Talking about my family problems is the last thing I want to do. Especially with how fucking delectable Layla looks in her work attire. Her clothes seem simple enough of a black dress shirt with a red pencil skirt and black heels. It is perfectly tailored to her body and makes my imagination run wild with what kind of lingerie she might have underneath to match the sexy appeal of the overall outfit. She kicks off her shoes as we enter her apartment, giving me a glimpse of her painted red toenails while my eyes trail up to watch her sexy calf muscles work as she walks ahead of me.
God bless this woman as I want to lick every inch of her.
I need a distraction or else I won’t be able to refrain from taking her on the couch. Sex right now would be quick and rough as my mood is feral due to the roller coaster ride of emotions my family has me on. I haven’t had sex since Las Vegas and spending more and more time with her has made pleasuring myself insufficient. I start to look anywhere but at her, trying to focus my mind on the decor of her apartment and not the ache of my cock.
“How long have you lived here?” I wonder, as the apartment is modern with hard wood floors and an updated kitchen that has industrial type hardware and lighting. I’m quite surprised, as this seems to be opposite of her feminine style.
“Ten years,” she says, as she busies herself with opening up a bottle of wine and pouring us each a glass. Ten years means this is the apartment that she shared with her husband. The thought quickly works its magic on deflating my hard-on. The walls are void of any décor, but as I take a closer look, I notice nail hooks with scuff marks from a frame. It seems what once were reminders of her husband have since been taken down.
“It’s a nice place,” I say, walking to the balcony and admiring her view of the city. “How many bedrooms is it?”
“Just one,” she replies as she comes around the kitchen island and hands me a glass of wine. “I think it’s time for a change though.”
“Oh yeah? Why?” She swings her hair behind her shoulders and the action makes me picture my hand wrapping the golden silk in my fist and pulling her head back as I pound her from behind. I grip the wine glass harder and try to blink my carnal thoughts away.
“Too many ghosts here,” she smiles sadly at me, which makes me regret even asking.
I hold up my wine glass to her to make a toast. “To change,” I say and we clink our glasses together. I take a long pull of the delicious wine while my eyes stay locked onto hers. I savor the flavorful liquid as long as I can and make a loud gulp as I watch her tongue dart out to lick the remnants of wine off her lips.
“Are you hungry? I’m starving!” I hastily say, hoping she didn’t notice my voice a higher octave than normal. She gives me a questioning look and I immediately head to the kitchen to distract myself. “I can cook us dinner if you have food.”
“You know how to cook?” she asks skeptically, as she follows me into the kitchen. I open up her refrigerator and am relieved to see she has recently been grocery shopping. “Yes, my mother taught my brother and me how to cook our family meals every Sunday when growing up. Do you like to cook?”
She wrinkles her cute nose in disgust. “No, I like to pay someone to cook for me.”
“Then why do you have all these groceries?” I chuckle, getting the pans out from underneath the cabinets and taking the food out that I want to prep.
“I bribe Robert with free food if he will come over and cook it for me. He’s actually a good cook.”
I laugh at her resourcefulness and start cooking the chicken I found in the refrigerator. She watches me intently as I describe what I’m doing so she can see that this is easy enough for her to cook by herself. Thirty minutes later, we are sitting down at her dining room table, our plates filled with grilled chicken, asparagus and couscous.
“Bon appétit!” I tell her and watch as she cuts a piece of chicken and places it in her mouth. Her eyes get wide as she chews, nodding her head in appreciation.
“Wow, this is really good! I’m impressed,” she says, taking another bite of asparagus.
“I’m happy you like it. Next time I’ll make you my specialty, beef stroganoff.”
She doesn’t say anything about there not being a next time and I take that as a good sign. We eat in compatible silence for a few minutes, watching each other relish in the taste of the delicious food.
“So, are we going to address the elephant in the room?” she asks, placings her fork down to indicate she’s done eating.
“I don’t see any elephant in the room,” I jokingly look around before stuffing my mouth with the last piece of chicken on my plate. I mentally kick myself for not making more food to consume in order to not have to talk yet about my past. I’m just delaying the inevitable because if I want Layla in my life permanently, she needs to know everything.
She rolls her eyes at my sarcasm and gets right to the point. “Why do you think you killed your father?”
“I don’t think, I know I did,” I get up to take our plates away to put in the sink and she follows me.
“Chase, stop with the dishes and talk to me.” She shuts the faucet off that I had turned on to start washing the dishes, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the couch. We sit down and I can’t help but smile at her as she sits at the opposite end of the couch.
“There’s no way you intentionally killed your father. You would be in prison instead of sitting here with me.”
“My family is very wealthy, we could’ve paid the cops off.” This is not a far-fetched notion as my father made very sizable donations to the local police department.
“Alright Chase, since I invited you over for a serious conversation that you don’t seem to want to have, then you are free to leave. I’m tired and I have nothing more to say to you.” She stands up and is about to leave when I grab her hand and pull her back down to the couch, purposely closer to me.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. I apologize, but I need to hold your hand in order for me to talk seriously.” She gives me that sexy smirk that makes my groin tighten and appeases me by letting me hold her hand while we talk.
“My father was never the kind of dad that was going to win the Father of the Year award, much less even be nominated,” I begin, taking a deep breath and exhaling out for this is going to be a long, hard story to tell. “I think he only agreed to have kids to pacify my mother and keep her quiet since he brought her over from Germany to Canada, where she had no family or friends. He met my mother at a party in Germany while backpacking across Europe. Once he found out that she was heir to a prestigious winery, he quickly charmed her, stayed in Germany to court her, and got her to agree to marry him within a short amount of time. I don’t believe he was truly on vacation or that meeting her was a coincidence. I think he was in Europe on a mission to meet someone to change his life and identity.”
“Why would he feel the need to change his identity?” she asks in confusion.
“When they got married, my father took on my mother’s maiden name instead of her taking on his name. He led people to believe that it was a romantic gesture on his part since he claims to have been so in love with her, but I now know that it was all a facade to change his identity,” I say with bitterness. “We didn’t grow up knowing our paternal grandparents as he said they were dead, but we found out that was a lie.” My father’s death made international news and his parents contacted us, seeking money.
“Why would he lie about that?” Layla looks at me in confusion.
“Apparently, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree as they were deadbeat parents. My father knew he was smart and good looking, so he left to form a new life. Once he married my mother, he made it known to her father that he wanted to help him with running Wilson Vineyards.”
“For a while, my father’s true colors didn’t come out. He worked hard and made a nice living for my mother and generated more revenue than my grandfather could have dreamed of. When my father suggested they open a winery in his homeland of Canada, my grandfather was on board with it. He purchased the land for the vineyard and my parents moved to Canada. I was born a year after their move and my brother came two years later.”
“Unlike in the United States, ice wine is very popular in Canada, so it was a smart business decision on my father and grandfather’s part to open a winery there. Profits were made within the first year and my father built a successful brand with the Wilson name. But as the years went on, he slowly pushed my grandfather out of the business in Canada. My father wanted complete control over the finances and decision-making. My grandfather wanted to make the company public and have a Board of Investors, but my father disagreed and wanted the company to stay private. So he re-paid my grandfather the money he paid for the land and took full control of running the Canadian winery. I always wondered why when my grandfather would come to visit he would ignore my father. Now I know.”
“Is your grandfather still alive?”
“No, he died five years ago. My father made it a big public relations campaign about the death of the founder of Wilson Vineyards and how he loved his father-in-law for giving him the opportunity to run the company. When we went to Germany for the funeral and the reading of the Will, my father was furious to learn that he left all assets of the German winery to my aunt and cousins, who weren’t involved in the family business. My father filed to make Wilson Vineyards Canada a subdivision of his new company, Wilson Enterprises, with him as the sole owner so that my aunt and cousins couldn’t have any control over what my father was doing. They hated my father and wanted nothing to do with him or have him involved in the business in Germany, so they had no problems with his actions.”
“As the years went on, we saw my father less as he worked more. He would only show interest in being a father when he decided he needed to mold our future for us. He made it clear that I was going to be the heir of the family business since I’m the oldest. My brother had shown interest in hockey and our father discovered that Rhys was a very talented hockey player, so his goal was to be in the NHL. My brother and I went along with the paths our father created for us because we actually wanted them as well. I was more interested in the branding and marketing side of Wilson Enterprises than the actual winery, much to my father’s chagrin. But when he saw my ideas were making him money, he accepted where I wanted to be.”
“So what went wrong? Sounds like everything was perfect.”
“My father loved the attention he received from being the face of Wilson Enterprises. He wasn’t happy with my growing popularity as the new face of the company, nor did he like it when people preferred me over him. Instead of being proud, he was jealous. So he started cutting me out of important decisions that I should have been part of, slashing my budgets, and passing on me for promotions that I deserved. I started becoming suspicious, so I did some searching into the company’s finances one day while working late. Things started to not make sense and one night, my father left his private laptop unlocked at work. My search through it found bank transfers of large amounts of money to an off shore account. He was embezzling money from the company.”
Layla squeezes my hand as sympathy shines from her eyes.
“I went home to confront him, only to find him screwing his mistress. With the knowledge of the embezzlement and then seeing him betray my mother, I went crazy and beat the shit out of him. I left and went straight to a bar to get drunk. I woke up the following morning to my brother pouring water on my face since I was so drunk the night before that I missed the phone call saying he died from a heart attack. I went straight home to comfort my mother, but she wanted nothing to do with me. My brother didn’t speak to me. So, I left. Went to Seattle and just partied to numb the pain.”
“Chase, you didn’t kill your dad,” Layla whispers softly. “He was probably carrying around so much stress from his lies and deceit, that it was only a matter of time for that heart attack to occur.”
I ignore her theory and continue. “His sudden death was all over the news, as was my absence. Two weeks after his funeral, my brother found me and asked me to come home. Telling me that creditors and banks were now calling, asking for payments of money they didn’t seem to have. They needed me to come home to take charge and fix everything. I told him no, that he was in charge now. He got angry, we fought and he left. Next thing I knew there was a press release stating I was taking a sabbatical and my brother was now the interim CEO of Wilson Enterprises. That was over two years ago.”
“How has the company been staying afloat for two years?”
“The wine we made had exported out for the season already, so we made profits in that year from the winery, but we sold off as many assets as we could with Wilson Enterprises and had to lay off a lot of people. This year’s ice wine sales weren’t so good. If we have another bad year, we’ll have to go under. For someone who knew nothing about the family business, Rhys has done an amazing job,” I admit, secretly proud of my brother and what he has done to survive.
“Were you close with your brother?” She tilts her head while asking in curiosity.
“We were close once, but this has put a wedge between us. We’re completely different people. Our temperaments are a mix of our parents, but looks wise, he looks like my mother and I look like our father. He blames me for ending his career in hockey. If I hadn’t left, he would still be playing, possibly in the NHL.”
“You don’t know that, Chase.”
“No, I do. He was really good. Scouts had been watching him from a young age.” One of the few things my father would boast about was how good Rhys was at hockey and how numerous scouts were calling about him.
“What about your mother? Have you heard from her since?”
“Yes, she calls and texts me, begging me to come home. She says she loves me and that none of this is my fault, but I can’t handle the pain I still hear in her voice. Luckily, she has been in Germany this past summer visiting family, so the phone calls have been at a minimum.”
“How did you wind up becoming a paparazzi?” she quietly asks, her thumb rubbing circles inside my palm to soothe me.
“I was in Los Angeles for a weekend of debauchery with friends when I was approached by a paparazzi who happened to be Canadian. He started taking my picture, asking where I’ve been and I started chatting with him, asking him how he ended up where he was. My brother had been texting me, saying he was going to have to liquidate assets, asking me to help, but I was not ready to go home. So I figured I could help from afar by making money being a paparazzi. Photography was already a hobby of mine, so why not get paid to do something you love? Little did I know the seediness of the business. I started networking, making contacts who would accept bribes and I became good at it. The money started coming in and in some sick way, it made me feel like I was doing something to contribute to the mess back home, that I was making amends. But, it wasn’t until I met you and Jenna and got to spend time with you both that I realized that I’m better than this business. The last thing I want to do is hurt innocent people.”
She accepts that I’ve reached the end of my story by my silence and takes a shaky breath. “Thank you for sharing your story with me. I know how hard that must have been for you and I hope you feel somewhat relieved, as it helps me understand you and why you did what you did in Las Vegas.” She untangles her fingers that were laced with mine and positions my hand so that she’s holding it with both of hers. “I think you know that going home is the right decision. We can’t pick our families and the damage that your father did is done. But you have the opportunity to save yourself, your brother and your mom. Don’t you think they’re worth saving? They’re the two people who love you the most.”
I look at her in silence and eventually nod my head, because coming from her, everything sounds right.
“This is your chance to take ownership of your family business and take it to the level you always have dreamed of doing. Don’t drown yourself in the facts of how the business became yours. Relish in the fact that you can now make it your own and do good with it.”
Her words are exactly what I need to hear. Her confidence in me gives me hope that if she can forgive me and move past my previous actions, then maybe my brother can too. She sat here with me, listened to my whole story without passing judgment, and is now trying to encourage me. Her affirmation in me makes me believe that I do need to try to change everything for the better with my family and Wilson Enterprises. As my eyes scan her face and see her sincerity, I realize this is exactly the woman I need by my side.
“Layla,” I growl out, not being able to contain my need for her any longer. “I’m going to kiss you now.” I don’t give her time to protest as my lips are on her in seconds. I shove my hands into her hair and hold her face to mine, not giving her the opportunity to pull away from me. Any hesitation she has is gone within seconds as she kisses me back. I want to yell out in victory at finally having her willing in my arms.
Her lips part at the demands of my tongue and I moan at the taste of her sweetness. While we continue kissing, my hands grab her hips to pull her on top of me, needing her to straddle me so I can feel as close to her as I can get. She deepens our kiss by wrapping her arms around my neck and I can’t stop my hands from roving down her back, over her delicious ass and to the side of her hips, pressing her down against me. My hands smooth up her back and pull her shirt out from the waistband of her skirt. Her skin is scalding hot and I make my way up to her breasts, my fingers aching to play with her nipples. As soon as I start squeezing them, she gasps against my lips and starts to unconsciously move against my erection. My brain screams at me for the need to get inside of her. If I don’t stop this now, I will soon explode against my pants. I reluctantly pull my hands away and break apart from our kiss. I rest my forehead against hers, our breaths mixing into one as we try to regain our composure.
“If we continue, I’m spending the night and never leaving,” I breathe out, giving her the opportunity to make our decision. She leans back and stares at me, her lustful eyes searching mine as her breathing continues to even out. She releases my neck and her fingers slowly push my hair behind my ears. It is long enough now that it can curl right around the ear. I give her a grateful smile for getting it out of my face. She rubs her thumbs along my cheekbones as her eyes continue to stare into my soul. I see something change in them and when her hands let go of my face, I know I will not like her answer.
“I think it’s late and time for you to head home.”
I swallow my disappointment and nod my head in agreement. I want her to have zero doubts about being with me and as much as it physically pains me to leave right now, I’ll do so if she’s not ready. I help her off my lap, my hands lingering on her skirt as I drag it back down her shapely thighs. Her eyes hover for a moment on the huge bulge in my pants before she turns around and heads toward the kitchen. I stand up and fix myself, trying to mentally think of anything else besides her to help ease my discomfort. She goes to the kitchen and brings us back glasses of water. She takes two big gulps of her drink, places it down on the counter and walks toward her door. I down the rest of my water before joining her. She opens the door and I stop right in front of her, needing to have one last look of her for my dreams tonight.
“Thank you for tonight. It meant a lot to me.” I lean down and kiss her softly on the lips, inhaling her delicious coconut and vanilla sent one more time until tomorrow. I quickly pull away before it gets any deeper and make my way over the threshold of her door.
“Chase?” she calls out to me and I turn around, hoping she has changed her mind about me leaving. She’s struggling with what she has to say, but her words soon stop me from approaching her.
“Don’t fall in love with me, Chase,” she swallows before continuing on. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”
My mind goes blank as her words are like tiny needles to my heart. I thought we made progress tonight, but I realize she has let the ghost of her dead husband come in to haunt her.
“Don’t worry, Layla. You won’t.”
I turn on my heels and leave.