Claiming Serenity(23)

That had sounded logical, a bit obnoxious, but Layla was certain “Obnoxious” was Donovan’s middle name so he would understand.

All of these things were intentions Layla committed to her heart. They will happen, she told herself. I will say these things, she promised.

But now it was late, near midnight and Layla sat in her Mercedes, hands tight on the steering wheel, forehead resting on that cold plastic. She tried to talk herself into going home. “You repulse me,” she said to the empty car, squeezing her eyes tight when she imagined his reaction—that damn line between his eyebrows relaxing. Donovan’s annoying, bastard grin he’d perfected from years of girls telling him “Yes, Donovan, oh yes, I do want you to bend me over your knee and spank me because I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

She hated her imagination.

It hadn’t mattered, not really. Donovan was likely out, celebrating Cavanagh’s win against Georgia Community. He wasn’t in that small apartment littered with boy mess or the stinky filth Donovan claimed his alleged roommate who she’d never actually seen, left behind after binge games of World of Warcraft.

Layla knew she should have left. She should have, at the very least, started her car and pulled away from the curb before she was spotted.

Instead, she couldn’t seem to move, and she cursed herself and her stupid hormones that seemed to have overtaken any common sense. Those curses amplified when she heard the tap on her window. Donovan’s expression wasn’t smug like she expected. It was calm, as though he knew she’d come. As though it was something usual, understood.

It wasn’t. None of it.

Layla wanted to turn the key, put her car in gear and leave Donovan and that calm cool covering his face behind.

But she didn’t, raging ball of hormone drunkard that she was.

She couldn’t muster up the shame that had slipped in and out of her consciousness all day. The same shame she’d felt the night before on the drive home.

But that shame had dimmed, hidden behind the sight of Donovan looking down at her. The relaxed line drawn across his mouth told Layla he’d wait. He’d let her make the decision to stay or leave.

Her small car jarred as Donovan leaned against it, his blond hair falling into his face. His eyes were calm, not glaring down at her or burning with annoyance that she was there. One small twist of his chin, encouraging her out of the car and he opened the door, took her by the hand and into his apartment.

Layla could smell the lingering scent of ink on her fingers from her lame attempt at studying, another failed maneuver that didn’t keep the memory of Donovan’s naked body out of her mind. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t quite think of any plausible reason to explain why she’d ended up on his street, in front of his apartment.

She just… did.

He pulled her hands from her face, but didn’t smile at her, had no real expression on his face at all and Layla wondered what he’d say, what his words would do to her, to set the tone of that unpredictable night. But Donovan didn’t speak, barely touched her as he slipped in front of her, giving her enough space to push him away if she wanted to.

God help her, she didn’t want to. God help her even more that she didn’t.

She wondered what Donovan was thinking. Layla wondered if he’d speak, do something to tell her what he planned, what inane reason he’d give her for bringing her into his room. But that reason never came and Donovan’s cheeks lifted as he squinted, a look of examination, curiosity and then he stepped back and locked the door.

And still Layla didn’t complain, didn’t ask to leave. She didn’t give Donovan any reason to stop his approach, to stop reaching for her, touching, to stop his bringing his mouth over hers, for not waiting for her to open to him.

Low moans, easy, pleased cries bounced between them, then Donovan moved his mouth down her jaw, to her neck as he pushed himself against her.

Layla didn’t know what he’d say, what that weighted, cautious look meant, but Donovan kept her still, captivated by sweet hunger that had him frowning, had those eager growls moving up his throat.

Then he took her face in his hands, held her still.

She released the breath she’d been holding and though a small part of her brain told her to walk away, right then and there, Layla didn’t. Donovan’s eyes were too sharp, his touch too tempting.

“I don’t do promises.” His voice was even, composed and Layla didn’t think that declaration was said to be cruel. It was point of fact, something Donovan clearly thought Layla needed to know.

“I don’t want any.”

“I don’t do emotion.” The slow way he twisted her long hair around his finger didn’t make her think that emotion was absent in mind. She didn’t care if it was.