“Donovan…”
“Love like ours isn’t easy, Layla. It’s awkward and stupid and wrong and right. It’s fire and passion and it stings sometimes and I fucking love how much you hurt me.” She wanted to breathe, thought that breathing would be good, necessary, but somehow her mind quit working when Donovan’s voice lowered, when he pulled her with him to lean against the table. “Sometimes you look at me and I feel like the lowest piece of nothing on earth. Sometimes I hate you. I thought I hated you for years.” Donovan laughed, a small hint of amusement that had Layla grinning despite her shock. “And then sometimes there’s something in your eyes I don’t really understand. Something that’s scary. Something that’s real. It’s wild and tempting and it makes my lungs burn. I don’t know what that look is. But I want to. I wanna know if it’s passion. I wanna know if it’s just for me.”
She was tired of running. Tired of that refrain in her mind that told her Donovan was the enemy, that vile cretin who had tortured her because he hated her. She’d told herself for years that it would always be like that with them, that their anger, their invented resentment was a constant that she would never let go of. And then, with Donovan’s fingers in her hair and that question moving across his eyes, Layla remembered that the lies she told herself, the ones she convinced herself was to keep the reality of who Donovan was present in her mind, was all a shroud, the mask she invented to protect herself from loving someone it had been far too easy to hate.
But Donovan had worn his mask too. He had pushed her away. He had lied and she knew what it meant that he was stepping away from the shadows, freeing himself from the things he’d tried believing would keep his heart intact.
Layla knew what the look was he was talking about. She knew it was more than passion. She knew it was his and so she removed that mask, tossed it aside to take hold of Donovan’s face. “It’s not passion, Donovan. That word isn’t big enough.”
He smiled, just a grin that told Layla he was hopeful. “Then what is it?”
She couldn’t believe she was going to say it. To him. To the Demon, but Layla would. She needed to. Thumb over that thick, tempting bottom lip, Layla returned his smile. “It’s love. What you see in my eyes is me loving you.”
He kissed her then, or rather, she met him half way. She knew there would be a lot of that with them, but she wouldn’t think about the hurdles ahead or the havoc she knew they’d dole out to each other. At that moment, she could only feel Donovan’s hands on her waist, his demanding, perfect mouth taking her lips, loving her. And because she would not make out with him in this too big office and because her father stood on the other side of that door, Layla pulled away from him, laughing, feeling superior, when he followed her mouth, growled when she jerked her head back.
“You know, I still don’t like you.”
One small breathy laugh and Donovan kissed her again. “I don’t care if you do, brat.”
“But I do love you.”
Donovan lifted her up, held her tight as he kissed along her neck. “Baby, what’s not to love?”
“Stupid, stubborn, asinine demon of evil jackassedness!”
“I… ow, baby, don’t, that’s my hand… I don’t think jackassedness is a word.”
“Are you freakin kidding me right now?”
“Layla, I need you to relax. Here comes another contraction.” Dr. Samuels’ voice was even, calm, but the firmness of her tone had Layla forgetting all the awful, filthy names she wanted to call her husband.
“See? I told you! I freakin told you, Donley you piece of… shit. Oh God!”
“Layla, come on now. Remember your breathing.”
And she pushed, dug her fingers into Donovan’s knuckles, not caring that he squirmed, that he wrapped his fist so tight around the rail of the bed that the whole thing shook. Layla felt like her body was being ripped apart, like something heavy and burning was trying to squirm and burst and fight from her body.
“Push, Layla, push!” Dr. Samuels said and Layla forgot how mad Donovan made her, how his stupid stubborn ass had them fighting traffic as they sped toward the hospital.
The contraction passed and Layla flopped against the mattress, relaxing when that awful pressure eased.
“Okay?” Donovan said, wiping her sweaty forehead dry.
She could only nod, waiting as the doctor and nurses buzzed around the room, worked beyond that tented curtain that hid her exposed body from sight. “This is bad. This is so, so bad. No one in life has ever felt such pain, I swear to Christ.”