Page 22 of Highest Bid

Mark shook his head. “Stacey knows how to handle herself when she’s dancing on stage. And there are bouncers and security guards everywhere.”

Layla wrapped her arms around herself, as though she almost expected and feared the worst.

Galan’s mind ticked over. Why did Layla think something bad had happened? Had she experienced loss in the past? Lord only knew he understood that particular emotion all too well. And now he wanted only to reach out to hold and comfort her, if only her whole body didn’t vibrate with a singular tension that screamed don’t touch!

Mark sighed, clearly oblivious to everything but his missing wife. He drew a hand over his face. “She’s even shut down her cell phone so that I can’t reach her. She’s never done that before.”

Layla’s body tightened even more, her voice rising. “So what happened? Why do you think she left you?”

Her father grimaced. “We had a real doozy of a fight last night, just before she left for work. She said she was leaving me, but I didn’t believe her. She’s threatened me with the same crap too many times before.” His voice broke. “But obviously she’s finally had enough of my...indiscretions.”

Layla threw her shoulders back. “Why don’t you say it how it really is, Dad? She’s had enough of your womanizing and cheating. And who could blame her?”

Galan ached to pull her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay. But could he really make that call? He’d lost his own parents; he’d learned the hard way that nothing in life was guaranteed.

One thing, though, he knew for a fact. If he was to ever marry, he’d never stray. His wife would be the center of his goddamned universe.

The instant mental picture of a radiant Layla in a white wedding dress was so unexpected, for a moment he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Layla didn’t need protecting. He did. He’d promised himself no emotional commitments, no hurt or heartache. What a joke. If he didn’t throw himself off the careening, emotional rollercoaster soon, he’d never patch all his broken pieces back together.

But while Layla stayed infuriated, strong, and unbreakable, her father crumpled. Tears fell, glistening in his whiskers. “I’ve been such a jerk. I didn’t realize how much I loved her. I never thought I’d lose her.”

Layla bared her teeth in a snarl. “You deserve everything you get, Dad, after what you’ve put Mom through. You assumed she’d put up with your cheating ways night after night. Well, now the joke’s on you!”

Mark wilted further under his daughter’s onslaught, and Galan said quietly, “Layla, I know you’re upset—”

She turned furious eyes Galan’s way. “Of course you’d stick up for Dad. You’re both tarred with the same damn brush.” Her eyes glistened. “My God, I tried so hard not to be like either of my parents. But it turns out I’m just like my mom, desperately wanting the wrong man.”

Galan’s heart knocked out of rhythm. She might want him, but believing he was the wrong man meant she’d fight against their attraction with everything she had. It made him compelled to justify his lifestyle. “I’m a single man, not married with a family. I haven’t broken any vows.”

But Layla was on a roll, seemingly all her past anger and anxiety coming to the fore. “Once a player, always a player! Your type never changes. You’ll be still playing hard in your forties, just like my dad!”

Galan froze, stung by her words, and as unsure how to react as her father seemed to be. His muscles unlocking, Galan instinctively stepped toward her.

She stumbled back, pressing outspread hands to her red face. “Don’t.” She shook her head, tears now running down her face. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Galan’s stomach bottomed out, while every atom in his body screamed rejection at her words. They couldn’t stop seeing one another now. They’d only scratched the surface of getting to know one another.

They were good together!

Yet Layla was convinced Galan could never be faithful.

Perhaps she’s right; you haven’t exactly been a Boy Scout.

Had it been because he simply hadn’t found the right woman?

“What’s going on?”

Somehow the words infiltrated Galan’s stunned senses, and he pivoted to face the brunette beauty, who stood frozen in the doorway behind them.

Layla’s mother.

Their resemblance was striking. Except while Layla was naturally beautiful, her mom wore artfully applied makeup that was just shy of garish and less-is-more clothing. Only the heeled thigh-high boots covered much of her skin.

He’d been to enough strip clubs in his youth to recognize the slightly jaded, but still beautiful, look. Though her youth was fading, she was still a looker. Damn. She must have had Layla barely out of her teens.

Layla’s mother blinked at Galan. “And who are you?”

He forced a smile. “I’m Layla’s friend, Galan. And you must be her mother.”

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