Page 40 of Secret Baby for my Off-Limits Fiancé

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair before stepping outside.

Tonight, I’ll make her see me differently, whether she wants to or not.

***

When I pull up outside Layla’s apartment, my hands are steady on the wheel. Controlled. Calculated.

And then, she steps outside.

Fuck.

The air punches out of my lungs like I’ve taken a direct hit to the ribs.

She’s stunning.

A little black dress clings to her like a second skin, hugging every sinful curve, the silky fabric dipping just enough at the neckline to tempt, to make my mouth go dry.

Her legs… Jesus Christ.

They seem endless, toned, and smooth, the kind of legs meant for wrapping around a man’s waist.

Her hair falls in dark, glossy waves over her shoulders, catching the dim glow of the streetlights.

And then there’s her mouth, lips painted in a deep, blood-red shade, slightly parted as she catches me staring.

Her smirk is slow, knowing.

I recover quickly, smirking as I step out of the car. In three long strides, I’m in front of her.

Towering over her smaller frame, the scent of her perfume, something warm, decadent, and impossibly feminine, weaving around me, testing my restraint.

She tilts her chin up, meeting my gaze head-on, like she’s daring me to say something.

I do.

“You look like trouble.”

My voice is low, rough, edged with something dangerous.

Her lips curl, her eyes flickering with amusement. “I prefer ‘irresistible’.”

I step closer, letting my breath fan against the shell of her ear.

“Trust me, I’m resisting.”

She inhales sharply, her pupils dilating ever so slightly.

She wants to fight it.

Good.

I want her to fight it.

Because that means she’s feeling it too.

Layla slides into the passenger seat, crossing her legs with deliberate slowness, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

The hem of her dress rides up just a little.

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