Page 13 of Highest Bid

“No. Go back to bed. The meal isn’t edible now anyway.” He stepped back, the outside light bringing his taut face into even sharper relief. “Goodnight, Layla.”

He turned from her and strode toward the elevator, and Layla’s pulse picked up speed, louder than a drum in her ears. If he left now, she might never see him again, not intimately.

She stepped onto the threshold and into the perimeter of light. “Galan, don’t go.” He paused, his shoulders stiffening. When he finally twisted around to face her, she dropped her towel and added huskily, “Let me make it up to you.”

God help her, using sex as enticement wasn’t paving the way for an emotionally strong foundation, but she didn’t regret the impulse one little bit. She’d use any lure in her arsenal to keep him here.

Galan’s eyes glittered before he stalked back toward her, her heart surging into double beats even before he drew her back inside her apartment and into her bedroom.

*

Careful to keep much of his weight on his forearms, Galan lay sprawled on top of Layla as he nuzzled her throat. He loved the damp, salty taste of her skin after a glorious round of sex. Loved inhaling her musky scent.

He withheld a shuddering sigh. To think he’d almost thrown away their amazing chemistry because of his stupid pride.

No, it’d been more than pride. He’d paced his kitchen, his dining room, even his damn balcony, waiting for her to turn up for dinner while ever-increasing anxiety had clogged his throat and too many what-ifs had filled his head.

What if she’d been mugged or hurt? What if she’d changed her mind about dinner, about them? What if she’d decided he was too big a risk? And, worst of all, what if she’d kept away because she truly believed he now saw her as his whore?

He’d rung her cell phone, over and over again. He’d had no idea she’d left it in her bag in another room while she’d been asleep in her bedroom. Then he’d done the unthinkable and chased her down to her address.

Fuck. Was he already getting too attached?

Don’t be an idiot. A couple of nights in bed together don’t make for a relationship.

“Mm. That feels good,” she murmured.

Ignoring the disquiet burning in his chest, he asked huskily, “As nice as how you felt a few minutes ago?”

She laughed, the sound tinkling and light. Then she snorted, so inelegant and gawky, and so unlike the artful and perfectly polished women he’d bedded in the past, the burn in his chest turned into a glow. Until something inside softened, melted.

“Maybe not quite as nice as the climax you gave me,” she admitted softly. She unwrapped her thighs from his hips, then shuffled carefully from underneath him.

He winced at the disconnection, but was thankful at least for the sliver of light through the curtains that allowed him to make out her exquisite body as she stood, then shrugged into a light nightgown.

His dick jerked at the fleeting glimpse of her full breasts and flat stomach, the flare of her hips and rounded ass. Not to mention her mouthwatering pussy with its strip of dark hair that invited closer inspection of the treasure beneath.

Defying the urge to stroke his arousal, he instead rubbed at his temple. His whole damn body was insatiable when it came to Layla. “Where are you going?”

She turned her head, her eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness. “Thanks to me, we missed dinner. I’m going to fix us something to eat.”

“Want some help?”

She pulled her belt into position around her waist, the rasp of material distinct in the serene quiet. “No.” She flashed him a smile, her teeth white in the gloom. “I promise it’ll only take a few minutes.”

He soon realized that the stress, followed by makeup sex, had left him bone-weary. He was drifting in and out of sleep when Layla placed a tray on the bed beside him. He woke fully when she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his mouth, her soft lips pillowing his and making him groan with instant need.

Placing an outspread hand to her nape, he deepened the kiss, only to have her pull back with a breathless little laugh. “Dinner first.”

He repressed another groan, this time one of objection. But Layla had already retrieved something off the tray. She pressed it to his mouth. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength.”

Lord help him, she was killing him with her soft-voiced promises.

He took a good-sized chomp out of what turned out to be toast, then almost gagged at the too-thick slather of Vegemite on top. He’d never liked the spread and never would. But he forcibly swallowed without heaving, before he drew away from her repulsive offering.

“Not hungry?” she asked, before turning the toast her way and biting into it with gusto. She chewed and swallowed, then asked, “Or aren’t you a fan of simple food?”

He exhaled. “I enjoy simple food.” Honesty had always been his best policy. “I’m just not a fan of Vegemite.” He swiped at his mouth. “I’ve always hated it.”

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