Page 72 of Layla

John

Iexpect to feel guilty after. I did the exact thing I had promised myself I wouldn’t do. Obliterating our professional relationship could put her in danger, make it harder to do my job. Not only that, but I lost every ounce of my carefully held control, something that I never allow.

But as I lay there in bed, her soft warm body pressed against mine, the guilt doesn’t come. I realize, with a vague jolt of surprise, that I don’t regret it. Not the slightest bit. There might be consequences for what just happened, but I can’t seem to make myself care. Not right now. Not when she feels so ridiculously amazing in my arms. Not when the expression on her face is so completely satisfied. Peaceful.

I did that for her. And all I want to do is keep that expression on her face for as long as I possibly can.

“You’re probably starving,” I murmur into her hair.

I can feel her lips tug up in a smile against my chest. “I’m not sure what worked up my appetite more—the show or what we just did.”

I laugh, pressing a kiss against her temple and reaching for the phone next to the bed. “What do you feel like?”

“Bacon cheeseburger,” she says immediately. “A double.”

“You really are hungry.”

“You try playing the drums for three hours,” she shoots back.

Even though the kitchen is closed, the concierge still takes our order—the perks of being a rock star, I guess. I get a burger too, and add extra fries and two milkshakes to our order. “You want onion rings?” I ask her, covering the mouth of the phone.

She wrinkles her nose. “I hate onions. And you better not get them, either, if you want to kiss me again.”

Since I most definitely plan to kiss her again—a hell of a lot—I skip the onion rings and add cheese sticks to our order, filing away her hatred of onion rings in my mental list of things to know about Layla.

“Do you have nachos?” I ask the concierge. She assures me that they can, indeed, get us nachos at this time of night, and I hang up the phone, grinning.

Layla’s eyes are sparkling with humor. “Let me guess—you don’t eat junk food very often.”

I look down at her. “What makes you say that?”

She smirks. “You look like a kid on Christmas and you just ordered half the menu.”

I grin, patting my stomach. “What can I say, you made me work up an appetite too.”

Her fingers run across my abs, making the muscles tighten under her touch. “I guess I should thank you,” she murmurs. “Your habit of skipping junk food is definitely working in my favor.”

I will her to slip her hands lower, wondering if we’ll have time to fit in round two before the room service gets here. But Layla pushes up from my chest, swinging her legs out over the side of the bed, and God, the sight of her bare back has me ready to go all over again. There’s something so elegant about her, the long lines of her body graceful and strong at the same time. Her hair is cascading down in a messy tangle of waves, the tips of the purple strands just brushing the little hollow of her mid-back.

“Come back here,” I growl, reaching for her. She peeks over her shoulder and the smile on her face sends my heart plummeting straight down to my knees. She’s fucking perfect. Beautiful and sexy and such a badass, so talented and so tough, so damn strong. When she smiles like that, smiles like all the hard shit in her life doesn’t exist anymore, I can’t make myself draw breath.

“Bathroom,” she tells me, apparently unaware of the overwhelming crush of feelings pressing in on me. “Be right back.” She jumps up from the bed and I can’t contain the groan at the sight of her perfect ass as she skips across the room. Her soft giggle floats back at me as she slips into the bathroom.

She’sgiggling. Layla Perry is giggling and I know enough about her to know how unusual that is for her. But she’s giggling now. And I did that.

Our food arrives while she’s still in the bathroom. I had forgotten that perk of celebrity too—super fast service. I don’t bother with more than my boxers when I answer the door and decline the employee’s offer to come set up our tray. Instead I take it right back to bed.

Layla’s face lights up when she returns to the bedroom. “Now that,” she says, pointing at me in the bed, “is a sexy sight.”

I look down at my mostly naked body. “Me or the food?”

She laughs. “You and the food. Together. In my bed.”

I make a face, holding up the plate with her hamburger. “You put me in the same category as this burger, don’t you? Just another piece of meat.”

She bounds over to the bed, kissing my shoulder as she slides into the sheets. “What can I say? I really like meat.”

I groan, handing her the plate and moving the cover from mine. I hadn’t realized just how hungry I was and Layla must feel the same because she’s taken an impossibly huge bite of her burger before I even have the ketchup bottle open. She moans in delight and I point a fry at her. “You can’t make noises like that if you want me to let you finish your food.”