All the Way Page 2

  He began to pull back, but their lips clung together. For reasons unfathomable, they couldn’t force themselves apart. His hands cupped her shoulders, and she felt a nudge backward, but in the next moment he closed the distance between them.

  Suddenly he demanded deeper exploration. He shifted his weight, pulling her into his arms, their bodies compressed airtight. Her heels lifted off the floor. Her head fell back into his palm.

  Blake’s breath came in hot bursts against her cheek. He tasted like wheat beer, a hint of tequila, and a big bad dose of sin. His tongue dipped inside her mouth for a quick taste, then slid the length of hers, a thorough, possessive sweep.

  Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest. Layla discovered the wild speed of his pulse matched her own when her wrists touched the scorching sides of his neck. Her fingers curved under the fall of his hair.

  What was she doing? She was in the middle of a packed bar, with Blake Desanto kissing her like he owned her soul. And he’d come to collect. Layla owed him nothing. He’d let her down in the worst way, and not even a mind-erasing kiss could wipe away that memory. This had to stop.

  Stop!

  Layla tore herself away. Blake’s teeth scraped his bottom lip, as if savoring her taste. The passion in his eyes hinted of vulnerability never before revealed. The glimpse of emotion hardened quickly, like he’d thrown up a shield.

  Resentment doused the flame he sparked low in her abdomen. Cold reality chilled the heat he pumped through her veins.

  Furious beyond words, her hand flew on its own toward his cheek. He must have sensed her intent. He seized her hand and threaded his fingers through hers.

  “Hey, girl,” the bartender piped up. “Why didn’t you say you’re with the Chief?”

  “Slipped my mind,” Layla said through clenched teeth. She couldn’t wait until they were alone so she could let him have it.

  Blake stared down every guy within a five-foot radius of Layla, his fingers tightening territorially around her hand. His glare lingered on Dan Greene, who looked away first and walked off like he’d never laid eyes on Blake’s woman. Smart man.

  Of course, Layla wasn’t his woman. Not anymore. It took less than thirty seconds as he tugged her away from the bar toward a private corner before she exploded.

  “You had no right to do that. How dare you—”

  “Spare me the self-righteous act, sweetheart. I saved you from the wolves.”

  “Some rescue. Everyone probably thinks I’m your girlfriend. And don’t call me sweetheart. You make it sound like an insult.”

  “Is ‘baby’ okay?”

  “Blake,” she warned.

  “Hey, I’m just making sure we’re straight,” he said coolly. “We can do kinky, but I’m not into tequila baths.”

  When they made it to a dark corner she yanked her hand from his. He pulled her in front of him, flattening his hand on the wall above her head, his back poised like human armor to deflect any curious stares that may have followed them.

  He hooked his thumb through a belt loop of his Levi’s. “And what makes you suddenly think you’re my girlfriend again? Because I kissed you?” he asked, his tone purposely careless. He wanted her to think the kiss meant nothing to him, even though it had twisted his insides into a fiery knot of desire, still burning steadily but now under control.

  “No, I don’t think— Ooh …” She let out a strangled sound of frustration, more adorable than intimidating. It made him want to plow his fingers into her hair and take her mouth again. “I hate you.”

  Blake dropped his hand from the wall. The amused grin died on his face.

  “You heard me, you big, stupid, Harley-Davidson riding—”

  “Watch it with the name calling, sweetheart . I may have no pride, but that doesn’t mean you have to bring HD into this,” he said stonily.

  Layla turned away and folded her arms around herself. “It always comes back to his obsessions with music and motorcycles. And you only encourage him. You should’ve kept your stupid hobbies to yourself.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just forget it.” She swiped the wet trail glistening down her cheek.

  Blake’s eyebrows dropped. When she didn’t elaborate, he exhaled, put a hand to her shoulder and turned her around. Yep, she was crying, but her jaw looked rigid like she was trying not to. She raised those big blue eyes to his, and Blake forgot himself long enough to open his arms, for Layla to burst into tears, and for him to rush her out a side door onto the patio. The muggy night air of late July clung to them.

  “Shhh. Everything’s going to be okay.” He smoothed a hand over her back as he held her, wondering how he’d wound up as a human Kleenex. She’d never broken down like this in front of him, had never let him see the depth of her emotions, her thoughts, her fears. He had to get her out of his arms before the need to hold her infected him, before this craving conquered his immunity. Glancing around, he saw they were alone. “Layla.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “Tell me what happened.”

  Layla took two refreshing gulps of night air, wiped her tears, and came to her senses. She walked out of Blake Desanto’s arms for the second time, definitely the last.

  “Don’t act so innocent,” she said with a glare. “How else would Robby have wound up in a biker gang if you didn’t introduce them?”

  “What gang?”

  The puzzled look on his face drained her bravado. She’d convinced herself she could pin this on Blake, who seemed the convenient source of her problems.

  She stabbed a finger at the center of his chest. “ You’re the one who introduced my brother to those chrome monsters. Now he’s leaving town with a biker gang on a motorcycle you helped him build.”

  Blake eyed her offending finger before he leveled a gaze at her. Shrugging away from the side of the building, he crossed his arms. Jeez, he could look intimidating.

  Once her hand dropped, he asked, “What’s this about Rob riding with a gang?”

  Layla withered. “You mean you don’t know anything about it?” When he shook his head, her gaze dropped to the ground. “Then never mind. I don’t want to talk about this, not with you.”

  Reaching out a long index finger, Blake traced the tearstain on her cheek with unexpected tenderness. “That would suggest otherwise.”

  She firmed her lips to stop the tremble in her chin. Staring at the scuffed, blunted toes of his black boots, his feet spread in a solid stance, Layla envied Blake. She always had, in a way, because of his tight tie with Robby, a connection she tried and failed to imitate. Just once, she would love to know what it was like to walk the world so sure of yourself, every step infused with total confidence. Right now, Layla wasn’t sure about anything. She wished she didn’t have to face life’s toughest moments alone.

  But she had always been on her own. She should be used to it by now.

  Blake tipped her chin up. “When did your brother leave?”

  “This morning there was a note on the counter and his motorcycle was gone.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “ No .” She bit her lip. “I can’t. Even though he graduated in May, he’s still a minor. When he turns eighteen in ten days, his record is wiped clean. I can’t risk going to the cops and tarnishing it again.”

  “What about that asswipe whose patrol car sits in your driveway at night. Can’t he be useful for once?” Hatred simmered in his tone.

  He went from open and compassionate to frigid and unreachable in seconds. An unexpected thought flashed through her mind. She wondered if his demeanor would reverse if he knew the last fight to split her and Jack apart had been over him.

  She looked up at Blake, his face marbleized by shadow and moonlight, the chiseled angles harsh in the darkness, made harsher by the anger etched there. No. She didn’t suppose it would make any difference to him at all.

  “My ex -boyfriend,” she clarified, “going on six months now.”

  “Trouble in paradise? Gee, that’s
too bad.”

  “It was never paradise.” Layla shoved her hands in her pockets. “I made a mistake. I can cop to it, pun intended.”

  “You’re really over him?” Blake sounded dubious.

  “Yes,” she said. A haunting light swirled through his eyes. For the longest time, he didn’t move. “Blake?”

  “What finally did it, Layla?” he asked, his voice so low it barely registered above the warm wind sifting through the trees. “Was it the lousy hours? The other women’s driveways he parked in during his shift? Or did you finally open your eyes and see him for the loser schmuck that he is?”

  “Excuse me?” When he advanced, she took a step back.

  “What, you didn’t figure out his MO in the first couple weeks of seeing him? You’re smarter than that. With your defenses pulled up around your ears, I figured you’d pin Jack as a player from the start. And you still let him in your house, into your bed.”

  Another step back, two, three. “Stop it.”

  “Don’t tell me what I said is a newsflash. Jack Johnson is a crooked cop with an ax to grind—against me.”

  “Oh, really?” Her hands found her hips. “So it doesn’t occur to you that maybe Jack wanted me way before you and I dated? That I have something to offer a man—other than you—to make him stand by me instead of ditching me when my life hits a rough patch and becomes inconvenient?”

  “I didn’t mean for things to happen between us the way they did. That doesn’t mean Jack didn’t use you. And you fell all over yourself to let him. What about after he showed his true colors?”

  “I…I didn’t—”

  “I tried to tell you he was bad news. If we’d spoken more than two words to each other—instead of just fighting—after the night Rob disappeared, I could have told you the truth. But you acted like I was something you’d scrape off your shoe.”

  “If you hadn’t ignored me, left town for some bike rally, then called me like nothing had happened, I wouldn’t have acted like that.” Her shoulder blades bumped the patio enclosure. His hand went up beside her head, as the other curved behind her neck.

  “What if I just took what I wanted, like Jack, and came onto you a year ago the way I did tonight? Maybe it would have been me in your bed. Was he worth it, Layla? Was he good? Did you shake in his arms like you did in mine?”

  Nothing compared to the way Blake made her feel minutes ago. But the force of her attraction to him clashed with his rude innuendo. This war waged every time Blake came near her. She despised this desire, this weakness. “I hate you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “So you say. I’d believe you, except your cheeks are flushed, your pulse is racing, and your lips are parted like you want my taste in your mouth. Is that what you want?” His face dipped.

  Layla shoved against him with her shoulder. “You’ll never find out.”

  Dashing through the gate, Layla heard it bang as she raced toward her car. Coming here had been worse than a mistake. She’d fallen into a nightmare.

  If she never saw Blake the rest of her life, it wouldn’t be long enough.

  Layla wrenched the handle of her Cavalier clunker and slammed the rusted door. She shoved her key in the ignition, turned, and the car gave one long pitiful whine. Then promptly died. No. No way was this happening. “Come on, come on!”

  After a few more cranks, and still nothing, her forehead dropped to the steering wheel. Impossible. Could this night get any worse?

  Chapter 2

  Layla swallowed back the hot lump of saltwater that rose in her throat. She was already mortified at bursting into tears in front of Blake. She couldn’t lose face again, even to herself. Determination kicked in.

  She got out, slammed the door and started walking.

  Aiming for the gas station she recalled at the end of this dark road, Layla shoved her hands in her coat pockets and for the first fifteen minutes did a good job of ignoring her throbbing toe, the result of a swift kick to her dead car.

  Then both feet began to ache in these awful shoes, but she didn’t dare go barefoot with glass chards and chunks of gravel strewn along the sides of the road, glinting in the moonlight. It was dumb to wear heels, but she’d wanted to blend in, and red high heels were what her mother always wore with this leather jacket. She stopped to empty the pebbles that had slipped inside, and the irony clicked that this is what she and Robby always were to the woman, stones in her shoe. Why else would she up and leave them?

  Though Layla suspected the real reason why she and her brother had been left behind to fend for themselves. The day of the accident twelve years ago, Layla had suffered an emotional breakdown. Her mother had suffered a mental one.

  Sucked into memories, the line between past and present blurred. When she looked up, eight headlights were barreling down the street toward her. The roar of a pack of motorcycles surrounded her. She wanted to turn and race back to the Handle Bar. Instead, she panicked and froze.

  Suddenly the ear-splitting racket resembled sirens more than eight sets of pipes. The white lights turned to red and blue, spinning atop police cars and ambulances. A flashback gripped her. It seemed so real. She replayed the scene that still haunted her, the day her whole world had shattered.

  If only she hadn’t begged Kenny to be at Giovanni’s Pizzeria to celebrate her fifteenth birthday. Then she wouldn’t have watched from the restaurant window as he rolled through the green light, waving from his motorcycle…when the car came out of nowhere.

  The glass had felt so cold, her face and hands pressed against it in shock, horror. But it was nothing compared to the chill that settled in her bones, the marrow hollowed out by the realization of what she had just lost. How small Robby’s hand had felt in her clammy one later, his confused little face looking to her to explain why he couldn’t dodge the police tape, tear off the bloodstained sheet on the stretcher and hug his invincible daddy.

  Every sound became deafening. She choked back a sob. The pack rumbled past, carrying the vision with it, replaced by the dark night that seemed to close in around her.

  Suddenly a single headlight beamed at her face. A motorcycle slowed, pulling up beside her just as her vision clouded. Feeling dizzy, she clutched her head, nearly stumbling into a muddy ditch. Two hands shot out to grab her waist.

  When her vision cleared, Blake Desanto loomed over her. Her fear-fogged brain had trouble deciding if he was a devil or an angel. It didn’t matter, if she could rely on his steady hold for one more minute.

  When his grip shifted, she seized his wrists, a silent plea for him not to leave her. Maybe never again, but for this moment at least, Layla needed him.

  He held fast.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I won’t let you go.”

  Blake felt Layla shaking in his grasp. Her face appeared an ungodly shade of pale, the most haunted look Blake had ever seen. “What the hell happened to you?”

  She gulped air, and blood seeped back into her cheeks. “M-my car broke down.”

  That didn’t answer his question, but a thorough glance-over didn’t produce any signs of physical assault. Thankfully, his heart rate normalized before he suffered a heart attack.

  “Why didn’t you call somebody?” he asked.

  Layla looked down at the pointed toes of her red high heels. “I couldn’t afford two cell phone payments. It’s more important for Robby to have one than me.”

  “Since when is your safety not worth fifty bucks a month?” His tone came out furious. So much for the careless front . He lowered his voice, stripped it of emotion. “Hop on. I’m taking you home.”

  Defiance flashed in her eyes. “What makes you think I’d go anywhere with you, after the things you said to me at the Handle Bar?”

  “This isn’t up for debate. Get on.” On closer inspection, he recognized another emotion in her eyes. Fear. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Layla.” He held one hand over his heart and extended the other one to her. “Trust me.”

  “Trust you ?” She scoffed
. “I’ll take my chances alone, thanks.”

  “I’m not giving you that option.” Their eyes locked in challenge, forcing a stalemate. “Fine,” he muttered. “Here’s your choice. Get on the bike, and I’ll take you home. But if I have to lasso you to the damn thing, you’re coming home with me . Tied up, at my mercy…until you beg me to stop.”

  She snorted. “You’re an egomaniac who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

  “Maybe.” He gave a careless shrug. “But I think I know where to find your brother.”

  “You—you do?”

  He sat back down on the Harley. “I don’t feel you on the back of my bike yet.”

  “I’m doing this for Robby,” she insisted, as she slid behind him. “This has nothing to do with you and me.”

  “Should I have used the lasso?”

  Her arms locked around him, her limbs tense with nervousness. “With you and your libido, it’s a wonder there’s room for me on this motorcycle.”

  “You didn’t refuse… I think I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

  Revving the v-twin of his Fat Boy, he drowned out whatever retort she launched. He blew out a long breath and snapped up the kickstand. Her hands had better stay flattened on his stomach, because if they drifted south she would discover his kickstand. Blake’s body had leaped to life at her touch.

  “Damn, baby.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Uh, hold on—and don’t move your hands. I’ll have you home soon.”

  After a few minutes of riding, Blake forgot the pressure throbbing below his belt as he slipped into a rider’s trance. Summer night air streamed over his arms, pounded against his face. An adrenaline rush spiraled through his veins.

  Nothing compared to driving a motorcycle. It was the perfect blend of control, speed and freedom. Although Layla seemed clueless, Blake perfectly understood Rob’s obsession with motorcycles. It matched his own.

  Pulling in a lungful of fast-moving air, he sighed. Nothing like it in the world .

  Twenty minutes later, Blake steered his motorcycle into the driveway. His driveway. Better to do this on his turf. He didn’t want a door slammed in his face when she heard the proposition he had in mind. Blake could use all the luck he could get, since getting lucky seemed out of the question.