing me to go with him because he still held on to my arm. And then he started getting really touchy. He took hold of my other arm and pulled me close to him. I tried to push him off me and knee him in the balls, but before I could even do that, he was wrenched from me and tossed to the ground.

Lachlan had his body in front of mine, this big wall of muscle that protected me, blocking me from any harm. I glanced down and saw the gun strapped to his waist. I shouldn’t have felt turned on by seeing that weapon, but I was. I did.

His hands were curled into tight fists on either side of him, and I heard this low growl leave him. That sound had a chill racing up my spine.

Lachlan took a step forward, but I reached out and grabbed hold of his hand, stopping him. He looked over his shoulder at me, the shadows covering his face partially but his expression clear. He was enraged over the situation.

“Let's just leave, please.” Even in the dark I could see the way his jaw clenched tightly. I could feel the energy coming from him in angry, hot waves.

“You're lucky I don't beat your fucking ass for touching her.” And then Lachlan was the one curling his fingers around mine and pulling me forward toward the car.

He opened the passenger-side door and gently pushed me in. I knew he was trying to keep me safe, that his gruff demeanor and rough attitude were his way of showing that he cared, that he was protecting me. My hands shook a little bit, and adrenaline rushed through my bloodstream.

Once he was in the car and the engine was cranked, he took off. I could tell he was heading back to my father’s house by the scenery that passed us. But I didn’t want to go back there, not yet at least.

I glanced over at him and could see how tense his entire body was. I wondered if me even saying anything was worth it … was a good idea.

But I couldn’t have stopped myself anyway.

“Lachlan, I don’t want to go home.” He glanced at me for only a second. “Take me to your place?” Maybe asking him that was crossing a line, I knew that, but that’s where I wanted to go … with him. Maybe it was the little bit of alcohol I’d drunk, or maybe I was tired of just hiding my feelings for Lachlan.

I thought he’d decline, but when he started heading away from where I lived, I felt heat consume me. He was taking me back to his place, and there I would tell him how I felt. I grabbed my cell, and sent a text to my parents saying I was staying at a friend’s house. This would happen tonight with Lachlan.

Damn the consequences.