Claiming Serenity(2)

The war had begun anew.

But unlike high school, Layla wouldn’t simply take his shit. She wasn’t a skinny, nervous kid anymore. She wouldn’t sit back and let Donovan ruin her college experience. She retaliated, oh, buddy had she retaliated.

God, what had she been thinking? Well, she told herself, you weren’t, you drunk slut.

The Donovan lump on the bed grunted in his sleep, he may have farted, Layla couldn’t tell from the low mumble of his voice and his bare feet sliding against the mattress. It wouldn’t surprise her, disgusting cretin that he was. But she didn’t want to face him, to see that smug, satisfied grin when he woke up. She moved as quickly as her pounding head would let her, darting around his disgustingly grungy room to sift through her wrinkled clothes and make quiet attempts to dress before he noticed that she was awake.

God hates me, she thought when she realized her bra was right next to where she believed his head was. She couldn’t leave it. That bra was ridiculously expensive and Layla knew better than to leave evidence of their night together. That would give the Demon way too much satisfaction.

Sighing, Layla padded to the edge of the bed, right to where she spotted the red strap of her bra sticking out from under the blanket and gave it a gentle tug. She almost had it, allowed herself to believe that this little effort would be easier than she thought, until the end stretched as it caught underneath Donovan’s head when he rolled onto his back. The blanket slid off his face and Layla yelped, surprised that his eyes were open and staring straight up at her. She released the bra and the elastic popped, slapping him right on his nose.

“Ow.” Donovan brushed the offending garment aside and then his gaze landed on Layla’s shocked face, just inches from the mattress. A yawn, then a swipe of his large fingers over his eyes and Donovan smiled. Oh, she wanted to slap that stupid grin off his face. “Morning.”

“Don’t you ‘morning’ me, Donley.” She shoved his head out of the way to grab her bra.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Layla could give him a list and a quick retort, one itched the tip of her tongue, but then Donovan sat up and the blanket fell from his naked body. Thought, logical excuses, reasons why she hated Donovan flitted from her mind. He didn’t face her when he left the bed, when he stretched and Layla got a clear view of Donovan’s wide, strong back. There were faint scratch marks down the center of his back, over his shoulders that she suspected weren’t there before last night. Her eyes slipped lower, down the slope of his spine to his muscular ass. Layla’s breath became ragged, disjointed and for the life of her, she couldn’t make her eyes move away from the hard, tempting planes of his delicious ass.

His shaggy blonde hair was mussed from sleep and Donovan ran his fingers through those thick curls before he popped his large neck. He had predictable, tribal tattoos on his shoulder, God, doesn’t every guy over the age of seventeen, and when he turned, lifted his arms over his head in yet another stretch, she spotted the Irish flag on his left pec and the looping scroll of Never Again underneath it.

Layla lowered her gaze to the smooth contours of his tight stomach and the sharp indentions below his hips then to the stiffening…

“Like what you see?”

She snorted out a rheumy laugh before she turned to finish dressing, aware again of the pounding in her head. “Not remotely.” She blinked twice, tried to expunge the provocative image from her mind, and was annoyed when it wasn’t burned out completely. Her back stiffened when Donovan slipped his finger underneath her bra strap, helping her pull it over her shoulder.

“That’s not what you said last night.”

“I most certainly did not,” she said, giving his ribs a jab with an elbow and stepping away from his meddlesome fingers.

“Oh I remember a lot of things you said last night, princess.” Donovan jerked back, ducked out of the way when Layla threw her shoe at his face. “What’s the matter? Embarrassed now?” This time, when she slung her other shoe at him, he caught it.

“This is a freaking nightmare.” As she slipped her shirt over her head, it got caught on her earring and when Donovan tried to help her, she slapped his hand away. “For once in your life, please, do me a favor.” He sat on the bed, still naked, and Layla’s attention returned to his lap, to the thick, veiny, stop it, idiot. Focus. The posters on the wall were all of half-naked, hopelessly PhotoShopped women and Layla concentrated on a particularly busty brunette licking a melting ice cream cone. “Would you mind getting dressed?”

His laugh was light, highly amused and Layla forced herself to sift through the discarded clothes and dirty sneakers to retrieve her purse. Donovan cleared his throat, now wearing a pair of plaid boxers and a worn Cavanagh Rugby t-shirt. Begrudgingly, Layla’s eyes shot to his boxers and the tented arch of the thin material. Hey, idiot, stop looking! When he offered another salacious grin, she threw her purse at him and it dropped to the floor.