All the Way (3 page)

Blake eyed her offending finger before he leveled a gaze at her.
Shrugging away from the side of the building, he crossed his arms.
Jeez, he could look intimidating.

Once her hand dropped, he asked, “What’s this about Rob riding with a gang?”

Layla withered.
“You mean you don’t know anything about it?”
When he shook his head, her gaze dropped to the ground.
“Then never mind.
I don’t want to talk about this, not with you.”

Reaching out a long index finger, Blake traced the tearstain on her cheek with unexpected tenderness.
“That would suggest otherwise.”

She firmed her lips to stop the tremble in her chin.
Staring at the scuffed, blunted toes of his black boots, his feet spread in a solid stance, Layla envied Blake.
She always had, in a way, because of his tight tie with Robby, a connection she tried and failed to imitate.
Just once, she would love to know what it was like to walk the world so sure of yourself, every step infused with total confidence.
Right now, Layla wasn’t sure about anything.
She wished she didn’t have to face life’s toughest moments alone.

But she had always been on her own.
She should be used to it by now.

Blake tipped her chin up.
“When did your brother leave?”

“This morning there was a note on the counter and his motorcycle was gone.”

“Did you call the police?”

“
No
.”
She bit her lip.
“I can’t.
Even though he graduated in May, he’s still a minor.
When he turns eighteen in ten days, his record is wiped clean.
I can’t risk going to the cops and tarnishing it again.”

“What about that asswipe whose patrol car sits in your driveway at night.
Can’t he be useful for once?”
Hatred simmered in his tone.

He went from open and compassionate to frigid and unreachable in seconds.
An unexpected thought flashed through her mind. She wondered if his demeanor would reverse if he knew the last fight to split her and Jack apart had been over him.

She looked up at Blake, his face marbleized by shadow and moonlight, the chiseled angles harsh in the darkness, made harsher by the anger etched there. No. She didn’t suppose it would make any difference to him at all.

“My
ex
-boyfriend,” she clarified, “going on six months now.”

“Trouble in paradise?
Gee, that’s too bad.”

“It was never paradise.”
Layla shoved her hands in her pockets.
“I made a mistake.
I can cop to it, pun intended.”

“You’re really over him?” Blake sounded dubious.

“Yes,” she said. A haunting light swirled through his eyes. For the longest time, he didn’t move. “Blake?”

“What finally did it, Layla?” he asked, his voice so low it barely registered above the warm wind sifting through the trees.
“Was it the lousy hours?
The other women’s driveways he parked in during his shift?
Or did you finally open your eyes and see him for the loser schmuck that he is?”

“Excuse me?”
When he advanced, she took a step back.

“What, you didn’t figure out his MO in the first couple weeks of seeing him?
You’re smarter than that.
With your defenses pulled up around your ears, I figured you’d pin Jack as a player from the start.
And you still let him in your house, into your bed.”

Another step back, two, three.
“Stop it.”

“Don’t tell me what I said is a newsflash.
Jack Johnson is a crooked cop with an ax to grind—against me.”

“Oh, really?” Her hands found her hips. “So it doesn’t occur to you that maybe Jack wanted me way before you and I dated? That I have something to offer a man—other than you—to make him stand by me instead of ditching me when my life hits a rough patch and becomes inconvenient?”

“I didn’t mean for things to happen between us the way they did. That doesn’t mean Jack didn’t use you. And you fell all over yourself to let him. What about after he showed his true colors?”

“I…I didn’t—”

“I tried to tell you he was bad news. If we’d spoken more than two words to each other—instead of just fighting—after the night Rob disappeared, I could have told you the truth.
But you acted like I was something you’d scrape off your shoe.”

“If you hadn’t ignored me, left town for some bike rally, then called me like nothing had happened, I wouldn’t have acted like that.”
Her shoulder blades bumped the patio enclosure.
His hand went up beside her head, as the other curved behind her neck.

“What if I just took what I wanted, like Jack, and came onto you a year ago the way I did tonight? Maybe it would have been me in your bed.
Was he worth it, Layla?
Was he good?
Did you shake in his arms like you did in mine?”

Nothing compared to the way Blake made her feel minutes ago.
But the force of her attraction to him clashed with his rude innuendo.
This war waged every time Blake came near her.
She despised this desire, this weakness.
“I hate you.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you say.
I’d believe you, except your cheeks are flushed, your pulse is racing, and your lips are parted like you want my taste in your mouth. Is that what you want?”
His face dipped.

Layla shoved against him with her shoulder.
“You’ll never find out.”

Dashing through the gate, Layla heard it bang as she raced toward her car.
Coming here had been worse than a mistake.
She’d fallen into a nightmare.

If she never saw Blake the rest of her life, it wouldn’t be long enough.

Layla wrenched the handle of her Cavalier clunker and slammed the rusted door.
She shoved her key in the ignition, turned, and the car gave one long pitiful whine.
Then promptly died.
No.
No way was this happening.
“Come on, come on!”

After a few more cranks, and still nothing, her forehead dropped to the steering wheel.
Impossible. Could this night get any worse?

Layla swallowed back the hot lump of saltwater that rose in her throat. She was already mortified at bursting into tears in front of Blake. She couldn’t lose face again, even to herself. Determination kicked in.

She got out, slammed the door and started walking.

Aiming for the gas station she recalled at the end of this dark road, Layla shoved her hands in her coat pockets and for the first fifteen minutes did a good job of ignoring her throbbing toe,
the result of a swift kick to her dead car.

Then both feet began to ache in these awful shoes, but she didn’t dare go barefoot with glass chards and chunks of gravel strewn along the sides of the road, glinting in the moonlight.
It was dumb to wear heels, but she’d wanted to blend in, and red high heels were what her mother always wore with this leather jacket.
She stopped to empty the pebbles that had slipped inside, and the irony clicked that this is what she and Robby always were to the woman, stones in her shoe.
Why else would she up and leave them?

Though
Layla suspected the real reason why she and her brother had been left behind to fend for themselves.
The day of the accident twelve years ago, Layla had suffered an emotional breakdown.
Her mother had suffered a mental one.

Sucked into memories, the line between past and present blurred.
When she looked up, eight headlights were barreling down the street toward her.
The roar of a pack of motorcycles surrounded her.
She wanted to turn and race back to the Handle Bar.
Instead, she panicked and froze.

Suddenly the ear-splitting racket resembled sirens more than eight sets of pipes.
The white lights turned to red and blue, spinning atop police cars and ambulances.
A flashback gripped her.
It seemed so real.
She replayed the scene that still haunted her, the day her whole world had shattered.

If only she hadn’t begged Kenny to be at Giovanni’s Pizzeria to celebrate her fifteenth birthday.
Then she wouldn’t have watched from the restaurant window as he rolled through the green light, waving from his motorcycle…when the car came out of nowhere.

The glass had felt so cold, her face and hands pressed against it in shock, horror.
But it was nothing compared to the chill that settled in her bones, the marrow hollowed out by the realization of what she had just lost. How small Robby’s hand had felt in her clammy one later, his confused little face looking to her to explain why he couldn’t dodge the police tape, tear off the bloodstained sheet on the stretcher and hug his invincible daddy.

Every sound became deafening.
She choked back a sob.
The pack rumbled past, carrying the vision with it, replaced by the dark night that seemed to close in around her.

Suddenly a single headlight beamed at her face.
A motorcycle slowed, pulling up beside her just as her vision clouded.
Feeling dizzy, she clutched her head, nearly stumbling into a muddy ditch.
Two hands shot out to grab her waist.

When her vision cleared, Blake Desanto loomed over her.
Her fear-fogged brain had trouble deciding if he was a devil or an angel.
It didn’t matter, if she could rely on his steady hold for one more minute.

When his grip shifted, she seized his wrists, a silent plea for him not to leave her.
Maybe never again, but for this moment at least, Layla needed him.

He held fast.

“It’s okay,” he murmured.
“I won’t let you go.”

Blake felt Layla shaking in his grasp.
Her face appeared an ungodly shade of pale, the most haunted look Blake had ever seen.
“What the hell happened to you?”

She gulped air, and blood seeped back into her cheeks.
“M-my car broke down.”

That didn’t answer his question, but a thorough glance-over didn’t produce any signs of physical assault.
Thankfully, his heart rate normalized before he suffered a heart attack.

“Why didn’t you call somebody?” he asked.

Layla looked down at the pointed toes of her red high heels.
“I couldn’t afford two cell phone payments.
It’s more important for Robby to have one than me.”

“Since when is your safety not worth fifty bucks a month?”
His tone came out furious.
So much for the careless front
.
He lowered his voice, stripped it of emotion.
“Hop on.
I’m taking you home.”

Defiance flashed in her eyes.
“What makes you think I’d go anywhere with you, after the things you said to me at the Handle Bar?”

“This isn’t up for debate.
Get on.”
On closer inspection, he recognized another emotion in her eyes.
Fear.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Layla.”
He held one hand over his heart and extended the other one to her.
“Trust me.”

“Trust
you
?”
She scoffed.
“I’ll take my chances alone, thanks.”

“I’m not giving you that option.”
Their eyes locked in challenge, forcing a stalemate.
“Fine,” he muttered.
“Here’s your choice.
Get on the bike, and I’ll take you home.
But if I have to lasso you to the damn thing, you’re coming home with
me
.
Tied up, at my mercy…until you beg me to stop.”

She snorted.
“You’re an egomaniac who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

“Maybe.” He gave a careless shrug. “But I think I know where to find your brother.”

“You—you do?”

He sat back down on the Harley.
“I don’t feel you on the back of my bike yet.”

“I’m doing this for Robby,” she insisted, as she slid behind him.
“This has nothing to do with you and me.”

“Should I have used the lasso?”

Her arms locked around him, her limbs tense with nervousness.
“With you and your libido, it’s a wonder there’s room for me on this motorcycle.”

“You didn’t refuse…
I think I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

Revving the v-twin of his Fat Boy, he drowned out whatever retort she launched.
He blew out a long breath and snapped up the kickstand.
Her hands had better stay flattened on his stomach, because if they drifted south she would discover
his
kickstand.
Blake’s body had leaped to life at her touch.

“Damn, baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Uh, hold on—and don’t move your hands.
I’ll have you home soon.”

After a few minutes of riding, Blake forgot the pressure throbbing below his belt as he slipped into a rider’s trance.
Summer night air streamed over his arms, pounded against his face.
An adrenaline rush spiraled through his veins.

Nothing compared to driving a motorcycle.
It was the perfect blend of control, speed and freedom.
Although Layla seemed clueless, Blake perfectly understood Rob’s obsession with motorcycles.
It matched his own.

Pulling in a lungful of fast-moving air, he sighed.
Nothing like it in the world
.

Twenty minutes later, Blake steered his motorcycle into the driveway.
His driveway.
Better to do this on his turf.
He didn’t want a door slammed in his face when she heard the proposition he had in mind.
Blake could use all the luck he could get, since getting lucky seemed out of the question.

How much were lassos running these days?
He stifled a grin as he killed the engine and braced himself for what would follow.

After the roar of the engine died, the quiet left behind seemed deafening.

Leaping off the motorcycle as fast as possible, Layla landed with one ankle sideways. A breath hissed through her teeth. She held still, hoping the pain would stop.

“If you had been patient, I would’ve helped you off.” He came around the side of the bike. “I can be a gentleman.”

“I never would’ve guessed.” She hopped a few paces, but the pain intensified.

Without warning, Blake swept her off her feet into his arms.
He strolled up the front walkway with her, toward his house.

“Hey. What the—? Wait a minute. Why are we at your place?”

“I changed my mind. We need to talk. We’re doing it here.”

“Put me down.”
She got no response, bouncing up and down in his arms.
“Fine.
I’ll walk home. I only live a few streets away. I just need to get out of these heels.”

“You’re in no position to make demands, sweetheart.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Sorry—baby.”

“
Blake
.”

He shoved his key into the front door and kicked it open.
“Isn’t this romantic?
I’m crossing the threshold of my house with you in my arms.”

“Stop or I’ll gag,” she said, holding tight to him.
His scent surrounded her, dark spice and leather.
This close, she could see flecks of gold and turquoise in his deep green eyes.

“Not into romance?” he asked.
“No, I guess not.
Jack Johnson doesn’t strike me as the wine and roses type.”

“That subject is getting old.”
She glanced away, feeling a painful throb in her chest recalling Blake’s “newsflash” about her ex…the other women’s driveways….

“Did he leave a bad taste in your mouth?
I can remedy that.”

You already have
.
“Let go of me—now.”

Blake paused with one foot on the threshold.
“Will you come inside?”

“Are you going to be nice to me?”

“How nice do you want me to be?”
The comment dripped with sensual promise.

“Oh, please.
Get over yourself.”

“I’ll leave that to you, since you did such a bang-up job the last time.”

Ouch
. Then again, Blake had done a fine job of moving on
, too.
After their fight and his distance, on the few occasions she came to pick up Robby at Blake’s house there were various women arriving on his doorstep.
At least she had moved on to just one person.
How many women had been in this house, in his bed?

An ill feeling lodged in her stomach, until she reminded herself she hadn’t been anything special to him.

Blake eased her out of his arms in the middle of his living room.
“Have a seat.”
He gestured to his wrap-around sofa that engulfed most of the living room, Thomasville furniture from their Hemingway collection.
The dark wood contrasted with the mustard walls, emanating warmth, solidness and masculinity.

Layla focused on stepping out of her heels, and wondered who was the owner of the lipstick tube she spotted on the side table.
“Are you living with someone?”

Why did that thought make her chest feel hollow?

“Huh?” he said from the kitchen, rummaging through his cupboards while coffee percolated, filling the house with the aroma of hazelnut. “Oh, right. My brother.
He comes back to Cleveland six months out of the year, but most of the time he’s in Phoenix, getting that leg of Desanto Landscaping up and running.”

“You guys operate two businesses?
It’s amazing you find time for all your women, who like to leave their lipstick on your table.”
She walked toward the wide archway between the living room and kitchen.

Blake’s hand stopped mid-pour.
Setting the coffee pot back on the burner, he turned to the doorway, one eyebrow arched.
“And just how many women do you presume I have?
Is there a harem in my backyard I don’t know about?”

“I wouldn’t be shocked.”
She pointed at the evidence on the end table.

Blake shrugged and went back to pouring.
“Probably one of Tanner’s fans who dropped by and left a souvenir.”

“Fans?”

“Sure. You saw him tonight, performing at the Handle Bar.”

No wonder he’d looked familiar. She slid Blake a sly glance. “You mean that hunk at the mic is related to you?” she asked doubtfully, knowing it would irk him.

It worked. Blake scowled at her as he strode into the living room with two mugs of steaming coffee. She sat down and he parked himself on the couch beside her.