Chapter Three
His house was identical in architecture to the chuck hall.
“Y’all like your amenities,” Layla commented as they rolled to a stop in front of Avery’s porch, which was also well appointed.
“When you spend the majority of your time on a ranch, honey, it’s nice to have creature comforts.”
“I do not discount that.” She unlatched her seat belt and was about to reach for the handle on the door.
“Whoa, whoa,” he said. “No lady opens her own door around here if we can help it. No offense.”
“None taken.” She gave him an appreciative look. “Manners are never frowned upon in my book.”
Yet she scowled. Before shaking her head.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“I sorta lost that perspective for a while.”
He helped her out of the truck again. As they ascended the steps, he prompted, “How’d that happen?”
“You’re getting good at roundabout questioning.”
Avery shrugged. “Not so roundabout. And I’m willing to put effort into knowing you better. More importantly, the unofficial bio.”
He disengaged the digital lock and ushered her inside. Security wasn’t this tight around the ranch, not with the gate to the entrance being monitored with a camera and requiring a code. But Avery harbored qualms over his dad somehow getting onto the premises—and busting into his house or the chuck hall. That was how deep his worries over Caleb’s return ran.
As he closed the door behind him, Layla said, “The ‘hidden’ details aren’t something I share with people. Only Brodi and my executive producer. I need a level of discretion. Or disassociation from my past. A degree of trust. Or ...” She blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I just feel a basic instinct to safeguard myself.”
His gut twisted. “From what?”
“Life,” she retorted. Then glowered. “No. That’s too victim-mentality for me.”
She bounded down the step of the raised hardwood platform at the entrance and wandered about the spacious living room, the bar area with a pool table, and more sofa seating off to the side. Even took a peek at the kitchen with dining for six and additional seats at the island.
When she returned, Avery was still standing in the foyer, under a chandelier emitting an amber glow, like the pendant lights hanging throughout the exposed-rafter, split-level home. There were two antique-looking ceiling fans on pulley systems. Lots of medium-brown wood and brushed-aluminum accents.
“This is sensational,” she said.
And not filled with unpleasant memories the way his childhood home was. How Chance lived under that roof of stifled and oppressed dreams, where too much male testosterone and violent tendencies had reigned supreme, was beyond him.
Although maybe being two years older than Avery, Chance had accumulated fonder recollections of their mom, and that was what made his existence in a previously volatile patriarchal establishment more tolerable. Bearable.
Cutting into his thoughts, Layla said, “I’m guessing there’s an extraordinary view from the second floor.”
“Of the river or . . . ?”
She laughed softly and gazed up at him with glowing eyes. “Your wooing’s improving, cowboy.”
“Let me lead the way.” The stairs were off the gaming room.
The mezzanine opened to the living space below, then wound toward the back of the house with three bedrooms, including his master suite.
She maneuvered around him as he halted on the other side of the threshold.
“Wow,” she muttered as her attention fell on the focal point of the floor-to-ceiling, wood-trimmed windows and doors that looked out on the balcony, fringed by trees, and the verdant pasture beyond, leading straight to the gentle rapids.
Avery flipped the switch for the rock-accented gas fireplace taking up a far corner where a sofa and two chairs were positioned.
Layla crossed to the doors and stepped outside, breathing in the fresh floral-scented air, from rosebushes below. Avery joined her at the railing.
“Definitely something to be said for rural living,” she commented.
“It’s peaceful, most of the time.” He didn’t bring up the shouting matches from his teenage years. “Can get a little loud when there’s cattle to herd or the cowboys want to blow off steam, cranking the radio and throwing back beers and tequila. Though ... that noise doesn’t actually drift up to this room, so.”
“Your own slice of paradise.” She glanced at him and added, “Kinda big for just one person.”
“I don’t spend all that much time here. So I guess I don’t notice if I’m ramblin’ around in too much square footage.”
“Regardless ... it’s beautiful, Avery. All of it.”
“You’re beautiful, honey.” He gave a snort. Shook his head. “That’s about the lamest thing I could say. You must hear it constantly.”
“Not always,” she murmured. And inched toward him. “And not from a man like you. Until now.” She rolled her eyes. “That probably only makes sense to me.”
His arm raised, and his fingertips almost grazed her cheek, but she ducked away. His arm dropped to his side.
She let out a quavering breath, gazed back at him, and said, “Sorry. Involuntary reaction.”
His brow furrowed. He didn’t press, though. Instead, he asked, “What’s the view like where you live?”
“Persistent, you are.” Her light tone returned. “And tactical. I live in San Antonio. So lots of plush greenery, like here.”
“By way of ...?” His gaze didn’t falter.
She groaned. “I’m the one who asks the questions, Avery. That’s my job.”
“I haven’t given a yes or a no yet, so we’re not really interacting in a professional capacity. Correct?”
“But I should be. I want you to say yes.”
“Give me one good reason why.”
“I gave you one hundred and fifty thousand reasons why.” Her expression turned pointed.
He wasn’t deterred. “There’s no guarantee I’ll slide into a money spot.”
“Trust me, Avery,” she said as she closed the scant gap between them and stared up at him. “I wouldn’t be this invested if I didn’t believe you have the winning combination.”
He stared back, his jaw working.
She continued. “I advocate for every contestant. They wouldn’t be on the roster if they didn’t have what it takes to clinch this competition. It’s just that ... with you ...”
She seemed to search for the right words. Looked damn convincing that this was highly important to her, critical even. Not just for her career.
“Layla—”
“Wait. Hear me out.” She splayed a palm against his chest. “I have a sixth sense about these things. About what makes a champion. Yes, you’ve already proved your worth in that vein. But that was some time ago. Yet today at Jack’s event ... you fully reemerged. Sooo many people were gushing over you and your steaks. Recalling that friendly cook-off you and Luke had with Jack and Jillian on Jack’s channel. Discussing how you can come across as being devilish on-screen, but when there’s no camera rolling ... you’re the real deal, Avery Reed.”
Her eyes misted.
She whispered, “Damn it.” And turned away.
“Now hold on a minute, darlin’.” His fingers tenderly curled around one arm, and he brought her back to him. “What’s honestly going on here?”
She gazed up at him again. And said, “You don’t fade into the background, Avery. Nor do you purposely outshine anyone. You’re comfortable in either role. This BBQ bash was Jack’s signature event. You commanded your own grills without stealing his and Jillian’s thunder. You were just you. And that impressed the hell out of everyone. Including me. Especially me.”
“I do aim to please,” he jested.
She gave him a pretty smile. “I’m not just talking about your cooking, cowboy. I’m talking about you. My female viewers will go crazy for you, Avery. That’s a given. But all fans of barbecue will cheer you on. That’s a promise I can make. They’ll want their own pit in the backyard—and they’ll have a reference as to how to properly build and use it. Because of you.”
His gaze narrowed.
She nodded in silent confirmation of her statements, that he could make that big of an impact on an audience. Like Jack and Jillian were doing with their shows, her podcast and blog, and her cookbook that had basically become an overnight sensation once she’d teamed up with Jack.
Hell, Avery wouldn’t mind publishing one either—or several. He’d certainly created enough recipes over two decades. But, really ... it was the mechanics of what he did to ensure those recipes successfully came together that he wanted to impart.
And so, what . . . ?
He was considering doing this?
Avery reeled.
Layla further averred, “It matters to me how emotionally invested my viewers are, more so than just them being entertained or educated. I want them to really know who they’re rooting for—and why. And with you ...” She sighed. “I can just feel, deep in my soul, that you’ve got all the right stuff, cowboy.”
He still had roadblocks to skirt, though.
“Layla, remember that I have a past that could interfere with your assumptions.”
“A rap sheet?” she half joked, though with a raised brow.
He snickered. “No rap sheet.”
“Well, then. Pasts can be overcome, Avery.”
She said this with such conviction, he had to push back a little. “Can they?”
She gnawed her bottom lip. Then let out a puff of air. “I can attest from personal experience that one can check their baggage at the door if they so choose. With the caveat that sometimes it’s easier to do that when they have a trapdoor.”
“Now my mind is burnin’ with curiosity.”
“Precisely why I have two bios.”
“Give me the actual one,” he quietly insisted.
She didn’t speak for a while. Avery didn’t poke and prod, allowing her to gather her thoughts. For as much as she wanted to lead him to water and vice versa, it was a process for both of them.
“I grew up in a tiny town near the northwestern Texas–New Mexico border,” she told him. “My mama had been a Sunday school teacher, and my daddy is a farmer. We have horses and chickens. Goats. Acres of corn and cotton. Nothing like this land, by any stretch. A very small setup.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Nope,” she concurred. “We only required a few day workers to help out. And me feeding everyone when I was old enough. Though that started when I was pretty young.”
“Your mama . . . ?”
“She died while giving birth to me.”
His gut clenched. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“My daddy didn’t tell me until I was ten or so—only initially indicating it was right around the time I was born, and that it was natural causes that took her. He didn’t want me to blame myself.”
Avery sucked in a breath.
“He would’ve kept it from me my whole life, I’m sure. But bits and pieces came out here and there. Eventually, the puzzle was complete.”
Avery contemplated this and carefully said, “I understand how painful that would be for you and for him. But ... why would you need to conceal that from the general public? Your audience?”
“Oh, cowboy ...” She rolled her eyes skyward. Then glanced back at him. “That’s just the beginning.”
“Gotcha.” He still had sordid secrets of his own. Ones best left in a taped-up box and shoved under the bed. Better yet, dumped into a pit and burned.
Except that might taint the pit in the proverbial sense.
She said, “I have backstory that’s no one’s fault ... everyone’s fault ... my own fault.” She gave a shrug of one bare shoulder and contended, “But that’s not why I’m here.”
Avery’s emotions warred with that revelation.
On the one hand, she was right. This was supposed to be about him joining her competition.
On the other hand ... he wouldn’t have invited her into his home—and he was sure she wouldn’t have accepted that invitation—if they weren’t moving beyond the pretext of her wanting him on her show.
He told her, “We’re mixing a lot of peripherals here, trying to get to know each other. Think we’d both prefer to build Rome in a day, but ... maybe what we really ought to do is spend some time living in the moment, with what’s happening right here and now.”
“A smart cowboy is a sexy cowboy.” She gave him a simmering look. “I did mention to Brodi you’re more the type to need layers.”
“I like to iron out the wrinkles before puttin’ on the shirt. That’s not always possible.”
“No, it’s not. In most instances.” Once more, she flattened a palm over his pecs and solemnly said, “In this particular instance ... I can see us putting the cart before the horse.”
“Aww.” His head bent to hers, and he said in a low tone, “This is gonna be our thing, honey? Poor idioms?”
“Well, if we were kissing,” she murmured as her lips lightly brushed his, “we wouldn’t have to shame ourselves with them.”
“You are sheer genius.”
She laughed sweetly, her warm breath blowing over his cheek. “I just can’t seem to help falling under your spell, cowboy.”
“Didn’t know I was casting one.” He gave a sharp grunt. “Goddamn, there we go again.”
“We should remedy this before it gets out of hand.”
“Oh, I’d say plenty’s about to get out of hand.”
His lips tangled with hers. No tongue, just delicate, flirty kisses that had her fingers curling around the material at his chest as her other palm pressed to his obliques. She leaned into him, but he was mindful not to twine an arm around her and haul her up against him, the way he was dying to do.
Flames seemed to lick at his groin, sending a heat wave upward to his gut and blazing through his veins.
He cautiously gripped her hips, not exactly sure what had triggered her when he’d almost touched her face earlier. Not wanting to startle her or jerk her out of this moment.
And really, the slow burn was fine by him. It gave him time to taste her, to breathe her in, to listen to her soft moans.
Granted, the intimacy arcing between them made Avery ache for her in a way he couldn’t ever recall feeling. So that the need to take this all a step further mounted within him.
His tongue glanced over hers, playfully.
She sighed again. And reciprocated.
It would have been all seventh grade–like, but then she repositioned her hands and freed a couple of the pearl snaps of his shirt. Well, Jack’s shirt, but ... that was of no consequence at present.
Her nails grazed the inner swells of his pecs, and that seared him to the core.
She whispered, “Way to launch a subtle attack.”
“You were in on the strategy.”
Her lips curved against his. “Mm, it’s a very productive one.”
She pulled apart the flap, right down to his belt buckle, where the shirt was tucked in.
“So much for the slow burn,” he muttered.
“I couldn’t stand the suspense a second longer.”
Her gaze flitted to his exposed torso, taking him in with hungry eyes.
She released the material in her hands and twisted her arms around herself so she could unlatch the clasp in the middle of her back. Avery coiled his fingers in the minuscule straps at her shoulders and eased away the shimmery top, laying it out on the chair next to them, then returning his attention to her.
“Son of a gun.” A carnal sound tore from his mouth as he absorbed the sight of her before she moved into his loose embrace.
Her breasts nestled below the ledge of his chest and the skin-on-skin contact set his pulse racing and had his adrenaline spiking.
She circled his neck with her arms. Whisked off his hat.
They both kept the kisses sultry and provocative. Not too heavy. More ... teasing and taunting.
Avery had the inclination to move in for the kill. But this was a tricky endeavor, on many levels. And the last thing he wanted to do was spook her. Push too hard, too fast.
He wasn’t prone to giving up the reins, but he sensed Layla needed an acclimation period. They hadn’t gone from zero to sixty, no. Although they’d only just met—and not for this reason—he knew there was much more to learn about her. Much more she had to wade through too.
Admittedly, these were fleeting notions. What really occupied his brain was how she melded to him, how fragile and yet firm she felt in his embrace, how she couldn’t seem to get enough of his mouth on hers and the feel of their bodies sliding against each other.
It was tormenting and titillating at the same time.
Eventually, he couldn’t stop himself from walking her backward, into his suite. She tossed aside his hat, neither of them caring where it landed. He guided her toward the four-poster bed. Slid the zipper of her skirt along her hip and let the garment fall to the hardwood floor.
The erratic beats of his cock matched his heart rate.
He unfastened his belt buckle.
She knelt before him, popping the button on his jeans.
But Avery gently gripped her upper arms and said, “I don’t want you on your knees, darlin’. I want you in my bed.”
Layla’s blistering gaze drifted up his body as though the vision of him excited her as much as his words did.
He brought her to her feet, lifted her slightly, and set her in the middle of his California king. He slipped off her boots and joined her, not quite settling between her legs, instead propping himself up on the mattress and gauging her response.
Clearly sensing his trepidation, she said, “I haven’t been with anyone in a very long time, Avery. And I wouldn’t be here with you this evening if I wasn’t absolutely certain it was a good decision on my part.”
“If that’s your way of telling me you’re selective, then I’m flattered.”
“There’s a bit more to it than that,” she confessed. “But suffice it to say ... I want you, cowboy.”
“Music to my ears.”
His head lowered to hers. This time, their kisses were deeper, longer, hotter.
Her fingers threaded his hair. He kept himself braced with one forearm alongside her as his other hand skimmed over her collarbone to her breast. He caressed the mound, swept his thumb over her pebbled nipple. And felt the shudder through her.
He didn’t break the kiss. Didn’t give her a reprieve from the massaging either. And that seemed to spur her on. Her tongue toyed with his, and her fingers around his biceps dipped into the flexed sinew, keeping him near to her. She writhed on the plush comforter. Arched her back, melding to him.
A foreign sensation tingled along his spine. An inky darkness edged the corners of his mind. He could lose himself in every little detail. How she clung to him, squirmed beneath him, matched his wicked tongue tangling.
His erection strained against his zipper. He should’ve at least let her free him, but no. He’d had the compelling need to take over.
And yet ... that still wasn’t happening.
He was no more in control of this encounter than she was.
He dragged his mouth from hers. Stared down at her parted lips and her sparkling eyes. Her blonde hair fanned out on a pillow.
Then his gaze roved her body, committing every inch of her to memory.
His gut clenched.
Goddamn, she was a sight to behold.
For endless moments he was mesmerized. Stuck in a vortex of lust, where all that registered were sensuous curves, long legs, and honeyed skin.
Sure, the lacy black thong was also ingrained in his brain. But the overall presentation was so stimulating, Avery couldn’t catch his breath.
His fingers skated over her stomach, making her flesh quiver.
Her thighs pressed together, as though that simple gesture had ignited a firestorm within her.
He definitely felt it.
“Layla,” he murmured, “you’re the stuff fantasies are made of.”
She stared at him. “What hooked me the most, at the party—even when you were just stealing glances my way—was how you looked at me like ... like ...”
“Like you’re nothing I’ve ever seen before?”
“Yes,” she said on a hiss of a breath. “Exactly.”
“Darlin’ ...” His hand glided south, to her bent legs. He coaxed her knees apart. Trailed his fingertips along her inner thigh, gradually inching back toward her apex.
All the while, their gazes remained locked.
“I just can’t think of a more stirring sight than you,” he murmured.
“You have all the right words to go with that bedroom voice of yours.”
“Just bein’ honest.”
“I admire that about you. I don’t take you for a player.”
He winced. “Wouldn’t know where to start, truth be told. Got too much going on. No time or energy or desire for games and head trips.”
Her gaze didn’t waver as she quietly asked, “You wouldn’t hurt a woman, would you, Avery Reed?”
“Someone broke your heart, darlin’?”
She gnawed her lip for a second or two.
Then she said, “He broke more than that, cowboy.”