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  If it wasn’t a conquest, then it was for real. It meant something. It was important. She was important.

  Some feelings went deeper than physical touch could reach. And Layla’s unparalleled strength paired with her private vulnerability—her incomparable essence—was one of them. She affected him in ways he never saw coming, and still didn’t know how to cope with.

  Dissention churned in him as he stroked her soft skin. She made him feel like he’d been turned inside out, pulled apart.

  These separate pieces of himself stretched his insides, made him feel things that bordered on breakable. He had let it live inside him this whole time, this pull, this magnetism he felt whenever he was with her. Hoping deep down that one day its strength would pull her in one more time.

  And here she was.

  But he couldn’t cheapen it by reducing her to the level of conquest.

  He toyed with the button on her jeans. It slipped free without effort. He heard her breath hitch. But he didn’t make a move.

  Blake lifted his eyes to hers. His gaze fastened on her heavy-lidded one.

  Layla stilled. Her thoughts and reckless emotions froze at what she saw. A bold, naked light swelled in the depths of his eyes, like he’d torn back a curtain to reveal…

  Everything.

  She saw in him truth and beauty so stark it took her breath away. Unsettled emotions loosened and tumbled down like an avalanche inside her.

  Shaken, she panicked. She wanted to run in any other direction but into his arms. Under that glow of total openness, complete acceptance, she was rendered defenseless. Old patterns, fueled by fears, tried to override the currents of emotion pulling at her heart.

  “Blake,” she whispered, fearful of what the soft underlayer that her cracked defenses might reveal. “Kiss me.”

  The rhythmic stroking of his thumbs turned maddening. “Is that all?”

  “No, I don’t care. Just come to me.” She clung to him.

  “You don’t care? This doesn’t matter to you?”

  She swallowed at the seriousness of his tone. With equal significance, she murmured, “I do care. And you do matter to me.”

  She said it like she’d just told him the hidden location to buried treasure. And he couldn’t wait to unlock all her secrets.

  There was one thing he needed to know before he continued. He’d be unselfish six ways from Sunday in about two seconds. But now he needed one ounce of satisfaction. “Layla.”

  “Yes?” She tipped her head up to him, a gesture of openness he had rarely seen from her. Her lips were plump and parted, an invitation.

  Driven by the need to touch some part of her openness, he lifted one hand from her waist and lightly trailed two fingertips across her full lips, feeling a warm whisper of breath that seeped through the open seam between.

  Then he cupped her cheek, looked straight into her eyes, deep violet and gleaming. “I need you to tell me one thing. I need to hear you say it. Tell me you’ve pictured this moment in your mind a hundred times, what it would’ve been like between us…if we had…” The words weren’t coming out right. He sighed roughly. Finally he came out with it. “Tell me you want this as much as I want you.”

  “Yes, I’ve thought of you. But it seemed stupid to wish for—to think about what never…”

  “I’m here now. Tell me what want, baby. It’s yours. I’m yours all night long.”

  “Can we start with a kiss?”

  “What about the parts in between?”

  She glanced at him shyly, hesitantly. “Can I make it up as I go along?”

  “Sure, baby.” He leaned in, closing the distance between them. “Anything you want.”

  Her chin tilted at an irresistible angle. “Then what are you waiting for?”

  Chapter 8

  A sultry summer breeze drifted in through the open window, picking up the scent of leather as it wafted through the room. It teased the sheer curtains that billowed in response to its invisible caress. Surrounded by images of the seaside, she swore she heard the white noise of the ocean somewhere in the distance. Or maybe that was just the sound of blood rushing through her veins in anticipation of Blake satisfying her craving for him, for his touch, his taste.

  Would he be the one? The one in whose arms she would forget her insecurities, the weight of all her responsibilities? Would she feel impassioned and free, the way she’d longed to feel with a man, ensconced within his powerful embrace?

  She wanted him to take her to realms of passion she’d never been. She wanted him to show her what she’d been missing. The freedom to let go and just…be.

  Wild, passionate, pleasure-induced freedom. She could hardly wait.

  “Blake.”

  His thumb stroked her cheek. “Baby.”

  “Come to me.”

  “Always.”

  Blake’s head lowered. His hair slid forward, softly brushing against the backs of her hands where they rested on his shoulders. The softness contrasted with the hard, solid feel of muscle beneath her fingertips.

  Urgency swirled inside her. Yet he seemed in no hurry to capture her mouth with his kiss. He came to her slowly, gradually closing the space between them. Finally his lips pressed to hers. Their mouths melded seamlessly.

  His lips explored hers the same way his fingertips had a few moments ago. Tracing, pressing, coasting along the shape of her mouth. He sipped at her lips, small suctioning caresses that quickly intensified. His arms tightened around her, dragged her against him. The tilt of his head steepened. The angle of his mouth sharpened. Sipping escalated to devouring.

  He sucked her lower lip into his mouth. The flick of his tongue, the long-awaited eroticism of its touch, scattered shivers of delight across her skin. A ribbon of lust snaked through her abdomen.

  The hand that had cupped her face so tenderly left her cheek. He used the backs of his fingers in a slow, reverent glide, knuckles brushing the side of her neck, the shape of her collar bone. Then he cupped one breast, his thumb teasing her nipple. It shot tingles up her spine.

  Warm. He was so warm. So strong. Yet gentle, patient. He had always been that way with her. Nothing had changed. He was still Blake, the man who could melt the frozen edges of her heart and creep inside its glacial boundaries to the heat within her core. A dormant fire that rekindled at his touch. A flame that could only be stroked to life by him.

  No, nothing had changed. Blake was still the only man who knew how to make her come alive inside.

  His hands traveled over the curves of her body like a sacred journey. At the same time, he released her lower lip. The absence made her shiver.

  His eyebrows lowered over eyes filled with emotion, and now concern. “Cold, baby?”

  “No.” She swallowed hard as a confession rose in her throat. I’ve missed you, Blake.

  “You’re incredible,” he whispered against her lips, his breath a hot caress mirroring the heat of his hands as they smoothed over her bare skin. “You know that?”

  Her lips parted as an ache of desire throbbed in her chest, echoed at the juncture between her thighs. “Show me.”

  The man knew how to answer an invitation. His mouth sealed over hers. She opened for him when his tongue flicked the seam of her lips. He swept inside her mouth, a thorough claiming. Over and over. Deeper. He demanded as much as he gave. Nothing less than her full surrender seemed to satisfy him. She let her head fall back as his tongue filled her mouth.

  Their breaths reduced to uneven pulls of air. The urgent sounds of their kiss filled the air. Then jagged breathing, ragged moans.

  The tingling intensified between her legs. She whimpered, hitching her hips toward him.

  He felt for her loosened button, then unzipped her jeans. He eased them down her hips, her thighs, until they pooled around her feet. Feminine instinct responded to his commanding moves. She gasped with a rush of pleasure.

  “Here?” He strummed the backs of his fingers along the outside of her panties, against the place she ached for h
im to explore with his talented hands. She nodded, moaned, as his fingers ratcheted up her need. “Say it. Tell me.”

  “Touch me, Blake.”

  His fingers hooked the sides of her panties. He lowered them inch by inch until they dropped to the floor. She stepped out of them.

  One knee wedged between her naked thighs, the denim soft against her exposed skin. The solid muscle of his legs embraced her nakedness. He continued his erotic play, only this time without fabric hindering his touch.

  Layla looked up at him. He looked down, his eyes narrowed to dark slivers glowing with primal heat, sparkling with passion…and something special that made her surrender to his embrace.

  The side of his boot met her instep as he nudged her feet wider. She held her breath. He began at the top, where her trim curls narrowed to a V, parted her folds, and slid one finger all the way along her moist slit to the center of her heat. Layla tossed her head back in anticipation. His middle finger played with her opening, circled, dipped. Finally, he eased inside her channel. He stroked from fingertip to knuckle.

  A cry broke from her, a sound she barely recognized. Air rushed into her lungs when she felt his mouth trail down her body. Smooth. Scrape. Scorching kiss, tongue swirling, toes curling. Smooth. Scrape. Kiss.

  “Oh, God.”

  Then a soft whisper of heat brushed against her mound.

  “Yes. Please, Blake.”

  “You want me here, baby?” His fingertips skimmed her hips as he knelt before her. His thumb made an arc toward her inner thigh. “You want my mouth on you?”

  “ Yes .”

  “You want me to taste you, like I did that night in the restaurant?” He looked up at her, his mouth hovering at the apex of her thighs.

  “Yes, like that.”

  “Tonight I’m going to finish what I started.” Then he was there, his mouth covering her slick heat, his tongue tasting her delicately, then greedily. He murmured against her. “Now I get to take my time. Savor you.”

  “Blake…” She moaned his name followed by incoherent murmurs, gasps, and sighs of pure pleasure.

  A blanket of wet heat enveloped her as his tongue caressed, tasted, performed magic on the peak of flesh. She arched, opening for him.

  One strong hand anchored at her waist, holding her steady as his mouth and fingers coaxed her into a place of ecstasy she’d never been before. Teasing and tasting outside, stroking inside, he found a rhythm her inner muscles clung to greedily.

  The slow burn of desire swelled out of control. He’d set the field of her emotions ablaze. There was no stopping this.

  The pace of his motion and the skill of his movements steadily intensified—building, rising, coaxing. She responded—quivering, arching, moaning.

  An escalating intensity threatened to consume her, an unknown height she wanted to pull away from, yet blindly grasped for with body and soul. Her release edged closer, a wave that slid forward, then retreated, crept closer, then slid away again.

  The momentum drove her mad with unquenched need. This wave inside her rolled up again and again, swelling, striving. Finally it began to build into a surge so intense she threw her head back, squeezed her eyes shut, curled her toes into the carpet and her fingertips into his shoulders.

  The wave climbed inside her one last time, rising higher toward the ultimate peak. The surge overwhelmed her. She tumbled into bliss, shaking in his grasp. Completely at the mercy of his gifted mouth and his powerful hands.

  His tongue coaxed tremors from her long after she’d collapsed against the door, utterly spent. He let her soak in this stupor of pleasure that clung to her like a wet silk slip.

  An indescribable sense of freedom stole her breath away.

  He’d done it.

  He’d plunged her to the depths of intimacy and led her to her own abandonment.

  Pure trust. That’s what it took for her to surrender to the moment. And she had. She’d trusted him as she had no one else. The man she swore she’d never trust again.

  Where does that leave us?

  Opening her eyes, she looked down at him, where he still knelt before her. Pleasure sparkled in the green depths. Gratification edged his smile.

  “Looks like you’re ready for round two.” An eyebrow arched on his tan forehead as he stared up at her.

  “Round…two?” she murmured, turning breathless again.

  Blake nodded.

  She held up both her hands. She couldn’t think straight. Her thoughts swirled, her hands shook, her knees buckled.

  Without the strength to stand alone, she leaned against the door and lifted a wrist to her forehead. Good God, what just happened? She had to get her bearings. Looking at Blake was not helping. Soft lamplight outlined his figure. Accentuating his build, it gilded the round muscles of his shoulders dusted by the ends of his hair.

  A wave of self-consciousness washed over her, drowning the feeling of freedom she’d reveled in moments ago. Instead of warm intimacy, she felt a sudden chill of vulnerability.

  Experience had proven this was the last man who should see her in any state of weakness—especially one induced by him. She swallowed hard.

  His eyes sparked. His smile broadened.

  Anxiety pinched the base of her spine. Because that smile hinted to the suspicion she had feared. Blake’s expression exuded male satisfaction. He’d enjoyed making her feel this way, putting her completely at his mercy. Skilled in the art of pleasing a woman, the man knew his way around the female body. An expert lover. Every woman’s dream. Every caress practiced, every kiss honed to perfection.

  Was she just another conquest to him?

  He pressed a kiss to her abdomen and slowly slid his finger out of her channel.

  To her dismay, her inner muscles grasped at his retreating finger, reluctant to let him go. Her body wanted more of the pleasure he delivered so easily.

  The absence of his touch within registered like emptiness. The intimacy he’d brought to her flesh retreated with his hand.

  What now?

  She read the determination on his features, recognizing an assertive spark in his eyes. He rose to his feet and closed the gap between them, his hands flattening on either side of her face, his lips hovering over hers. “Round two?”

  Body still humming from his incredible foreplay, she eyed him warily. “How many rounds do you have?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Five, six, sometimes seven, depending…” He winked.

  What had made her think she could handle him? Layla put a hand to his chest to stop his advance. Her legs barely supported her. I can’t even stand up straight. And he wants to do this six more times…maybe seven?

  “I…I need a breather.”

  Blake chuckled low as he dropped one arm. She stepped into her discarded panties, then her jeans, and walked out from the shelter of his hard body.

  One hand still flattened against the door, he reached out with his other hand. His fingers molded to the shape of her waist. They both stilled, looked at each other.

  Silence stretched between them. Not the good kind of silence, like a quiet afterglow, but an emptiness that hollowed out his chest.

  While apprehension scraped across his nerves, exposed and sensitized by what they’d just shared, Blake flicked a wary glance over Layla. Her cheeks had lost the gorgeous bloom he’d put there. Her lush lips had thinned to a line of uncertainty. Her eyes had darkened, not with lust but with shadows of doubt. As he watched, her passion evaporated with such swiftness that he firmed his grip at her waist.

  Don’t lose this. Please, baby. Stay in this moment with me.

  He felt her body stiffened against his hand, but he held on, not willing to give up on what had taken him so long to gain back—her trust.

  She’d trusted him with her body, with her pleasure. That had to mean something.

  Didn’t it?

  He gently squeezed her waist. “Where are you going?”

  “I want to sit for a second. I told you I needed a break.”
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  “From me?” He waited until her gaze lifted to his before he asked, “Did I do something wrong? Something you wanted that I didn’t—”

  “No!” came her quick response. “No, that’s not it at all.”

  Layla found she could barely look at him. Still, she forced her gaze to align with his. His features tightened with confusion. The uncertainty on his face mirrored her own inner angst.

  Another long silence.

  Then his eyes shuttered. The light that had glowed in them, that had glowed for her, dimmed. She felt its loss, like a chill that descends after the last ember of a roaring fire fades into ash.

  “It’s not you, it’s me. Is that the line I get to hear now?” Disappointment and sarcasm were thick in his voice.

  “No, Blake, I don’t know. I just feel really lost right now. Confused.” She rubbed her temples.

  Her legs wobbled beneath her and she considered collapsing on the bed. But Blake might interpret that as an invitation. She hadn’t been prepared for the ecstasy he delivered—and her inability to respond in kind.

  Yet she wanted to do the same for him. She wanted to watch him come undone by the power of her touch. To watch him savor the sensations coursing through his body, pleasure that can only be expressed in moans, whispers, shuddering gasps.

  But how? What could she possibly do for him that would come close to the intimacy and pleasure he’d given her? How could her inexperience and bumbling attempts ever satisfy a man like Blake?

  If she had a moment to collect herself, surface from this deluge of self-doubt, maybe she would feel more in control. A white wicker chair beckoned from against the wall, next to a bedside table.

  When she melted into it, her gaze drifted to the table where the phone sat. A twinge of guilt pinched inside her chest. She thought of her brother. Not quite an adult, and still with so much to learn about life, he was proving his independence by traveling with a bunch of renegades who could pull him back from the brink of a new start. She should be thinking about him, shouldn’t she? Wasn’t that the purpose of this trip? Not to satisfy her secret urges but to satisfy all the years she’d worked so hard raising Robby alone, making him her number one priority.