Claiming Serenity(39)

“Donovan…”

“Come on. Say your goodbyes and follow me home.”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

Layla couldn’t believe he needed an explanation. Not after that conversation that had completely floored her. Joe’s mudroom felt smaller than it had just minutes before and Donovan pulled her closer, likely knowing she couldn’t resist his mouth on her neck or the slow slide of his tongue against her skin. He kissed her skin like he hadn’t told her why he’d hated her for so long, why the betrayal her cousin, his father, had delivered made him adamant about not making promises, about not wanting anything but the sweet release of their bodies when they came together.

Donovan pulled his arms tighter against her waist and Layla tried to ignore how sweet he smelled, how just the smallest touch from him could make her head spin, have her forgetting that their friends were in the next room, that if they were discovered, the level of drama that would weigh down upon them would be too much, too heavy.

“Someone… someone is coming…” she finally said when Donovan moved his hand under her jacket.

“That can be you in less than a half hour if you stop turning me down.” She bristled and he pulled back, his palm flattened against her ribs underneath her shirt. “What’s wrong? You still hacked off about the cafeteria?”

“That was mean.”

“I made up for it, didn’t I?” She hated how he waggled his eyes, how she couldn’t keep the smile off her face when the flash of them together that night came back to her vivid and teasing. “I made up for it a lot.”

Donovan always fought dirty, always teased until he knew he had her ready and willing for him. This night was no different and he kept her distracted, trying to change her mind with his fingers dancing up her ribs to flick his thumb against her nipple. Layla had to shift her hips away from him to avoid the contact of his thighs so hot and close to her. “Not… not the point.”

“Meet me at my place,” he finally said when her voice failed her and she inclined her neck when he brushed his lips under her ear. “You know you don’t have to knock.”

Layla stood stunned, dizzy with her eyes still closed as he walked away from her and out of the door. God, how she hated him most days; she hated that he would tease her, that he did things to her body that she could not resist craving. He made her stupid, he made her blind, and that night he had her swallowing back a moan, standing in Joe’s mud room with her eyes closed trying to keep the smell of his skin and the feel of his tongue present in her senses. Donovan the Demon, she reminded herself, had too much control, kept her senseless and careless. So when Layla opened her eyes just moments after he left her and found Mollie watching her with her mouth hanging open, Layla didn’t have to go far to remind herself what a dangerous, distracting asshole he could be.

Shit. Bugger. Fuck.

She tried thinking of a thousand excuses to give her best friend. She was drunk. She’d been into the weed again. Donovan was a Voodoo wizard who had clearly addled her brain and left her helpless to his lecherous advances.

But as Layla watched Mollie’s shock shift into something akin to anger and then disappointment, she knew there was no point in deflecting or hiding the truth.

“What the holy hell, Layla?”

“Mollie…”

“Oh my God… my God. How? When?”

A quick look to her left, seeing Quinn O’Malley standing in the kitchen staring between the two girls, nosy, curious, and Layla moved, hushing her friend in some resemblance of a whispered growl. “Shut up. Please.” She led Mollie out of the mudroom, following the exit Donovan took before her best friend stopped to stare at her, telling Layla with one glare that she wanted the truth. Sighing, Layla nodded toward the door. “Come on. I’ll tell you everything.”





The November air in Cavanagh stung with the bite of frigid wind. In the breeze the hint of ice and snow whispered among each touch from the mountain peaks above the town, those looming sentinels guarding Cavanagh against the world, against the harsh glow of all places not as beautiful, not as welcoming as their small town.

Layla sat in her car, watching the window in the apartment building to her right, scanning its side, the brick and the light shadows moving behind the curtain. Donovan was waiting for her. She knew he was. She thought, maybe, he’d given up in the hour and half since she left Joe’s, but that light was glaring onto the empty streets and she’d noticed him staring through the glass more than once.

She thought, when she first parked on the street in front of his place, that maybe he’d let the day, the food and its slumbering effects erase any need he might have for her body. But he was twenty-four. The stores of someone so young, so virile, could be replenished, then depleted until whatever hunger he had would be ready, eager to be filled again. She wasn’t sure hers would allow the same.