Layers (6 page)

“Clever lady, that friend of yours. Remind me to thank her in person if we happen to meet.”

We trade charged glances and he turns to take another bite of his cupcake.

“What’s your favorite song?” he asks out of the blue.

Where did that come from? Daniel Stark wants to know my favorite song? Is this the time to look around for a candid camera?

“You want to know my favorite song?” I repeat his question, just to make sure I heard him correctly.

“Yes.” No elaboration, and he doesn’t look as if he’s about to give any.

“
Set the Fire to the Third Bar
,” I answer, not sure where that might lead or what the nature of his question is.

“I’m not familiar with it,” he answers, absorbed.

“By Snow Patrol,” I elaborate. He raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

Well, what should I answer to that? Hey Daniel, I live close by, would you like to go up to my room and listen to the song?
“Now you have homework, you should listen to the song,” I answer, thinking,
weird question, weirder answer.
He smirks and looks at me under his lashes.

“A lot can be learned from musical preferences,” he says as though to himself. “So, what do you do for a living? Obviously it should be something
exceptional
, as you did turn down a job at a very intriguing and professional company …” His slightly narrowed eyes are on me, and his teasing doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’ll drop the Mr. Stark if you drop the mockery, Mr. Stark,” I mimic his expression, pleased with my response.

“Fair point.” He squeezes my hand as it rests on the chair arm, causing a direct short circuit to my belly.

“I’m actually waiting for a final date to start my new job at a magazine in the creative team.”

“Sounds interesting,” he mutters, looking genuinely attentive.

I smile inside at his undivided attention concerning my occupational situation. “I’m currently working part time as an administrative assistant at an insurance company; I just recently got my master’s degree.”

“You work a part time job at an insurance agency as an administrative assistant,” he looks at me in disbelief, “and yet you refused my offer?” He picks an invisible crumb from his thigh.

Stop distracting me
 …

“Come on, you were just messing with me, there wasn’t ever a real position on the table, and we both know that.”

His lips arch into a secretive smile. “Oh, we both do, do we?”

Is he kidding or is he being sincere?

“Whether it was or it wasn’t I still honestly believe it was some kind of a joke for you. I’m very keen about the magazine position, though.”

“Which magazine is it?” He takes another bite and sets the cake back on the table.

“Why do you ask?” I mutter dryly, and without paying much attention, I take a piece of his cupcake’s top and put it to my mouth. His eyebrows rise above his stare, his mouth slightly open for a brief moment. Next his expression turns completely animated.

“Well, by all means, be my guest,” he chuckles, gesturing toward his cupcake. “Some of my coffee to go with it?” He moves his cup toward me, the widest smirk stretched on his face.

Did I just take some of his food without even asking
? I shift in my chair, an action which makes his eyes dance with humor.

“I’m covered with coffee, thank you.” I raise my cup toward my mouth.
Think before acting
. Daniel continues staring at me for a prolonged moment, glee adorning his eyes.

“You have a tendency of being covered in coffee around me.” He lets out a deep belly chuckle.
Oh, how could I not see that coming
? I roll my eyes and send him a thin smile.

“I’ve asked about the magazine since I might be able to help.”

It takes me a minute to recall his last question then to assimilate what he just said.

“How is that?” I ask, looking at him inquisitively. With complete nonchalance he stretches his hand toward my mouth and with his thumb removes a crumb of cupcake from the side of my lip, and then, still seemingly without special attention to what he does, he puts his thumb to his own mouth and sucks it. Though the entire act takes seconds, it feels like I’ve just witnessed it in slow motion. I look at him in utter amazement as he continues talking.

“I have some connections here and there,” he says. Pausing, he looks at me through his lashes and smiles a small mischievous grin as if to say, “you seem shaken, dear,” and then goes on as usual. Frozen, I look at him and can’t relate to what he’s saying. All I have in my mind is the feel of his thumb on my lip, his mouth decorated by that small scar of his as his lips parted to take in the remnants of my crumbs. Something deep inside of me clasps tight, very tight. “Seriously, I can talk to someone, Hayley.”

Bet you can
 … “Thanks a lot for the offer, but I always prefer to make it on my own.”

“That’s good, really good,” he says, his gaze drifting away thoughtfully as though he’s assessing something. I wonder what it is. His briefly wandering gaze gives me a minute to observe his face. He has a straight nose, just the right size, thick, dark, long lashes, fencing hazel eyes. His face is tanned, enhancing his handsome features; he has tiny laugh wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, which is the only sign of his real age. A short beep comes from below the table. The distraction pulls him back. He fetches his phone from his pocket and answers sharply, “Stark.” He listens, his stare capturing mine. Though I feel a tad self-conscious, I can’t seem to tear my gaze away. His eyes are hypnotizing, drawing me in. Something’s happening at the pit of my stomach.
Are those butterflies? I shouldn’t go there, not with him.

Moments into his conversation, his eyes narrow and his brows pull in. I notice his jaw sawing under his skin, and in a microsecond his look turns unnerving.

“For fuck’s sake, isn’t there anything you can do by yourselves? Do I need to baby sit you every step of the way?”

Wow, I wouldn’t want to be the person at the other end.

“I’ll be there shortly,” he says in a low, voice, blended with fury. Hearing that, a stab of disappointment surges through me.
Is he leaving?

“And one last thing, Jake. Have a box ready, because I might want to fire you when I get there.”

So long Dr. Jekyll, and welcome Mr. Hyde. Psycho …

Daniel stands up, all annoyed, and takes a long sip of his cup, draining it.
Is that it? Our time’s up? Just like that?

“I’ve got to go work for the people I pay salaries to,” he explains, agitated, sarcasm dripping from his voice and his smile far from touching his eyes.

“Well, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.” I smile at him, trying to conceal my growing disappointment. “It was a pleasure,” I add. He seems as though he isn’t with me anymore, his thoughts elsewhere.
Daniel, back to earth … no reception, none whatsoever.

“See you,” he mutters and starts walking toward the exit. I sit frozen, looking at him, stunned.
That’s the goodbye? That’s the same playful, charming person I just had coffee with?
I follow his departing back with my stare and I notice his shoes again, the same ones as mine, those he complimented me on in his office, which now seems like ages ago.

“Hey, Daniel,” I call after him. Startled, he turns to look my way.

“Cool shoes.” I grin at him. It takes him a moment but as he seems to register what I said and regards me with a radiant smile, and then, all of a sudden, as if recalling my presence, he comes back. Reaching my side, he bends to give me a hug, catching me totally off guard.
Well, Dr. Jekyll is back.
Doing that, he manages to spill the mineral water bottle on himself, and his black tee gets wet.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

“Is that a request?” I ask faintly, blinking, mirroring his own words from our first encounter. His face lights up as if on cue.

“I have a meeting,” he adds, referring to his soaked shirt, his smile still intact.

“I live close by,” I say. “I can have it dried for you in ten.” He stares at me introspectively, and then grimaces. “That would help.” And all I can think of is:
Daniel Stark is coming to my apartment.

~~~

On our way to the apartment, walking side by side, I ask him what he meant by “that rarely happens” in his email.

“Nothing passes by your exhaustive observation, does it?” He sends me a small side smile. I nod, biting my lip, looking forward to his reply.

“People rarely amuse me, and I don’t usually do coffees.” Saying that, he fetches his phone and appears to start checking his emails, his expression altering to an impassive seriousness.
So people don’t usually amuse you, Daniel, and you don’t do coffees. Am I a special case? Charity case
, I mock myself.

“And here is our humble casa,” I declare as we step inside.

Daniel observes the surroundings. “Nice casa, very colorful.” He gestures toward the “royal” orange and green dining area. I shrug, amused.

“So, I’ll need your shirt now, Daniel,” I playfully command, putting out my hand, leaving my arm stretched in front of him, demanding.

“We aren’t even a foot in and you already want me naked? Everything has its time, Hayley.” His eyes manifest sin. I know that he’s kidding but the thought of him without a shirt plus his innuendo make me uneasy. He observes me profoundly and with the wickedest look, as if I were bait, and without tearing his eyes from mine he lifts his shirt off over his head.
Holy hell, he should be banned from wearing tops, ever.
I gasp.

“Here you go,” he hands me his shirt, still warm with body heat. His eyes burn into me as I swallow hard. I can’t help but quickly peek at him before heading toward the dryer. He has a spiral tattoo decorating his left shoulder; it looks like phrases in some ancient characters. Any other thought but of his body flies out of my mind.

I return to find him standing in the entrance to our corridor.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asks. Our stares immediately latch.

“Next door to the left,” I reply, stealing yet another quick glance at him as I do. For a minute, we stand facing each other, eyes intently connected; tension is building between us, charging the gap between our bodies. He starts walking slowly toward me, not leaving my stare; my heart is in my throat, welling with anticipation. Facing me, his eyes move to settle on my lips and my breath grows heavier.

“Honey, I’m home, hide the milkman.”
Now, Tasha, now?

Daniel turns around to face the voice.

“Oh, and you
are
with the milkman,” Tasha comments dryly, looking our way into the darkened corridor.

“Hello,” Daniel utters.

“Well, hello to you too,” Tasha responds, noticing his lack of shirt.

I start walking toward her and Daniel proceeds towards our bathroom door. As he passes by me the back of my hand brushes his bare side, he looks down my way and our eyes melt into each other. For that brief instant it feels as though we have some special connection. He smiles at me meaningfully and I echo his expression. There is a new look in his eyes and I can’t quite make out what lies behind it. Those butterflies again.

Hearing the door close, confident that Daniel is out of earshot, I hug Tasha and whisper, “Where were you last night? I needed you!”

“Hales, I was so dead tired. I slept half way through the end of the movie and then couldn’t even imagine driving back. So what’s going on in here? Who? When? Why? Wow, gory details, pronto!”

“Eloquently challenged doesn’t agree with you, Miss Taylor.”

“Stop being a smart ass and spill the dirt, you naughty girl. Having a half-naked man around while I’m gone …” She smiles devilishly, looking eager for my response. And as I’m about to brief her, at least with the highlights, I notice her expression changing. Her eyes widen and her mouth slightly drops.

“Daniel Stark,” she exclaims in complete surprise.

“Nice to meet you, Miss …?” He tilts his head questioningly, and extends his hand for a shake, an amused smile tugging on his lips. The look of awe doesn’t leave her eyes as Tasha reciprocates Daniel’s shake.

“Taylor,” Tasha manages to finally reply, her jaw not yet back to its natural position.

“The friend I should thank?” Daniel raises his eyebrows with half a playful smile. I nod assent with a smirk of my own while Tasha observes us.

Nonchalantly, Daniel settles himself on one of the kitchen barstools, facing us both as though this is the most natural thing in the world for him. As if he hung with us on a daily basis, usually without a top. As if he were Ian. He sneaks a glance my way. In the corner of my eye I can see Tasha’s inquiring look scrutinizing me.

“Daniel spilled water on his shirt by accident. We’re waiting for it to dry.” I try to answer Tasha’s quizzical look though I’m pretty sure her one and only question is what the hell Daniel Stark’s doing in our flat.

“Oh, now it makes sense, exactly what I thought,” Tasha, coming back to her senses, mutters dryly.

Daniel and I laugh as one. He gives me the sweetest look, and I feel tiny warm waves deliciously circling my stomach. Noticing us, Tasha declares, “There’s something I need to do, and it must be done anywhere else on the planet but in here.” She winks at us both and heads to her room without further ado.
Thank you, Tasha, thank you!
Deep inside I know that she’s dying to stay and see what’s going on here.

“Would you like a drink?” I ask him now that we’re alone, not sure what’s next with him sitting there gloriously bare bodied in front of me.
Jump him?

He taps his fingers at the green surface of our breakfast counter.
Tense
?

“Thanks, but I should be leaving soon,” he answers. His eyes reflect some sort of annoyance. I assume remembering the call he had just before we left the coffee shop.

“I’ll check the dryer,” I say and he nods, his gaze following me till I’m out of sight down the corridor. Even the mere thought of his eyes looking at me makes a warm feeling spread inside. Taking the shirt out of the dryer, I hold it in my hands, feeling the soft, warm fabric. Upset that it’s already dry. Touching it, I think about the fact that it was on him just a short while ago and slowly lift it to my nose, inhaling deep. Clean, with a hint of spice and musky fragrance. I keep taking in the scent for a few more seconds, fighting with myself to cease.
It’s got to be given back to its owner. Perv. That was the purpose of taking it out of the dryer. I am totally losing it.