He should be grateful he had somewhere to go, in Bryant’s opinion.
“I guess I should thank you,” she said somewhat shyly. She slid her fingers over the corners of her book. He remembered the small calluses on her fingertips against his skin and his blood heated. She felt right. She tasted right. She fit, for lack of a better description. And she was his neighbor. Coincidence? Bryant wondered. Or fate?
He smiled. “Thank me for what?”
“For distracting me. I wouldn’t have been able to have gone on without your—” She struggled to find the right word.
“Tongue?” he supplied helpfully.
She blushed, chuckled low under her breath. “I was going to say ‘assistance,’ but tongue works just as well, I suppose.”
“It was my pleasure.” Truer words had never been spoken.
“It definitely did the trick.”
He leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. “Especially considering you don’t like me, huh?”
Her gaze flew to his and the grin turned a bit guilty. “Who said I didn’t like you?”
“Who had to?”
“I like you well enough,” she told him. She grimaced. “But my sister doesn’t.”
There we go. The heart of it. He knew this conversation was inevitable and it was better to get it over with before he slept with her. He’d given up any pretense of pretending, even to himself, that sex wasn’t going to happen between them.
It was.
It was as inevitable as this damned conversation he didn’t want to have.
Yet they had to have it. He wanted her. He ached for her. He needed her…and Bryant Bishop wasn’t used to needing anyone. Layla Cole was like a virus under his skin and the resulting fever was burning him up. Bedding her was the cure, he knew, and even if it wasn’t, then at least he’d have had her. At least he would have buried himself into her heat, felt her sweet little body wrapping around his.
And that, he told himself, would be enough.
Whatever it was that was making her—and had always made her—so irresistible would wane after he’d bedded her and the mystique was gone. Right? Right.
He liked this plan and had every intention of putting it into play tonight when they settled in at the hotel. Bryant grinned.
He’d give her a distraction she’d never forget.
5
HE WINCED. “I’M NOT surprised your sister doesn’t like me,” Bryant readily confessed, to Layla’s immense shock.
She sagged like a spent party balloon and mentally swore. She’d been secretly hoping that he’d either play dumb or deny it so they could continue to play dirty Scrabble like they had last night, and he could keep using his kiss therapy to keep her stage fright at bay. She’d actually done better onstage than she’d expected and she didn’t know how much of that was thanks to Bryant.
“Women don’t like being thwarted any more than men do,” he continued with a casual shrug, “and I’m sure that when I told her I wasn’t interested I became one of her least favorite people.” Half of his mouth lifted into a wry smile. “I got the impression she’s not used to being told no.”
Layla blinked, confused. “I’m sorry, what? What do you mean she’s not used to being told no?”
He shrugged. “She hit on me.” His gaze tangled significantly with hers. “I wasn’t interested. Another Cole girl had already caught my eye.”
“She hit on you?” she repeated, still reeling from his version of what happened. Much as she loved Rita, in retrospect Bryant’s version made more sense.
He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “She’d had too much to drink,” he said. “It happens.” He grinned again. “But probably not to you. I get the impression that you like to be in control.”
He’d pegged her right. Honestly, Layla liked a fruity cocktail as much as the next person but didn’t have any desire to get drunk. She never had. She didn’t like feeling out of control or nauseated or any of the side effects that came along with having too much to drink. She liked to get a buzz every once in a while, just enough to make her laugh a little too loudly, but otherwise that was the extent of her recreational drug use. She shared as much with Bryant.
“Judging from your reaction, I take it your sister gave you a different version of events.”
She nodded. “Rita said it was you that wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
He merely grinned. “Not to sound arrogant, Layla, but there are too many women who say yes for me to worry about one saying no.”
Didn’t she know it? Layla thought, her belly going all hot and muddled from watching his mouth. It was overtly carnal. And she loved the way it had felt against her own.