Claiming Serenity(3)

“How in God’s name did this,” she waved flippantly between the two of them, “happen?” If she hadn’t known the arrogant jackass better, she’d have said Donovan was annoyed that the details were foggy for her. His narrow blue eyes sharpened, cut to her face as though he was trying to sort out if she was just messing with him and then Donovan frowned, pulling his full lips into a severe line.

“What do you mean? We talked about this. We talked for two hours straight.” He leaned back on his bed, thick, corded forearms behind him before that frown twisted into a contemptuous smile. “I mean, we talked between you licking on my neck and me biting your ear until you almost came—”

“Ew, ew, oh God… ew!” She decided right then that she didn’t want to know the details. And when a shudder ran across her shoulders, Layla turned, headed toward the door, but stopped short when she remembered her purse.

Donovan snatched it from the floor and held it behind his back so that she couldn’t get to it. “Cut the shit, brat. Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy yourself. You rattled the fucking windows last night.”

“It’s not like I remember it, you jackass.” She pushed his chest, angry, when he lifted her purse above his head and out of her reach. “I can’t believe you’d take advantage of me like that, Donovan. That’s low even for you.”

He dropped his arm, and his face paled, as though he couldn’t believe what she claimed he did to her. “Take advantage? Bullshit, Layla, you had your hands down my pants before we even made it through the door. I tried to say no, but you…”

“Don’t you dare put this on me.” She punched his shoulder until he dropped her purse. But as she denied wanting him, or God forbid, touching him, small flashes of memory cluttered her less than clear thoughts.

I like you, Layla, she remembered him saying.

Then, though it horrified her, she clearly heard her own drunken voice saying, I like you too. Then the flashes zipped forward, until her hands, her mouth, slowed like stop motion, reminded her that she had wanted him, had touched him and had practically begged him to touch her.

This isn’t right, we’re so fucking drunk.

I don’t care. She’d taken his face, pulled his mouth to her. Let me have you, Donovan. Let me feel you, just one fucking time.

But there was no way on earth that she’d ever admit remembering what she’d said, how she’d pleaded, not now, not ever. Layla lifted her chin, tried to keep hold of the crumbling remnants of her pride. “I have a boyfriend, Donovan.”

His smile returned, but he didn’t seem amused and didn’t stop her when she jerked her purse from the floor. “God, Layla, can you give me just a small break? Everybody knows you’re only dating Walter because you don’t want your dad finding out you smoked weed on the rugby pitch.”

“That is not true.” She’d been sure no one knew about that! Hell, she hadn’t even told her best friend Mollie that she’d sweet talked Walter into keeping his mouth shut. Of course, she had to listen to him lecture her for an hour on the dangers of gateway drugs and what had turned into a few pity dates ended up being six months later. Six months of her telling him she “wasn’t that kind of girl” anytime he tried to get frisky. It was exhausting keeping up the pretense that she was into him.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart! Her pounding head and wounded vanity seized on that word. How dare he use that endearment so easily, like it was comfortable! Layla found it callously offensive, hypocritical after the years and years of his tormenting her. “Don’t you call me that. I swear, this is low. This is way worse than kidnapping my Honey-pup or putting green hair dye in my shampoo.” When he laughed, Layla’s temper flared and she stomped toward the door. “This is below the belt, Donley and you freaking know it.”

He stopped her, shut the door as she opened it and the sound made that insistent throbbing in her head intensify. Layla turned, ready to give him another elbow to the ribs before she noticed that the humor had left his face.

“You think being with you was another prank? Are you stupid?”

She pointed to herself. “Dean’s list three years running, absolutely not.”

Donovan grunted as she dug her fingernails into his hand which rested on the doorknob and he yelped, but put his weight against the door to keep her from wrenching it open. “You were upset and we called a truce.” A breath and a small step back and Layla understood that Donovan was truly surprised that she couldn’t remember the details. “You really don’t remember that?”