“Wait a minute,” she said, rushing after him. “If I hurt you, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. And if there’s any way I can make it up to you, I will. But you have to tell me what I did.”
She grabbed his arm to keep him from leaving. “Please, just tell me what you want from me.”
The moment she touched him, he went still, stopping so abruptly Layla had to grab on to his arm with her other hand to keep from stumbling backwards.
“Don’t,” he said. The single word came out on a strangled breath, but the undertone of menace was clear.
“Don’t what?” she asked, wondering why their conversations seemed to mostly consist of her asking him to clarify what he’d just said.
“Don’t touch me.”
Now Layla went very still. As a physical therapist, she’d been trained to be thoughtful of every patient’s boundaries. She always announced before touching one of them. And if they asked her to stop touching them, she did so immediately.
But she couldn’t do that with Nathan Sinclair. She had a feeling her ability to get answers hinged on her touching him, on not letting him go until he told her what she wanted and had every right to know.
“First question, how do we know each other?”
“Layla…” he ground out.
“Were we friends who had a falling out? Did your brother introduce us?” She paused to rally the nerve to ask her next question, but it still came out as a mere whisper. “We’re we in love at some point?”
He kept his face turned toward the door, and they looked like a frozen picture of what they were: a man trying to leave and a woman trying to hold on to him. “No, we weren’t in love.”
“Okay,” Layla said, picking up on his emphasized ‘we.’ “Was I in love with you and you didn’t love me back? Did I chase after you? Get a little too pushy? Is that why you don’t like me?”
His face turned red with fury. “Let go of me. Now.”
“If you answer my questions, I’ll let you go. I need to know if we were together. I keep on having these dreams where we’re…” Layla searched for the appropriate words, but could only come up with, “Doing it. Is that a dream or a memory? The not knowing is driving me crazy. You’re driving me crazy.”
That’s when he dropped the messenger bag and turned on her. “I’m driving you crazy? No, it’s you. It’s always been you driving me crazy.”
Then, without warning, he plunged his free hand into her riot of curls and slammed his mouth down on hers.
CHAPTER SIX
LAYLA’S mind struggled as it tried to process what was happening. Nathan’s lips were crushed to hers, his tongue inside her mouth, effectively silencing all of her questions. And even more surprising than his unexpected kiss was the way she responded to it. She’d immediately began kissing him back and flames of desire burned a path down her torso, engulfing her womb with a need so insistent it verged on pain.
“Please,” she moaned against his lips, not quite knowing what she was begging him for. “Please…”
“No,” he said, running kisses down her neck. “I’m not going to let you do this to me.”
Then, to Layla’s utter dismay, he pulled back from her, all but shoving her away from him when she tried to kiss him again. He shook his head and pointed at her, more angry than she’d ever seen him, which was saying something, since he’d pretty much stayed furious from the moment they’d re-met.
“I’m not doing this with you. I’m a grown man now. I can control myself.”
Her clothes were still on, but Layla felt naked and ashamed, standing there under his accusing glare. She had no idea why she had responded to him like that, so brazen and completely willing to give him her body with just one kiss. Humiliation washed over her in waves, freezing her to the spot.
“Get out,” he said. He pointed to the door she’d left open.
Numb to her very core, Layla gathered her purse to her chest and followed his directive, just as eager to leave the scene of their kiss as he was to have her gone. But when she tried to rush out past him, he grabbed her arm, keeping her there. And with just that touch, a bolt of electricity passed between them again. She stood very still, waiting, just waiting to see what he would do next.
“Are you wet?” he asked her. His voice sounded more feral than human at this point.
“What?” she asked, confused.
“I won’t be able to be gentle with you. If you’re not ready for me right now, then you should run and never come back.”
He was right. She should run. Send him the money she’d saved so far in the mail and then send the rest of the installments the same way, until her father’s debt to his family was paid off. But…
“The truth is I’m dripping,” she told him.
He groaned. “Layla, don’t toy with me.”
Along with being too honorable, Layla had always been honest to a fault. So she continued telling him the truth, despite her better instincts. “I can feel my panties sticking to me, I’m so wet for you.”
This time when he turned his grey gaze on her, it was hot as opposed to cold. “You’re wet. For me.”
It wasn’t stated as a question, but somehow Layla understood he was demanding a confirmation. “Yes, I’m wet. For you.”
“For me,” he said again.
“For you,” she repeated, barely able to believe these words were coming out of her mouth or that she wanted him this bad.
He let her arm go and stepped back. “Show me,” he said.
Even though he had let her go, the way he was looking at her now, like a hungry, angry animal, kept the electricity buzzing through her. “Show you?” she asked.
“Take off the lab coat.”
She took it off, her eyes glued to his as she did so.
“And your pants.”
She hesitated. Some part of her understood this would be her only chance to turn back, to lead with her brain as opposed to her throbbing womanhood. But in the end, she couldn’t ignore the strange, sweet ache that had been building up ever since she’d met this infuriating man. She kicked off her lime green crocs and pulled down her scrub pants. This left her standing there in her pale blue panties, which just as she’d said, had a large, distinctive wet spot at the crotch.
***
It took every ounce of control Nathan had not to throw her on the floor and bury himself inside her. His throat clogged with lust when she revealed her bottom half, encased in cotton panties that, unlike the black lace his lovers usually wore, did nothing to hide her desire for him. Indeed, if he had still been touching her when she took off her scrub pants, this would all be over now. He’d have rutted her like an animal in a blaze of heat and need.