Layla stuffed her feet in a pair of Nike tennis shoes and zipped up her jacket. In the bathroom, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and left the warmth of her loft for a walk in the cold to her favorite neighborhood spot, Coffee Cup. She’d become a regular almost from the time she moved into the loft. The brisk walk was a way to get in some early morning exercise, and treating herself to breakfast was a simple way to pamper herself.
The entire neighborhood was conducive to walking, with a market nearby and plenty of small, locally owned eateries that served tapas, sandwiches, and other types of meals. Overall, her favorite was Coffee Cup because they served excellent coffee, and their breakfast and lunch were unmatched.
Strolling down the sidewalk, she allowed the fresh air to revive her, and though she tried not to think about her interaction with Rashad the night before, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. How had he been the past few years? Who was Natasha, the woman he was with? How important was she to him?
A prick of pain needled her chest, and Layla pushed her way inside the shop with a little more force than necessary. She nodded a greeting at one of the servers, the owner’s eldest daughter. Taking her place in line, she scoured the menu board behind the counter, and when her turn came, she greeted Brent, the owner’s son.
His big grin welcomed her like always. “Hey, Layla. How’s it going this morning?”
“Pretty good.”
“Let’s see… I’m guessing you’ll have a large coffee, a blueberry muffin, and a whole wheat bagel with cream cheese, smoked salmon, and dill.”
“Did you have to call me out like that?” she asked with a laugh. No matter how many times she looked at the menu, she always ordered the same thing. “One of these days I’m going to switch up my order.”
“I’m still waiting for that day,” Brent said, punching keys on the register. “By the way, I made sure to keep your favorite table empty.”
Layla leaned across the metal counter and whispered, “I told you that you don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t care,” Brent whispered back.
They both laughed, with her shaking her head, and then she paid for the meal. He was too nice, but she appreciated that he looked out for her. Sometimes the shop could get really full and there would be nowhere to sit, or she’d get stuck sitting at a table in the middle of the dining room, which she hated. The table he’d secured for her with a Reserved sign was in a corner where she could look out at the street.
Later, she slowly ate her meal while scrolling through the financial app on her phone, happy to see her portfolio was performing nicely. She’d have to thank Ethan for the stock tips he’d given her a month ago. As a financial advisor, Rashad used to give her a lot of advice, but now she—
“Stop it,” Layla muttered. She’d made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t get caught up thinking about Rashad or the past and needed to keep it.
After finishing her meal, she left a generous tip before waving and leaving for the short walk back to her place. She was halfway home when she saw Rashad exiting a yellow Porsche illegally parked at the curb. A sports car, flashy like him. He used to own a red one, and when she pointed out that type of vehicle didn’t seem like a financially prudent purchase, he said everyone needed to have a toy, and it brought him pleasure. He more than made up for the indulgence by being smart about other investments of his money.
Her footsteps slowed, and when his gaze landed on her face, her heart stuttered. Somehow, she remained in motion, on autopilot rather than with any real sense of what she was doing.
Rashad strolled toward her, the epitome of big-dick energy, and he never looked more so than when he was dressed casually, like now. He wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a dark blue Henley that showed off his defined chest and arms. His sexy, swaggerlicious stride turned heads, and his mannerisms conveyed he was not only good in bed, he could make you forget all others while you wept tears of ecstasy. She knew because it had happened to her.
“Mind if I walk with you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He fell into step beside her anyway, undeterred by her frosty reception.
“What are you doing here?” Layla asked, keeping her eyes on the sidewalk in front of them.
“I knew I’d find you this morning. You’re a creature of habit, and I see nothing’s changed. I thought about joining you for breakfast, but I know how much you like your Saturday morning ritual, so I decided to wait until you finished eating.”
“How nice of you,” Layla said sarcastically.
“You still having a large coffee, a blueberry muffin, and a whole wheat bagel with cream cheese, smoked salmon, and dill?”
Layla came to an abrupt stop. She really needed to change up her choices. Next week for sure. “What’s the point of reciting what I like to eat, Rashad?”
“You’re the same, Layla. Nothing’s changed—except your phone number.”
“You finally called.”
“Yes. Last night you didn’t mention that your number had changed.”
“If you’d cared to call before, you would have known that,” she pointed out.
Rashad nodded. “Fair enough. Can we start over?”
Crossing her arms, Layla asked, “Start what over, exactly?”
“The conversation from last night.”
“I thought I made myself clear that I’m not interested in pursuing another relationship or whatever it is you’re interested in.”
“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 rigid, 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.