Page 9 of Highest Bid

Was Layla more than just another conquest?

Shit. Fuck. Hell.

No! Layla had simply been a stone in his shoe, an itch he’d put off for too long. That he’d waited for six months to have her meant their coming together had been more memorable than any other.

Already his thoughts replayed their amazing chemistry, where they’d succumbed to their carnal needs twice more in the bedroom. Except both those times had been a slow, sensual exploration that’d been even more mind-blowing than their hard, unrestrained fucks in the elevator and shower.

Little wonder he’d woken grinning like a Cheshire cat. He’d never in his life been this sated and replete. That Layla had been just as insatiable had turned him on like nothing else.

He chuckled softly. Keeping away from her had clearly boiled into a night of fantasy he wouldn’t soon forget.

One night really wouldn’t be enough.

But what if one night turn into two, then a week into a month...before a year was suddenly upon him?

His gut wrenching with instant rejection, he cracked open an eye. Dawn light had long since given way to mid-morning radiance, the bright rays infiltrating the windows’ double-glazing, and bringing everything into sharp relief.

He automatically half turned and stretched out his arm, needing to bring Layla close again to enjoy her soft, feminine warmth...just for a little while. Instead, he touched cold sheets and an empty space. His eyes shot wide open, the feel-good vibes shriveling in a tide of alarm.

What the actual fuck?

“Layla!” he called out.

Silence met his call, only the ticking of a hallway clock cutting through the quiet. He sat, his blurry eyes scanning the room, while everything inside him rebelled at the silence.

No tinkling Layla laugh with her occasional, endearing little snorts. No smart-mouthed comebacks to his often outrageous demands. No over-the-top fluttering of her long lashes as she set down a glass of chilled, light beer before him. But, mostly, no sighs or gasps as he pleasured her with his mouth, his hands, his insatiable dick.

Hell, he even missed the little squeak of her leather, Doc Martens boots as she hurried to deliver drinks, wipe down tables, or collect empties.

Had he been overworking her because she’d driven him to distraction?

But she’d never once complained. She’d been more than happy to prove she was hard-working and indispensable. And somewhere along the way, he’d enjoyed the thrill of testing her, of challenging her, and pushing her hard...hard enough to break.

Yeah, because you wanted to be the one to pick up all those pieces. You wanted her to need you like you’ve needed her from the very first day you hired her.

He groaned and pressed outspread hands to his face. When had he become so damn clueless? No, not clueless. Just...unwilling to commit. Even now, despite the amazing night with Layla, his view on relationships hadn’t changed.

He was single and would remain that way for some time to come. Work and play were his only two loyalties; there was no room or desire in his life for anything more than that.

Guilt pinched his gut even as he threw the covers aside and strode naked out of his bedroom and through his silent penthouse.

Shit. She really had left.

The odd pressure in his chest intensified. He’d always been the one who’d done the leaving, and it was odd how disconcerting it was to have the shoe on the other foot. Was this how the women he’d spent the night with felt when no second date was in the offing?

Discarded. Abandoned. Impotent. Fuck. The emotions roaring through him made him prickly and all too self-aware.

“Layla, God damn it, where are you?” he growled, stalking past his kitchen before he flung open the entrance door that led into the shared sitting room and elevator.

He abruptly stilled and inhaled sharply, his blood pressure easing. “There you are,” he grated.

She turned from the closed elevator doors, her hand dropping away from the keypad. “Galan, you scared me.”

She clutched at the lapels of his white unisex bathrobe, which swamped her, yet made her look like an angel, innocent and virginal and pure all at the same time. The very antithesis to the erotic delights they’d explored together last night.

Her honey-brown eyes darkened, her cheeks flushing. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

His mouth dried. Seriously? “You were running out on me?”

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