Layla Three pairs of wide eyes stare at me as soon as I enter. “I need a shower,” I announce. “And then I’m going to bed.” They watch me march past them to the bathroom, where I strip down and turn the water as hot as it will go. Maybe if I burn off the top layer of my skin, I’ll feel clean. Stripping off the clothes that have become stuck to my body through stale sweat and panic, I st ep into the shower and wait for a revelation. It doesn’t come. My life is still in shambles. I’m pregnant with the child of a man who would throw an elderly couple out of the only home they know. I’ve lost the opportunity of a lifetime with his mother, because why the hell would she invest in me now? Why the hell would I agree, even if she did want me to start a business with her? I can’t work with people like that! People who have no moral fiber. As the water sluices away the grime from my skin, I feel cleaner but no better. I wash until my skin is red and raw, st epping out into a steam-filled bathroom, grateful the mirror is too fogged up to see my reflection. I don’t want to look at myself right now. When I open the bathroom door, a scratchy old bath towel wrapped around my body, there’s a neat stack of clothes just outside the door. Emma must have gotten my pajamas ready for me. Backing into the humid warmth of the bathroom, I tug the sle ep shorts and old tee on, then run a wide-tooth comb through my hair. I need to face Leif tomorrow, from the other side of a lawyer’s boardroom table. It’s too soon. I don’t want to see him. Exc ept a small part of me does. The part that thought he could be my knight in a well-tailored suit. The one who believed him when he said he’d take care of me. I must be a special kind of stupid. Women like me don’t get scooped up out of the gutter by men like him. We grind and grind and grind until we’re worn down and haggard. That’s my lot in life. Has been since my mother walked away when I was sixteen years old. I shuffle to the bedroom down the hall and see Emma on the air mattress on the floor. She’s scrolling through her phone but puts it down when I enter. “You take the bed,” I tell her. “Nope.” She blinks. Not in any mood to argue, I just shrug. “Your loss.” I fall face-first onto the old mattress, feeling the familiar dip in the middle that will guarantee I wake up with a sore back. Turning onto my side, I see my sister watching me. “Are you okay?” Her voice is quiet and so much older than it should be. She had to grow up quickly too, and it’s my fault. I couldn’t shield her from everything. Couldn’t shield her from Leif. My sister’s words hang between us and I want to cry, but I won’t let myself. I’ve been through worse. I lost The Job. I’ve been forgotten, ignored, groped, bullied, and pushed around before. This is nothing new. I may be broke, but I’m not broken.
I nod, my cheek rubbing against the soft cotton of the pillowcase. “Yeah, Emma. I’m okay.” “What are you going to do?” “Sle ep. Go to the mediation tomorrow. Beg my boss at the bar to put me on the schedule this week.” “I want to help.” “You can help by ke eping your grades up so that scholarship money ke eps coming,” I answer. Emma flops onto her back. “No, I want to help. You always take everything on your shoulders, but Layla, I’m older than you were when Mom left. I can handle it. Let me do something—anything. I’ll look for a new apartment. I’ll get a part-time job. You can’t stop me. If I get a job and buy groceries for us, you’ll have to eat them. You won’t have a choice.” I huff, lips curling into a sad smile. “I don’t want you to wear yourself down, Em. You need to graduate and become a doctor, remember?” “And I will.” She tucks her hands under her cheek, her knees coming up on the air mattress. “I can do well in my classes and still contribute. School is easy for me.” “Even organic chemistry?” I arch a brow. Emma’s lips twitch. “Well, I did get an A on that midterm, so...” I laugh, and it feels rusty in my throat. “Okay. Just let me get through tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it after, okay? Maybe you can get a job on campus. Somewhere safe.” “Okay.” My sister gives me a sad smile, then goes back to her phone. I turn and look at the ceiling, wondering how it is that after a decade, I’m right back where I started. No richer. No wiser. The cheap polyester of my thrift store suit scratches against my skin as I take a seat in the lawyer’s boardroom. The skirt is a bit too tight around the thighs, the seams stretching as I shift in my chair. Grandma sits to my left, while Grandpa takes the seat on the other side of her. He puts his hand on her knee, and her back straightens. As if that simple touch buoyed her. Gave her the strength she needed to face this battle. My heart gives a sharp twist. I thought Leif’s touch did that to me. I thought he had superpowers with how safe and strong he made me feel. The clock’s ticking sounds like gunshots in the small space. A young employee breezes in and offers us coffee, arranging cups and mugs and coffee-related accoutrements on the table in front of us. When she’s gone, the stern-faced woman who’s been dealing with our case enters. I hear nothing of what she says. My heart is pounding too hard, my stomach yawning too far open. Just when I’m about to excuse myself to go hurl in the bathroom, the elevator doors slide open and Leif stalks out. His face is a mask of brutality. The harsh line of his jaw tics when he sees me, his impossibly broad shoulders looming as he approaches the doorway. For the first time, I wish he weren’t so big. I wish his sheer physicality, his maleness, didn’t feel so intimidating. It doesn’t feel safe anymore.
But my body hasn’t gotten the memo. My nipples turn to hard little pebbles in my bra as heat curls in the pit of my stomach. I remember all too well how it felt to have those huge hands on my skin, wrapped around my ribcage, teasing my breasts. I remember the rush of warmth when he cupped between my legs like that place belonged to him. “Morning,” he says with a curt nod to the room at large. “Should we get started?” He folds his big Viking’s body into the chair across from mine, smoothing his tie in a move that fools no one. The veneer of civilization is thin enough to see through. And his eyes. Those de ep eyes, stormy as the ocean, stay glued on me. Knowing he’ll be able to spot my every weakness, I ke ep my spine rod-straight and let the lawyers start the formalities. I hear very little of the meeting because I’m almost entirely consumed with withstanding the assault of Leif’s presence. The room is much too small for him. He fills it from wall to wall, his energy pressing up against my skin, making me feel raw and exposed and turned on and angry and afraid. “We have planning permission from the city,” the Sorensen lawyer intones while Leif watches the pulse flutter in my neck. “All we can do is offer ten percent more.” “I don’t want more money.” My grandfather’s hand slams the table, rattling glasses and mugs. Leif clears his throat. “This discussion isn’t going anywhere. Thank you for your time. We’re done here.” I splutter. “You’re not even going to try?” Leif’s gaze narrows. “I didn’t say that. I merely pointed out that this mediation meeting is a waste of everyone’s time.” There’s something in his eyes, some unspoken words he’s trying to convey. I can’t read them. I don’t want to read them. He’s not the man I thought he was. My grandfather harrumphs. “Well, do what you told Layla you’d do, then. Demolish everything around us. We’ll deal with the noise and dust and disruption. We’re not moving from that house.” My grandfather pushes himself up to his feet, huffs, and hobbles to the door. Meeting adjourned. I stand and help my grandmother to her feet, only to feel Leif’s eyes on me. My skin prickles, awareness in every pulse of my heart. It takes every ounce of self-control not to look at him, not to acknowledge how badly I wish things were different. When I’m standing at the elevator bank, I feel him approach. His voice rumbles over my shoulder. “Layla. I need to speak with you.” “Speak to my lawyer.” A beat. Then, “Please.” Exchanging a glance with my grandmother, I turn slowly and lift my gaze up, up, up to meet Leif’s. His jaw is clenched, hands fisted at his sides. “Five minutes. That’s all I ask.” “Go ahead, honey,” my grandmother says. “We’ll wait at the coffee shop downstairs.” The elevator doors open and my grandparents shuffle inside, along with three other fancy, lawyerly people in expensive-looking suits. My grandmother gives me a curt nod, and the doors close.
I hold my arms straight at my sides, trying to ignore the way Leif’s gaze runs down my body, pausing on the stretched fabric cupping my thighs, then back up again. He reaches over and grips my elbow, guiding me back down the hallway we just exited. Instead of heading for the conference room, though, he peeks inside a door and tugs me into a supply closet. “Leif,” I protest. “What are you doing?” “I need to talk to you.” The fluorescent lights fizz when he hits the switch, closing the door in the same instant. I cross my arms, so keenly aware that we’re alone. I should have refused. Why am I here? I’m mad at him. He’s despicable. He’s a piece of shit developer who wants to make my grandparents homeless. But he’s the man who gave me a place to stay when my shower broke. He made sure my sister could come too. He celebrated with me when his mother offered to invest in me. He’s a doting father. A loving son. How can those be the same people? How can he be all of that, and still dismiss us from the mediation meeting like we’re flies buzzing around his head? “I didn’t know your grandparents lived in that house,” he says, eyes intent on mine. “I need you to understand that.” “It shouldn’t matter. If they weren’t my grandparents, they would be someone else’s.” His lips pinch, eyes sliding away. A de ep, shaking breath fills his lungs, then he brings his eyes back to mine. They look... tortured. It shouldn’t bother me. It shouldn’t make me want to fix whatever aches inside him. But I’m weak, and I fell in love with him the moment he jogged toward me on the street and offered to walk me home. He takes a st ep closer and it takes all my willpower not to move back. I turn my head to the side, pretending to be very, very interested in the reams of paper stacked neatly on the steel shelves. “I don’t want to fight. Please, Layla.” “That’s twice you’ve said that,” I spit. “‘Please.’ Didn’t think you knew the word.” He takes another st ep closer. Despite my best efforts, a tremor courses through my body. He looms above me, and I can’t help but remember the month of tangled sheets and panting breath and whispered filth we shared. I should hate him. I do hate him! Exc ept... I don’t, really, do I? Leaving this room right now and telling him to go to hell should be the only option, but I find myself rooted to the floor when he takes another st ep closer. His hand skims the edge of my thigh, and heat rushes south. “I like this skirt.” “I don’t care what you like. Are we done here?” “Not quite.” Leif’s voice gets lower, and I work up the courage to glance at him quickly. I don’t like the look in his eyes. Not one bit. “My grandparents are waiting for me.” God, I wish my voice hadn’t trembled.
“I meant what I said yesterday,” he says quietly, dangerously. I close my eyes. Yesterday, he told me he loved me. The words had hit me like bullets, piercing whatever mangled heap of flesh remained as my heart. It hasn’t recovered. How can he love me when he’s about to take my grandparents’ house? “You don’t know what you feel,” I whisper. “You’ll forget about me as soon as this is over.” He’s close now, his chest brushing mine. My body strains to lean against him, blood rushing to the surface of my skin, nipples hard and aching. This is wrong. I shouldn’t want him. This won’t fix anything between us. It’ll make it worse. But when Leif’s hand slides along the side of my neck, when he curls his fingers around my nape and tilts it back, my legs turn to water and I know I can’t leave. Not now. Not when he’s looking at me like no one else exists. Not when anger and hurt and lust form a caustic stew inside my stomach. “You’ve forgotten something important, Layla,” he says in that same low, dangerous voice. His fingers tighten on my nape as his other hand skims my hip, dipping back to smooth over my rear. “What’s that?” My voice is breathless, needy. His touch... How can I live without his touch? I already feel like all my aches are soothing. Like everything will be okay if he just ke eps running his palms over my body just like that. That hand slides down my curves to the back of my thigh, all the way to my knee where the skirt meets my skin. Slowly, torturously, while he crowds me against the shelves and holds onto the nape of my neck, Leif slides his hand up the inside of my thighs. I widen my stance, because I’m weak-willed and horny and he’s just... him. And when his hand reaches the juncture of my thighs to cup the heat pulsing there, Leif leans in to rest his forehead against mine. “This is mine,” he growls, the heel of his hand pressing against my clit. “You’ve forgotten that this belongs to me, and I’m not going to let it go.” “You’re such an asshole.” I mean for it to sound hard and biting, but it comes out in a pant. “I’m going to fix this,” he says, his breath coasting across my lips as that hand grinds and grinds against me. “Do you trust me?” “Of course not,” I answer, hands scrabbling back to grip the nearest shelf. Heat explodes down below, tightening and releasing as I clench around nothing. “Why would I trust you?” He growls, deft fingers pulling my panties aside to run his middle finger through my sopping-wet seam. I think this is a hormonal problem. That’s why Leif’s simple touch addles my brain so badly. I’m all messed up from unfamiliar hormones, and it’s turning me into a needy, lusty, weak woman. That’s what’s going on here. It’s not that his shoulders are broad and strong and all I can see is Leif. All I can smell is Leif. All I want is Leif.
“I should leave you like this,” he says in that low growl. “Wet and needy. I should leave you right here and walk away, because I’ve got shit to do, Layla. I’ve got a problem I need to fix, and you’re in the center of it. I didn’t end that meeting because I didn’t want to try. I ended that meeting because it wasn’t going to help me fix what’s broken between us.” It sounds like he means it. Like he’s not just going to make my grandparents homeless and build a big tower of fancy condos where I grew up. It sounds like he would do that... for me. “I told you I loved you and you threw it back in my face,” he grates. His finger slides up to rub against my clit and a whimper es capes me. “You deserved it,” I manage to croak, hands tightening on the shelves. “God, you’re sexy when you’re mad,” he says, lowering his lips to my neck. “All proud and angry and strong. I wanted to bend you over that conference room table and fuck you right there, Layla.” The image burns through my mind and I moan, no longer in control as my hips gyrate against him. “My cock was so hard I couldn’t think,” he continues in a harsh rasp. “And then you stood up and twitched that ass at me as you walked out of the room and now...” He sucks in a hard breath, fingers gliding down to my opening. “Now I find out you’re as wet as I imagined under that skirt of yours.” “Leif—” His fingers surge inside me. I gasp, hands flying to his shoulders. “I’m going to fix this,” he growls. “Do you hear me?” His fingers pump harder. I close my eyes. “This doesn’t mean anything. I’m not in my right mind. You’re—” A moan slips through. “This isn’t fair.” A huff of laughter es capes from him as his teeth graze my neck. “I know that, baby. I don’t fight fair. I hurt you, and that was wrong. But I’m going to make it better.” His hands do something magic then. Curling his fingers inside me as his thumb grazes my clit. Pleasure surges inside me and I hold onto his shoulders for dear life. “You can’t fix this with an orgasm, Leif,” I pant. At least, I don’t think he can. He doesn’t answer. Instead, Leif drops to his knees, shoves my skirt up to my waist, tugs my panties down to my ankles, and hooks my knee over his shoulder. All in a matter of seconds. Then his tongue is on me, flat and hot and oh, oh, it feels good. With both hands, I grip his hair and can’t help but grind into him. “That’s it,” he says against my flesh. “Use my mouth.” He slides his fingers inside me again, swirling his wicked tongue around my clit. “Grind this pretty pussy all over my lips and let me do this for you.” I’m chanting, I realize. A low, steady pant that just says, Leif, Leif, Leif. “You’re going to make me explode in my pants, you taste so good.” He gives me another long lick, moaning low in his throat. I shouldn’t say it, but I can’t help it. He’s on his knees in front of me, telling me he’ll fix all my problems, making me feel like my feet have left the earth. “I want you,” I whine. “I want your cock, Leif.”
He chuckles, blowing a soft breath over my clit. “No. This is me making you feel good, Layla. This is my promise that everything that’s wrong, I will make it right.” “But—” He slides another finger inside me as his other hand moves to my rear, squeezing and kneading my ass before moving to tease my rear entrance. One knuckle. Two. And it’s the feeling of fullness that does me in. That and the way his eyes meet mine, clear and blue and determined. An orgasm ripples through me in slow, de ep waves. I grip Leif’s hair, riding through my orgasm. My hips buck, my inner muscles clench around his fingers, and all I can do is let it wash over me as I shatter into a million pieces. Dazed, blind, deaf, and dumb, I lean limply against the shelves as Leif stands before me. He pulls my damp panties back up, tugs my skirt down, and smooths it over my hips and thighs. In a move that shouldn’t be sexy but somehow is, Leif wipes his glistening mouth with his palm, then casually readjusts his cuffs. “We should go before someone finds us,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yes,” I answer, and I let him lead me out of the storeroom and back to the elevators. He ke eps a possessive hand on the small of my back all the way to the coffee shop, where he gives me one last indecipherable look before walking away. “Well,” my grandmother says with false brightness, watching him leave. “That didn’t exactly go to plan, now did it?”