“If she’s right, then yes.”
They stare each other down like two lions, ready to tear the other’s aorta, but Luca’s in the losing position. He looks away, aware that forcing his opinion on Dante won’t end well.
“Do you have a sister, Layla?” Jackson asks, relaxing the atmosphere. “I could do with a feisty girl like you.”
“Sorry, Daddy only made one of me.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dante
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 screamsI like men butconsumed 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.”