Chapter 5 - Layla
I lick my bottom lip as I watch Jace over my book.
Yesterday, he effortlessly carried a decent sized Christmas tree to the car.
I’d been focused on shopping until I came out of the store and found him strapping the tree down to the roof of my car with soft grunts and sure hands.
I nearly dropped every bag I was carrying just watching him.
His face flushed all the way down to his beard, his throat working as he grumbled almost silently, his arms rippling as they tightened and flexed. If he would have been shirtless, it would have been perfect.
Nibbling my bottom lip, I read the same page of the book for the fourth time.
I can’t get into the romance even though this is one of my favorite books.
Jace insisted on taking care of the decorations I couldn’t reach.
He’s down to a tank top and his jeans and watching him move is so much better than reading.
His eyes flick to me and he arches an eyebrow. “It’ll be up to your standards when it’s done.”
“You’re always up to my standards,” I say boldly.
He blinks once, then looks back at me, as if checking to make sure he heard me correctly. He did and I won’t take it back. I don’t want to overwhelm him, but I want things to be clear. Being around him is torture of the sweetest variety and I feel ridiculous feeling it alone.
“Is that so?” He asks, almost smiling.
“You actually set quite a few standards. Two days here and you’ve reinforced them all. You’re shockingly capable at just about everything I can imagine,” I murmur, then flip the page as if I’m actually reading.
He snorts once, but I catch a hint of his smile and the curiosity across his gaze. “I’m capable of more than you think, but probably less than you’d believe.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Plenty … more that I probably shouldn’t say,” he says, his face twisting.
“What if I want you to say?” I ask, my voice breathy. He watches me for a long moment and I swear the silence is about to ignite. I swallow and suck my bottom lip.
“Have you heard from your father?” he asks, straightening up like he’s gotten caught doing something bad. I get it. Flirting with him is dangerous, especially when I think he’s flirting back.
“He’ll be flying in two days,” I say, trying not to sound disappointed. “He feels awful about it, but it isn’t his fault.”
Jace nods, quiet and steady.
“And yes, I could technically stay here alone,” I continue, giving him a little half-smile. “I live by myself in the city, after all. My old roommate just moved in with her boyfriend, so I’m used to having the place to myself.”
I lift my gaze to his, honest and warm. “But I didn’t want to be alone here. Not if I didn’t have to be.”
His eyes hold mine for a beat, unreadable but intense.
“You don’t like the idea of settling for someone just to have company,” he says. It isn’t a question. His eyes stay on me, slow and steady. “Not even in the city?”
I shake my head and move slowly across the room toward him, pretending I have some logical reason to cross the space when we both know I don’t. “I’ve dated. Talked to guys. Tried.” My voice softens. “But I haven’t met anyone who feels worth building a life with.”
The tail end of a string of lights drops from his hand. “You’re too young for that anyway.”
“I’m twenty-three,” I remind, picking up the string of lights and holding them. “Some women are married at this point. I’m … waiting.”
“For the one?”
“Something like that,” I say, not looking away from him. His gaze clashes with mine, curiosity meeting determination. A question meeting an answer that doesn’t need to be said. “I’ve heard it takes guys longer to catch up.”
He watches me for an extra beat, until my face floods with heat. I clear my throat. “It’s not freezing anymore. The snow is even melting. Apparently, we’re going to have a hot Christmas.”
“You brought the heat with you.”
“From the city? Not likely.”
“Didn’t say where you brought it from, Layla,” he replies.
My mouth dries as my panties get wet, but I keep talking, “Maybe it’s because you’re finding more and more reasons to be shirtless and mother nature wants more.”
He chuckles, actually chuckles. “So, I’m to blame for global warming?”
“At least partially to blame. You… and the billionaires,” I tease.
He rolls his eyes.
I hand him the lights, but don’t move fast enough.
His entire side brushes my front. My nipples harden, my breathing shallows, and when he nearly drops the lights to wrap his arm around me to make sure I don’t fall, I might actually moan at the contact alone.
He pants as he watches me and I try to stop breathing entirely so his cologne stops dancing in my head.
“I need someone like you full time … I think,” I breathe.
“Is that what you need?”
“Yeah. You … are you …” The word ‘available’ almost slips between my lips, but I catch it by biting my tongue. “Up for the job?”
“I’ve lasted two days,” he comments, his eyes sharpening, jaw tightening, throat bobbing. “I’m up for plenty where you’re involved.”
“Even if it’s hard?”
“It’s often hard. Doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”
One man shouldn’t be every fantasy rolled into one. Seeing this commanding, intense side of him is different than his constant presence. Granted, that spreads across a room and threatens to suck the air out of my lungs, but touching him, knowing he’s looking at me and only me … it’s overwhelming.
“You need to eat,” he decides. “If you’re this close to falling.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, eying his mouth while gently tugging his tank-top. “Filling my mouth sounds really good.”
I think he groans, but I don’t know if I just want to hear it, or if the sound actually leaves his throat. Is he vibrating or am I shaking? It’s impossible to tell.
Suddenly, he breaks the connection, looking at his hand twisted in the string of Christmas lights. I nod once. “They’re hot, I’ll … I can get you some ice.”
“No need.”
“Just dinner then?” I ask as he takes a step back. I almost hope he says no. I hope he wraps himself around me, picks me up, and carries me to the kitchen to devour me there just like in my fantasies.
“Your dinners are feasts. I enjoy them,” he comments.
Another compliment, but not in the way I want. I’m sure he has to feel this. He’s not just tolerating it. He can’t be. I’ve been flirting and teasing him, trying to get him to talk as much as I do since I masturbated to the fantasy of him every fucking day.
If he didn’t want me in some way … he wouldn’t allow that. He can end a conversation with a look and hasn’t done it.
I cross my fingers as I go to the kitchen. I want the same man that I’ve wanted for years. I’ve wanted him silently. I’ve wanted him in my diary. I’ve wanted him in my late night fantasies. And now, I want him enough to push the limits.