Chapter 22
22
ARCHER
W hen I finally step through the front door, I breathe a sigh of relief. Because from the moment I left Daphne’s shop, all I could think about was getting home to Layla and Sky.
It smells amazing in here and the sight of this beautiful woman in my kitchen, looking like she’s waiting on me to get home—fuck—it makes a spark ignite inside my chest.
And she’s wearing my shirt again.
Her music plays on low as she washes the dishes.She turns and grins at me over her shoulder. “Hey, Lover Man.”
“Lover man? Seriously? What kind of nickname is that?” I grumble in protest. What I’d never admit is that just hearing her call me that has the blood in my brain heading southward.
“It suits you,” she insists with a wink. “Trust me on that.” Her eyes widen with curiosity when she spots the items in my hands. “What is all that?”
The tips of my ears tingle. Yeah—I’m fucking blushing as I stretch the bouquet and the shopping bags out to her. “Long story. Let’s just say, the news of our ‘relationship’ has started getting around town.”
She turns off the water and quickly dries her hands with a dish towel. When she eagerly digs into the shopping bag and finds her new dress, her eyes bulge from their sockets.
“This is the dress I—oh my—how did you—? I can’t believe you—Oh shit—Daphne, right?”
Her frazzled reaction makes me chuckle low in my chest.
Her gaze springs to mine and she finally strings a coherent sentence together. “You didn’t have to do this, Archer!”
I shrug, keeping an impassive expression while internally loving her reaction. “Of course I had to. The local ladies have very high expectations of me as a boyfriend.”
A laugh bursts out of her, but she quickly covers it with her palm. “Oh, poor you. I hope this fake relationship doesn’t bankrupt you.”
I throw my hands up in surrender. “So be it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. My fake girlfriend deserves to be treated like a queen.”
Layla grabs the bouquet and buries her face in the colorful petals, but it does nothing to hide her grin. “Wow—you’re a charmer. What do I have to do to get a guy like you in real life?”
Because we’re only joking around, I feel safe enough to brush her wild brown waves back from her eyes, tucking them behind her ear. “There’s nothing to do, pretty lady. You’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”
Layla brings her hand to her face, fanning her cheeks with her fingers. “Okay there, tiger. Let’s leave the Oscar-worthy performances for when we’re out in public. No point in making me swoon when there’s no audience here to see you wooing me.”
Right.
Layla trails a finger along a pink petal, all twinkly-eyed. “I’ve never been given flowers before.”
I blink in surprise. “Never?”
“Well, no.” She says it like it should be obvious.
But to me, it just feels wrong. She deserves pretty things. All the time. And any man would be lucky for the privilege to give those pretty things to her. Any man would be privileged to be the reason behind her smile.
Because I’m a greedy fucker, I want to earn even more smiles from her tonight.
“Go try on the dress,” I order her.
Her face scrunches up with a poorly suppressed smile as she grabs the shopping bag, scampering down the hall on her tiptoes.
While she’s gone, I reach into the cupboard for a tall mason jar. I half-fill it with water and stuff the flowers into it, doing my best to make the bouquet look decent.
A minute later, Layla is back in the kitchen, wearing her new necklace and modeling that pretty little dress for me. It’s short and colorful, showing off her creamy thighs, accentuating her sexy shoulders and her collarbones. She looks so fucking divine, I want to drop to my knees and worship her.
Instead, I collapse against the counter and curl my fingers around the butcher’s block, just to keep from touching her. “You look incredible, by the way.”
“You mean that?” she asks, peeking shyly from under her thick lashes.
“I mean it, Belle.” Staring at her, I can barely breathe.
But I watch as she begins to doubt herself. “In all seriousness—I don’t need the dress,” she says earnestly. “Maybe you could return it. It’s way too expensive. Plus, in this weather—”
“But do you like it?” I cut her off, not caring that I’m being rude. You don’t ask for too much, Layla. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t ask for enough.
She pauses. Then she gives a slow, guilty nod. “I really do,” she admits in a whisper.
I can hardly resist the urge to run a knuckle down her red-stained cheek. “Then, it’s yours.” I smirk. “Now, say ‘thank you’.”
She snorts. “Thank you.”
My gaze moves up and down her body, appreciating every inch of her. My cock starts to grow heavy. I force my eyes away so I don’t scare her off with the way I’m staring. I glance around the kitchen.
“Now, tell me—what smells so damn good?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Hungry?”
“Starved.” Preferably, I’d like to feast on her curvy body all night. But I’d settle for whatever it is that’s making this house smell so amazing right now.
Layla quickly spins away from me. Then she fills up a bowl from a pot on the stove, and turns to face me.
I peek into the bowl in her hands, finding my favorite stew. Then I notice my favorite bread sitting on the island.
I inhale deeply and my stomach growls. Both smell freaking amazing and I feel pretty damn special.
I blink in surprise. Well, shit. How did she even know?
“Wow. Is this my lucky day or what?”
She laughs, eyes hesitant as she sets the meal down on the tabletop. “How about we wait till you’ve tasted it? Then we’ll decide if it’s your lucky day.”
“I’m sure it’ll be delicious.” I immediately march over to wash my hands, and then we sit down to eat—just the two of us.
Picking up my spoon, I take my first bite and moan out loud.
Layla beams, her eyes lighting up. “You like?”
I close my eyes and moan again while I finish swallowing my second bite. “Damn. It’s excellent, Belle.”
“Good.” Her smile only widens. “Your mother gave me full step-by-step instructions on how to make the stew. And she said sourdough was your favorite. I’d love to claim the credit for making that, too, but we picked up a loaf at the farmer’s market.”
“Well, it’s delicious. You made my whole night.”
I glance at her across the table, sitting there, looking happy and gorgeous in her new dress. Only the stove light illuminates the kitchen, emanating a warm orange glow across her skin. It sets an intimate mood.
“And by the way, I’m sorry that my mom ambushed and kidnapped you at lunch time. I hope she wasn’t too overbearing.”
Layla’s already shaking her head before I stop talking. “No. No, it was fun. I love your mom. Except that…well, I don’t know if she’s buying our relationship.”
I press my lips together. “Yeah. Felix saw right through us the other night at the bar. He knew immediately that we’re faking it.”
“Crap. So did Ziggy,” she mutters, her shoulders dropping.
I let out a sigh. Damn. I really thought this would work. That this was my key to not being miserable for the entire lead-up to the big wedding. My key to making it through the event without losing my sanity.
“Well, I mean, despite ‘knowing’ each other all these years, we don’t really know each other all that well,” Layla points out. “I didn’t even know what your favorite meal was.”
I consider that. “I guess you’re right. So, what’s your favorite meal?”
“Tacos.” She lets out a little laugh. “But not just any tacos. It has to be street tacos with freshly grown cilantro and onions. And cheese. Lots of cheese.”
I tilt my head to the side. “I’m not a big fan of cilantro, but that does sound good.”
Layla finishes her last bite of stew and pushes the plate away. Her gaze falls to my lips. “When was your first kiss?” she asks.
“Oh. Uh.” I cringe. “Eighth grade.”
She lets out a gasp. “Who?!”
I try my best to recall the details. “It was a girl that asked me to homecoming and then kissed me during the first dance. I only went to be nice to her—she was a sweet girl, but I just didn’t know her well enough—so the whole thing was awkward as hell.”
She giggles and I love seeing her this way.
“And you? When was your first kiss?” I ask, even though I really don’t want to think about Layla kissing anyone.
“Ninth grade.”
“No details?”
She shrugs. “He was older than me. Kissed like a squid. Wouldn’t recommend.”
I chuckle. “Okay, fair enough.”
We sit side by side with the music playing low. We continue to question each other, each gleaning basic pieces of information about the other. Things that we should already know as a couple.
Her shy grin twinkles across at me and, in my head, every part of this night feels like a real date although I know it shouldn’t. Fuck.
“This is really nice,” Layla says, a soft sparkle in her eyes.
“What?” I question, my gaze flitting over her pretty face.
She shrugs slightly. “Getting to know you on a deeper level.”
I feel an unfamiliar sensation scamper through my chest. “Yeah.”
Over the years, I’ve figured out the basics of who Layla really is. I know she’s sometimes insecure about being an unwed mom. I know she’s self-conscious about her post-pregnancy body—even though she sure as hell shouldn’t be. I know she’s strong as hell. I know that no matter how life tries to beat her down, she gets right back up to her feet each and every time.
But I don’t know what her first job was. I don’t know what her favorite subject was back in school. I don’t know if she wants more kids some day. I don’t know where she wants to travel to.
And suddenly, I’m greedy to know all of it.
“Do you snore?” she asks suddenly. “I bet you snore.”
I gasp dramatically. “No. Never.”
Layla rolls her eyes. “Well, if anyone asks, I’m telling them you snore horribly.”
“And I’ll deny it.” I smirk. “What’s your dream vacation? Anywhere you’ve ever dreamed of going?”
Layla shrugs, getting this faraway look in her eyes. “Thailand maybe? I’ve heard about these elephant sanctuaries they have there, and I’ve always wanted to see them up close.” Her lips curve up at the corners. “What about you? Where do you want to go someday?”
“The Redwoods.”
“Oh, that totally fits your lumberjack vibe. If you ever go, I better get a picture of you standing in front of one of those giant trees.” Her gaze drifts to my chest and I like the way her eyes feel on me. “In your flannel shirt. The red one.”
“Maybe you could go with me,” I slip. Then I fumble. “I mean, you know, if anyone asks about our vacation plans, that’s what we should say.”
“Right. Of course.” She gives her head a little shake. “Okay, so we’ve covered the bases. We should be good to go, right?”
“Right…” I agree.
With a smile lingering on her lips, she gets up and starts taking our dishes to the sink. My eyes drop to her ass. It’s a hot ass. Especially in that dress.
As I watch the way she moves, I can’t help but think back to earlier at work when I cornered her against the filing cabinet. Jeez. Just thinking about how she felt up against me makes me hot and horny again.I reach down to discretely adjust myself under the table.
Immediately, I feel guilty. It’s not right to lust after her this way. But I just can’t help how attracted I am to her.
Grabbing some dirty plates, I follow her to the kitchen sink, standing right next to her. “Felix said we don’t look comfortable around each other. He said we look scared of each other.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Layla says tentatively. “We’ve never done—y’know?—couple stuff. Physical stuff.”
My gut clenches. Oh, we’ve never done any of it, but I’ve sure fantasized about it. “Right.”
Layla’s brows dip low. “Do you think we should…practice? I mean, just to, you know, get rid of some of the awkward energy between us?”
My eyes follow her tongue as it swipes across her bottom lip. Fuck —I want to kiss that mouth so bad. But casual is just not my style.I’ve got that whole no-kissing rule.
It’s times like this though that make me question all my convictions.
Layla stretches her hand across to me. I look down at it. Then I slowly reach my hand out, lacing my calloused fingers with her much softer ones.
My stomach is tight. I’m starting to sweat. Electricity moves between the two of us, like it’s trying to shock me to death.
We both stand there for the longest time, staring at our interlaced hands.
Then ever so slowly, I tighten my grip on her hand, pulling her closer and taking her in my arms. I almost moan out loud at the contact. She just feels so right.
“Y’know—we never did finish our dance the night of my birthday party, before you Cinderella’d it,” I say, surprised by how rough my voice sounds.
She smiles. “True.”
My hand gently finds the small of her back. “Is it okay to touch you here, Belle?”
Layla takes a stuttered breath. She nods. “Yes.”
Then she laces her arms around my neck, somehow drawing us closer together. Which I’m totally fucking fine with, by the way.
But when she accidentally brushes against my erection, she startles. We end up stepping all over each other’s feet.
“I’m—that’s—I’m sor—” I stutter.
“No. I…I like it.”
I blink. “You like it?”
Layla shakes her head, redness climbing up her cheeks. “I mean…it’s okay…I don’t m-mind. I just…”
Instead of finishing whatever she was going to say, she just reels me back in, pulling me close.
I stare.
I see the goosebumps rising along her arms. I feel the way her pebbled nipples press against my abs. The sensation makes my mouth water.
My palms slide downward, over her lower back. I’m no longer in control. It just happens.
But when she lets out a quiet whimper, my hands stop their descent. I search her eyes, trying to figure out what she’s thinking.
“Keep going,” Layla rasps, breathless, her hands slowly gliding over my shoulders and down my biceps.
The next thing I know, I’m fully cupping her ass and backing her up against the counter. As soon as her body meets the butcher’s block, I’m grinding against her. And she’s grinding against me.
Layla feels so fucking good, it’s making me light-headed.
When my fingers graze under the hem of her dress, her grip on my biceps tightens. My hand freezes.
“More…” she begs, out of breath.
I lean back to meet her dark gaze. “More?”
“Yes, more. Please…” she says, sounding a little bit frantic.
I comply, my fingers slipping under the lace of her panties. “Fuck. You’re soaked,” I grumble low.
Layla groans, her eyes fluttering closed. “Oh god.”
What the hell are we doing? The lines are so blurry right now. I’m not so sure how any of this helps with the fake-dating assignment, but I don’t question it too much. I’m just not strong enough.
My fingers coax further and further until I brush over her clit. A moan comes from deep inside her soul.
I do it again.
“More, Archer,” she says with urgency now. “Please.”
The spark in my chest roars into a fire.I lean in closer, trailing my lips along her neck. “God—you feel so fucking good, Belle.”
Dragging her ankle up the back of my calf, Layla moans again, and I decide that’s my new favorite sound. All the blood in my body is now pooling at my crotch, and I can’t think straight.
Deep down, there’s a vague voice reminding me that we shouldn’t be doing this.She’s not mine. And I can’t afford to get invested in this, only to get hurt in the end.
But then there’s Layla’s voice in my ear, begging me to take this further.
“Oh, my god, Archer. Touch me. Keep going.” Her hips rock against my hand.
I pluck and play with her clit and a stream of wetness gushes out of her. I know that she’s already getting close.
“You’re so wet, Layla. You like it that I’m touching your sweet pussy? You like the way it feels?”
“Yes…” she exhales.
My fingers curl around the back of her thigh, pulling it up higher around my hip. “You want to come for me? Make a mess all over my hand?”
“Yes…Please, Archer…” she says, her voice strained.
I’m having a hard time breathing as I drag my fingertip through her slit, gathering her wetness. Then I slowly sink inside her opening with the tip of one finger.
She burrows her face against my collarbone, panting uncontrollably, one leg locked around the back of my thigh and giving me the perfect access.
My finger sinks deeper and I feel like I’m going to die. I’m trying my best to breathe, but there’s no more oxygen left in this room. It’s all been burned up by this blazing lust in the air.
Layla is hot and silky and drenched. And when her walls clamp down around my knuckles, I have to clench my teeth together. My dream woman squeezing on my fingers has me ridiculously close to coming in my pants like a horny teenager.
I remove my finger from her channel, bringing it to my mouth to get a taste of her. The sweet tang of her juices makes my head go light.
“Fuck. I love the way you taste and the sounds you’re making, Belle,” I rasp by her ear. “I love how you’re making such a mess on my hand. I love it how you say my name.” My other palm moves to her ass, squeezing the fleshy globe, holding her body against mine.
My entire body is throbbing. I’m in physical pain. My cock is harder than it’s ever been. My pulse has never sprinted this fast before. Wanting to be inside her is shaving years off of my life.
I want this moment—Layla clinging to me in my kitchen—I want it to last forever.
Yet still, there’s a part of me that’s doubting this whole thing. A battle between right and wrong rages on inside my head.
Ignoring my guilty conscience, I push forward. I don’t want to be the good guy right now. I don’t want to deprive myself anymore. Not tonight.
“I’m going to make you come now, Belle,” I grit out.
She whimpers. “Please…”
I sink a second finger inside her, curling against her silky walls in a way that makes her go feral.
Redness explodes across her cheeks. Her wetness gushes out like a river. Her grip on my biceps tightens, her fingernails piercing my skin. Layla rises onto her tiptoes, drawing closer and closer.
But when she’s just a breath away from kissing me, I turn my head.
I drag my beard along her neck, dropping my forehead to her shoulder in defeat. My chest heaves as my fingers slip from inside her.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “I can’t…”