“You’d be wonderful at that.”
“You’d skip your training if there was running, don’t lie,” I teased, but it meant something to me that she’d instantly thought I’d be great as a trainer. It settled on my shoulders and made me feel proud.
“I don’t know, if you ran a gym and taught classes, I bet I’d show up. I’ve done some kickboxing, but I hate it. It’s too sweaty,” she admitted.
“There’s nothing wrong with a little sweat. Some things are worth getting sweaty for,” I said. I knew she felt the weight of my words by the way she glanced away from me.
“So when you open your gym or your training business, are you going to stick around here, or are you moving on once the addition to the vineyard is done?” she asked. Her voice seemed carefully casual, like she was trying to sound like she didn’t care either way.
It struck me that I wanted her to want me to stay.
Layla sat up and fixed me with a serious look. I felt pinned in place, waiting for her to say something I could tell by her eyes that it was something sincere and important. She hesitated a second, then reached out and took my hand. The same shock of recognition, the same furious wave of arousal accompanied her touch as it had before. I had to steady myself so I could hear her speak instead of just grabbing her and dragging her into my lap right where we sat.
“Thank you, Tyler,” she said, “for opening up to me like this.”
“Yeah, that’s—” I faltered, not sure how to respond, and my brain going haywire from her touch.
“No,” she said firmly, “it isn’t nothing. It’s a big deal, and I’m honored that you trust me enough to tell me about this. Especially since I am probably the last person you should put your trust in. I didn’t even hang on to my professional ethics for a month.”
“Tell me why,” I said.
“Why what? I gave up my integrity to hit on my patient?”
“One, you didn’t hit on me. Two, that’s not what I’m asking. I want to know why you essentially gave up on men.”
She shook her head and looked away.
“Now it’s my turn to say that isn’t nothing. You can trust me,” I said. I watched her face change, a troubled crinkle of worry between her brows. The idea that she could trust me seemed to affect her.
She let go of my hand like it was an active choice, like she couldn’t touch me and talk about this at the same time.
“I just gave up on trying. My relationships, such as they were, seemed to follow a pattern of interest, flirting, a date, a hookup, and then being ghosted. There was hardly ever a second date, and if there was, it was always the last one. I don’t know if it’s my personality or that I’m pretty independent, or because, you know, I’m tall.”
“You seriously think your personality and how tall you are make you unattractive to men?” I said, stunned. “I thought you were disgusted with the guys you dated, and didn’t think men were worth the trouble.”
“No. They didn’t seem to think I was worth the trouble. And I got tired of getting all excited and happy and then feeling terrible about myself afterward because I slept with someone who didn’t even like me.”
“I can tell you what the problem was,” I said, touching her cheek with the backs of my fingers, barely trailing along her flushed skin.
“What?” she looked at me almost like she thought I had the answers. I could get drunk on that look alone.
“There’s a reason why they say never send a boy to do a man’s job,” I said with a smile.
“No,” she said, “I’m not a job. I’m not any man’s job.”
“You would be. If he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world,” I said.
She shook her head and then hugged me. Just launched herself into my arms and held on tight. My arms closed around her. I felt a rush of protectiveness, something that went beyond my military training and into something primitive. This woman was mine to keep safe.
She drew back, seeming to remember herself. She cleared her throat, like she was choked up. If she had meant a friendly hug to derail the way she’d set my body on fire just by looking at me, just by touching my hand earlier, she was mistaken. I dipped my head, my mouth capturing hers. I couldn’t stop myself.
14
Layla
Electricity, blazing through my veins, the rush of light and sensation just about knocked me over. If he hadn’t taken me by the shoulders, I might have fallen down. I was sitting there by him, talking. All of a sudden, I’d hugged him. Because he’d said something really nice to me, complimentary and kind. I was feeling stupid for opening up to him about my problems with relationships—the way I rushed in and got let down every time. So when I pulled away, knowing I shouldn’t have hugged him, knowing as well that I had done that partly as an attempt to keep him at arm’s length like we were nothing more than friends and confidants.