What She Deserves Page 3

  “I’m interested in friendship,” he said.

  “Oh, right. You want to be friends,” Layla said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  She started moving again, walking faster this time to escape him and this conversation she didn’t want to have. His long legs easily kept stride with hers, exerting little effort, as if he were out for a leisurely stroll.

  “You sound like you don’t believe me,” Rashad said.

  “That’s because I don’t. You’re only interested in one thing.”

  “How exactly did you come to that conclusion?”

  Layla side-eyed him. “Past experience is the best indicator of future performance.”

  Rashad grabbed her arm, and the warmth of his fingers seared her skin through the lightweight jacket. She wanted to yank away, but couldn’t. He was touching her again, like last night. The memory of his fingers around her wrist was as vivid as the fingers wrapped around her arm right now.

  “And you don’t miss it?” he asked.

  “Miss what?”

  Rashad backed her against the brick wall of a building, not caring they were in the middle of the street with the occasional pedestrian walking by.

  Eyes boring into hers, his voice dropped. “You know what.”

  Layla’s belly quivered, denial burning on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t speak the lie. Of course she missed it, them. The way they used to be together.

  Rashad’s lovemaking skills were unmatched, and they used to damn near burn up the bed when they made love. She could never get enough of him, and whenever they went too long without seeing each other, she ached until she could see him, touch him, press her body against his.

  Instead of answering, she tilted her chin higher. “Is that why you came here? To see if I missed it?”

  “I came here to see you, but I am curious about that part.” His nostrils flared for a split second before he shook his head and let out a deep breath. “Shit. Let’s try again. Contrary to what you believe, I do care. So tell me, how have you been, Layla?”

  She dropped her gaze and had a sudden urge to burst into tears. She shook off his hand. How could such a simple question make her feel so weepy? How could he so easily break down her tough girl act and make her feel vulnerable and helpless with a few words of interest?

  “Fine,” she replied. She lifted her gaze again, and he continued to stare at her with concern in his eyes.

  “And your family?”

  “Fine. How about you?”

  “Been better. Miss my friend. Miss my lover.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…”

  He waited.

  “Because a clean break is what I wanted.”

  “I know, and you got that clean break, right? You lied and pretended you were moving to D.C.”

  Layla opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but he briefly lifted a finger to quiet her.

  “Don’t deny it. We both know it’s true.”

  She fell silent and gazed at a couple across the street. The man had his arm around the woman, and they were laughing as they walked and talked. They looked so happy. That used to be her and Rashad, before he asked to downgrade their relationship.

  “I understand why you did it. Because we were intense, and if we kept in touch, you’d give in to me again.”

  “You’re overestimating your appeal.”

  “That’s not what the little pulse right here says.” He lifted a finger to her neck, and she slapped away his hand.

  “You have a very high opinion of yourself.”

  “But am I right?”

  With a heated glower, she refused to admit her weakness for him. “Believe it or not, you can’t get everything you want, Rashad.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Since when?” Raw arrogance took over his body, and the mocking light in his eyes set her teeth on edge. As far as he was concerned, nothing was beyond his reach if he worked hard enough.

  “Since now.”

  “I’d believe that if you didn’t lie about remaining in Atlanta. You were afraid if we saw each other, I could have you.”

  His gaze strolled down her body, and her cheeks heated. She looked anything but sexy in the jacket, joggers, and tennis shoes, but by the way his eyes were eating her up, you’d think she was standing before him in lacy lingerie. Perhaps that’s what he was imagining. He bought her sexy lingerie a couple of times, and she’d loved modeling the pieces for him as he leaned back on his elbows, eyes dark and hungry with male appreciation.

  “Have me, like a piece of meat?” Layla asked with an arched eyebrow, determined to win this battle of wills.

  “Don’t make the comment ugly. You know what I mean.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want to see you.”

  Rashad smirked. “Nah, that’s not it.”

  Her lips firmed, and she flexed her fingers, itching to smack the smirk off his face. Averting her eyes again, she let the stony silence speak on her behalf.

  “Layla.”

  Her jaw tightened as she fought the barrage of emotions that came from him whispering her name.

  “I messed up, but I miss you like crazy. That’s the truth.”

  He spoke in a voice that she’d never heard before and wasn’t accustomed to. Even more unnerving were the words he’d said. He’d missed her? Rashad didn’t talk about feelings or share his innermost thoughts. He wasn’t the type to bare his soul and certainly wasn’t the type to admit he missed her. How was she supposed to fight against all of this?

  She returned her attention to him and wished she hadn’t. It was so unfair how absolutely beautiful he was, with his perfect features and perfect skin and perfect… everything. He was made to seduce women. Even his laugh was seductive—smooth, throaty, with a sparkle in his eyes that matched the diamond earrings in each ear.

  “I lied. I don’t want to be your friend.” He braced his hands on either side of her shoulders, and her heart started to race in panicked excitement. She knew what he was about to do.

  “Don’t,” Layla said.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Kiss me.”

  “If I thought you meant that, I wouldn’t.” He spoke in a low, gruff voice, one that she’d heard before and was accustomed to.

  “Stop,” she whispered weakly, shrinking into the wall as far as she could.

  He followed, his mouth stopping a hairsbreadth from hers, nostrils flaring. “I can’t.”

  When his lips touched hers, her resistance melted away. She’d never stood a chance. That’s why distance between them was essential.

  Rashad kept his hands on the brick behind her. The only parts of their bodies that touched were their lips. He coaxed her mouth into a deeper kiss with gentle pressure and the teasing tip of his tongue.

  Her hands moved of their own volition, sliding over his hard chest, taking delight in molding the contours of his lean waist and hard abs.

  Kissing him was heaven. Bliss. Her mouth softened, and she allowed his tongue entrance to explore the innermost areas of her mouth. Layla moaned, shivering not from the cold but from the desire rushing through her blood. She was burning up, achy, like someone in the middle of a hot flash. Her fingers clutched the Henley as she stepped closer to his heat, the tips of her breasts grazing his firm chest.

  Rashad abruptly wrenched his mouth from hers and expelled a deep breath. Layla whimpered her disapproval and tightened her grip on his shirt, resting her forehead against his collarbone, right beneath his chin.

  “Step back, Layla.” His voice shook.

  With a deep swallow, she reluctantly stepped back into the wall.

  Rashad’s eyes bored into hers. “I want to fuck you so bad—right here, in the middle of the fucking street, and I don’t care who sees.”

  She trembled at the rawness of his words. His arms were still stretched out on either side of her shoulders, but beneath the shirt his muscles were corded with tension. In fact, his entire body was rigi
d, but his chest heaved up and down with the energy he exerted to keep control.

  “You’re a good woman, Layla. Any man would be lucky to have you. That’s why I’m here. I want to be that man. Will you give me another chance?”

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to answer while she wasn’t thinking straight.

  Rashad pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she briefly closed her eyes, clenching her fists to keep from reaching for him again.

  He stepped back and smiled at her. Not one of his cocky grins, but an achingly sweet smile that twisted her heart into knots.

  “You need time to think. My number hasn’t changed. Call me in a week if you think we have a chance.”

  As Rashad walked away, Layla felt an invisible line tugging her toward him, but she resisted and turned her back on him.

  “No,” she whispered.

  She rushed to her building on shaky knees and took the elevator to her loft. Inside, she flopped onto the bed and buried her face in the pillows. Hating him. Hating herself. Hating that between her thighs was wet and throbbing.

  Will you give me another chance?

  She knew what the answer should be. No. That’s it.

  But her beating heart insisted she choose the other option. Because the ache—the unbearable need for him—had returned.

  5

  After dinner laughter filled the living room of Rashad’s friend and business partner, Alex Barraza. His wife, Sherry, who also worked at the company, sat on the chair opposite, next to Alex. The couple married six months ago, in August.

  They’d both been crazy about each other from the moment Sherry started at Newmark Advisors. In the beginning, neither had acted on the very powerful attraction between them. Rashad was glad they’d finally worked out the secret Alex had been keeping from her. Sherry was a good woman, and her relationship with Alex had brought Rashad closer to her, as well.

  Sherry, whose light brown skin always glowed like she’d recently come out of the sun, placed a hand on Alex’s thigh. “I’m feeling kind of tired, so I’m going to leave you two alone and head to bed. Rashad, you have to give me the recipe for your coffeecake.”

  “I’ll email it to you when I get home. I found the recipe online but tweaked it a little bit and added my own secret ingredients.”

  “Yes, I get to know the secret ingredients.” Sherry rubbed her hands together, which elicited a laugh from both men. “Can’t wait. Have a good night.”

  “Good night,” Rashad returned.

  As Sherry stood, Alex’s fingers held onto hers, their touch lingering. Tonight they’d shared their great news with him. Sherry was three months pregnant, which wasn’t obvious yet and easily hidden beneath her loose-fitting blouse.

  After she slipped from the room, Alex said, with amusement in his eyes, “She’ll be out later after you’re gone to finish off the rest of the cake. She was being polite earlier.”

  Rashad chuckled.

  Alex was not only his closest friend, he considered him a brother. They’d known each other since they started college at eighteen, bonding over the fact that neither had any close family they could depend on. Alex had traveled from Colombia to attend school in the States, and Rashad had more or less been fending for himself for a large portion of his life.

  Forced to grow up fast, a stint in foster care taught him that he was better off on his own, and by the time he was sixteen, he lived alone, renting a room in a boarding house while working part-time and going to school. In college he met Alex, and they formed their own family with a third member—Heather. He still missed her, but she was in a better place now.

  Back when they’d been roommates, Alex would do the cooking and Rashad baked. He learned to bake from his foster mother and was really good at it. People saw the finished product as art, but for him the best part was in the creation. The need for precision in baking made him concentrate and had a calming effect, something his foster mother had noticed early on. So she’d continued to teach him, and he’d found a hobby that not only filled his belly but calmed him when he was upset.

  “Can I get you anything else to drink?” Alex asked in accented English, eyeing Rashad’s empty bottle of beer on the table beside him.

  “No, I’m good. What’s the word on Lion Mountain Vineyards?”

  Rashad had been the one to suggest they start Newmark Advisors, and now they were likely on the cusp of another business venture—one that Alex had suggested.

  Alex sat forward, his hazel eyes brightening with excitement. “They’re not going to let anyone know they’re selling the place for at least a few more months, so we have time.”

  The owners of Lion Mountain Vineyards were retiring, but neither of their two children were interested in taking over, which presented an unexpected opportunity for Alex and Rashad.

  Alex and Sherry had visited the award-winning Georgia winery several times, and on one of those visits his friend learned about the owners’ desire to sell. Though neither he nor Rashad had any experience in wine-making, they believed they could manage the property as long as the employees remained, which by all indications they planned to.

  “Excellent. That gives us time to do a little research and get our finances together.”

  Alex nodded. “When can you get up there?”

  “Not for a few weeks, at least.”

  With tax season coming up, a lot of their clients were reaching out for ways to maximize tax advantage savings by contributing more to their IRAs and 401k’s. Newmark Advisors was also busy providing information about trading losses and gains from the previous year for clients not savvy enough to download the data from the company site themselves.

  “They don’t know me, so I’ll go up there as a customer and check the place out.”

  “Good idea, but I’m sure you’ll like it. Might be the kind of place you can take one of your women,” Alex teased.

  Rashad gave a short laugh and brushed imaginary lint from his jeans. He was used to being teased about his reputation as a ladies’ man, but tonight the joke didn’t quite land because he wasn’t in the mood for that kind of ribbing. Not after what happened between him and Layla last week.

  Concerned eyes trained on Rashad’s face, Alex asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, it’s me. You’ve been off this week, and tonight too. It’s Friday night and you’re eating dinner at the home of your married friends.”

  “We haven’t hung out in a while outside of work,” Rashad said with a shrug.

  Alex didn’t say a word. He simply sat in silence and waited, and Rashad laughed. If anyone knew him, it was Alex.

  “Okay, fine, you’re right. Maybe I have been a little bit off, but I thought I was covering it well.” Knees to elbows, he told Alex, “I saw Layla last week. Twice.” Alex and Layla had met once, when she showed up at the Newmark Advisors office.

  “She’s in town?”

  “She never left.”

  Alex’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  Suddenly restless, Rashad stood up from the chair and paced to the bookcase that spanned an entire wall. He spun around and went into detail about the first night at the silent auction and told Alex about how he had gone to Layla’s favorite breakfast spot the next day.

  “Remind me, why did you break up?” Alex asked.

  Rashad shrugged. “Things were getting too serious, and you know I don’t do serious. I told her we needed to slow down.”

  “Oh yes, that’s right. You got scared.”

  Rashad stiffened. “I wouldn’t use the word scared.”

  “What word would you use?” Alex asked.

  “I’d say… I was uncomfortable.”

  “So you were uncomfortable, and you told her you wanted to slow down, and she broke up with you.”

  “Yes, which I think was pretty drastic.”

  “Or maybe she was scared—excuse me, uncomfortable too.”

  Rashad knew A
lex was being sarcastic, but he’d simply needed breathing room because his desire to spend time with Layla had become borderline obsessive. His every thought, his every action, had been consumed with her. Would Layla like this? Would Layla like to come with him to this event? If he thought about buying a piece of furniture, he felt the need to consult her first. That wasn’t normal.

  On the outside he seemed good-natured and happy-go-lucky. On the inside, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop and rob his life of whatever pleasure he’d foolishly indulged in. So, no attachments. No long-term relationships. He preferred to keep his affairs as affairs—short term and casual so no one got hurt—especially him. But Layla had been different. She’d forced him to consider permanence, a future—an abomination in his world.

  Plus, she was so darn… kind and considerate. One day she popped up at his office unannounced, bringing him a drink and a Reuben sandwich on rye because they’d chatted on the phone twenty minutes before, during which he’d mentioned he didn’t have time to get a bite to eat. For her, the gesture had been no big deal—thoughtful and typical of her. She was loyal to a fault, and if you needed a favor, she was the one person to ask and trust she’d come through.

  But when she showed up at his office with lunch, warning bells had blared, and he knew he had to pump the brakes on the speeding train of their relationship. He’d managed to keep her from getting too close, doling out very little information about himself, but that day she’d met Alex, one of the most important people in his life. She’d breached his veneer of privacy, and that was a no-no.

  Yet, here he was, playing a waiting game. He wanted to give Layla space and let her come to him, but tomorrow would make a week since he walked away from her on the street. He could still taste her. He could still smell the freshness of her skin after her morning shower. How was he supposed to handle this need for her? After almost three years he’d been certain he succeeded, but just the sight of her at the auction had sent him spiraling into unprecedented yearning for a few moments of her time.

  “I should have called her.” That was his biggest regret. He had a feeling if he had called, just once, that would’ve made a difference in her reception to him when they ran into each other.