The song isn’t over when she steps away, brushing her hand along my cheek, the touch delicate, feather-light. Intentional or not, my cock hardens in response. I make a note to take a cold shower later and check out that song again. The bartender pushes the ashtray closer as I keep flicking the ash across the counter, too busy watching Layla.
“Nice, isn’t it?” she asks, tucking her phone away. “They’re great but not mainstream. What about you? What are you into right now?”
You, baby. So intoyou.
“Ellie Goulding is my go-to CD.”
Layla relaxes with every shot until worry no longer taints her pretty face. We’ve been sitting at the bar for almost four hours when the club closes at two a.m. Half an hour later, once the staff tidies up, the last person exits the building, leaving us alone. If I were a fucker... fine, if I were a bigger fucker than I am, I’d pull out my gun, aim it at the pretty bug, and call Frank to set up a trade.
Technically speaking, Iama big enough fucker to pull this off, but looking at Layla, scaring her feels like a felony. She’s softer outside and tougher inside than women I’ve encountered in my life. Not a docile wannabe like“The Princess and the Pea.”More like a stunning witch. Using her against Frank is out of the question because Iseeher beauty. That, coupled with the invisible pull, the odd spark between us, makes kidnapping for ransom a big no-no.
We start a second bottle once it’s just Layla and me. She drank as many shots as I have but still acts as if she stopped after the second mojito.
“Why didn’t you go home earlier?” I ask.
She sits up, shoulders back, her spine suddenly rigid. “You asked me to stay.”
“And that’s why you did?”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at. I came here to clear my head. I was going to leave because I thought I’d be carried out by security if I didn’t, but I stayed because you didn’t mind me being here.”
Her presence should’ve bothered me. She could’ve been trying to separate me from my people and succeeded when the last person left Delta so Frankie could barge in with his troops. I don’t find my own theories plausible, though. Just as I don’t believe Layla stayed because I asked.
Attraction sprouted between us the moment I offered to buy her a drink. One look at her gorgeous face and my brain short-circuited. Changing all the wires won’t help. Desire is saved on the hard drive, and I can’t do shit about it. Especially, that said desire grows stronger with every minute.
I grip her stool, dragging it closer.
Instead of flushed cheeks or shallow breaths, she cocks an eyebrow. “You’re staring at me again, Dante.”
“And what a sight it is.”
Her lips twitch, curling into a ghost of a smile, but she contains it quickly, arranging her face back into an impassive expression. ‘Impassive’ is a euphemism here because Layla looks cold, cruel, and calculated. Resting bitch face in all its glory. So fucking beautiful.
“You’re not too bad either.”
Years have passed since the last time I flirted. Nowadays, I don’t make an effort. Women I fuck don’t require wooing. They crawl out of their skin trying to impressme, not the other way around. A stuffed wallet summons all sorts of bitches. Yes, bitches, not women.
Real women don’t care about money.
They all say they don’t, but one trait makes the gold-diggers easily noticeable in a crowd: dollar signs in their eyes. Layla doesn’t give a damn about my money. She doesn’t give a damn aboutme.
A challenge at last.
“Are you comfortable?” she glances at my knee touching her thigh.
I grip her stool again, pulling it closer until her shoulder brushes against my chest, and I regret the decision. It’s damn near impossible to keep my hands off her when she’s this close, when her sweet, flowery perfume fans my face, making me feel oddly peaceful. “Better now,” I say. “What do you dream of?”
“A little shooting star.” She ridicules, tilting her head back to swallow the contents of her shot glass. “I don’t know. I don’t have dreams. Just a few wishes.”
“Like...?”
“That’s another question. It’s my turn. Whystar?” Her eyes shine, curiosity pouring off her.
“Quid pro quo. Tell me your biggest unfulfilled wish.”
“I’m not that curious.”
“Will you tell me if I promise I won’t act on it?”