I take a deep breath, and close my eyes. As much as I want this girl naked, I can’t allow myself the selfish gratification. She’s a mother, and as far as I can tell all that her daughter has. Fucking her up will have lasting consequences even an asshole like me can’t live with.

I step back to clear my head. Her hand falls to her side, and I immediately miss her touch. The distance is little help, but it’s enough that her scent weakens, allowing me to think logically again.

I’ll help her, this one time, and that should be enough to satisfy my erratic thoughts. My instincts will always push me to protect a weak woman. And there’s nothing weaker in the world than a woman alone with a kid. That’s all this is. My history influences my behavior. I’ve beaten back this shit for the past twelve years. I can do it again. After today.

“Let me do this for you.” I scrub my hand over my hair, trying to think of a way to convince her that doesn’t involve my mouth all over her body. What I wouldn’t do to torture her with pleasure until she submits. No, help her and move the fuck on. I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. “You need the help. Let me give it to you.”

She searches my face, and I hope she doesn’t see anything that betrays me. After a few seconds, she nods. “Sure, okay. That’d be great.”

A slow grin tugs at my lips. “Really?”

She shrugs with a timid smile. “I told myself when I moved out here that I’d never rely on a man again. So just this once, okay?” She picks at her nails. “I’ve got to figure out a way to make it on my own. It’s important to me.” Her voice trails off to a whisper.

I want to reach out and pull her into my arms, but I know I won’t be able to stop there. And whatever I’m feeling, I have to fight. There’s so much more on the line than hurt feelings between two adults.

“If I can’t… I…” She curls into herself. “I can’t go back.” Her murmured words catch me off guard.

“Why not?” Shit. I broke my number-one rule with women. Don’t invest. Chanting the two words in my head like a mantra doesn’t keep me from imagining what may have happened to her and Axelle. Heat boils in my chest.

Worry and fear etch into her pretty face. “He’ll make me—”

“Mom!”

Fuck.

Axelle swings around to the back of the Jeep. “The truck’s here. Some dude named Leo towed it in. Oh, and you’re going to shit when you see our loaner car.” She’s clearly excited, hopping and clapping her hands.

“Elle. Stop cussing,” Layla says.

Axelle laughs, dismissing her mom’s reprimand. “Oh lighten up.”

A strange feeling, like a mix of irritation and possession, floods my veins at the blatant disrespect Axelle shows her mom. I can’t get involved any more than I already have. But I’m suddenly worried for Layla and her daughter’s relationship. This family needs a man in it. A good man. Hell, a decent man would be better than no man. And a kid needs a dad.

My dad’s face, twisted with fury and spitting ugly, comes rushing to the surface. I shake away the image before it solidifies. The reality check is enough to bring me back to my cardinal rule. I’m not investing.

For my safety. And for theirs.

“Let’s get a move on. I gotta get back to training.”

I head back to the garage, not waiting for them to catch up. Jonah’s there with his girl beneath his arm. I hear Layla’s sharp intake of breath from behind me. Oh, now she gets it.

That’s the second woman she’s accused me of banging, and both times she was wrong. I’d gloat if my head wasn’t so fucked up.

Jonah’s gunmetal gray ’69 Camaro is parked out front. He grins at Layla. “My wife told me you needed a loaner.”

“Oh, yeah.” Layla looks at me, and even in my peripheral vision, I can see the blush of her embarrassment.

What’s that saying? Never assume, because it makes you look and feel like a jackass idiot? Something like that.

“We have a few extra cars at home. Thought you might be able to use one.” Jonah motions with his head to the Camaro parked behind him.

He dangles the keys in front her face. Axelle squeals, but Layla locks her hands behind her back and shakes her head. “I can’t. I uh…” Her eyes move from the keys to the car and back again. “It’s, wow, but…”

Hell, I’ve never met a more stubborn woman in all my life. “Mouse. Remember what we talked about. Take the fucking keys.”

She swings her gaze over to me.

I nod. “Take ‘em.”

And holy shit. There it is. A huge grin, carefree and unguarded, spreads across her gorgeous face. Last night at The Blackout, talking about Metallica, I saw one similar. And fuck me if it isn’t the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

“I’ll take it. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Sl—”

“No, please. First name basis.” Raven curls into her husband’s side.

“Thank you, guys.”

Jonah tosses her the keys. “Right, well Blake and I need to get back to training. Layla and Elle, enjoy the ride. If I know my woman, she’ll have your truck back together in no time. That is, unless she talks you into a rebuild.”

Raven’s eyes get big. “Oh, that would be cool. Throw on some forty-inch tires, a six-inch lift, and a paint job?” She looks between Layla and Axelle. “How do you feel about flames?”

“Flames are hot!”Axelle says. She starts going back and forth with Raven about color combinations.

Layla stays silent and looks oblivious to the chatter going on around her. Her eyes are unfocused, as if her mind is off somewhere else. What’s going on in that head of hers? Maybe I’ll drag her back to my car and make her tell me what she never finished saying about her ex. Something’s bothering her—Dammit, what the fuck is wrong with me?

I need to get the hell away. “You ready?”

Jonah kisses his girl goodbye, and I give a general peace-out to the group. Halfway to my car, I overhear Axelle telling her mom she has to be at school early tomorrow for tutoring. “That means I can’t take you to work.”

“That’s fine. You can drop me off at work before you go.”

“Mom, that’s an hour and a half early.”

“So what. Life’s about adjusting and making sacrifices.”

Don’t do it, dude. Do not fucking do it. “Mouse, I’ll pick you up at eight.”

I did it.

“Oh, no. It’s fine. I’ll—”

“Take the help, Layla.” I lock eyes with hers. “Seriously. This shit is not a big deal.”

“Okay, Blake.”

I turn around and continue to my car. I’m pissed and stoked as hell. Playing chauffeur to a chick with baggage, and a kid.

Fuck me. I’m gonna regret this.

Eight

Layla

I’m back at work after the trip to the garage, and I can’t stop grinning. Sure, I compromised and let Blake negotiate my rental. But really, it was Jonah who hooked that up. It shouldn’t make a difference, but it does. It feels less dependent. I mean, if anything, I’m helping him and Raven out by using a car that would be collecting dust. Yeah, that makes complete sense.

What doesn’t make sense is that for a brief moment behind Blake’s car, I allowed myself to consider what it would be like to be kissed by him. At one point it seemed like he might try, but all I could think was that Raven might get jealous and do something crazy like poke holes in my gas tank. It wasn’t until later I realized what an idiot I was for assuming that Blake was having some sort of a sexual relationship with Raven, when she’s Jonah’s wife. My cheeks burn at the memory.

The shame of accusing Blake of two love affairs with two different women made me acquiesce and accept the help. Those moments of weakness were totally worth the full-blown euphoria of driving that Camaro—windows down, music up, and the roar of the engine vibrating my vital organs. Invigorating would be an understatement. I’m watching the clock, eager for the chance to get back into that thing. Tonight I’m taking the long way home.

I’m straightening up my desk, preparing to leave for the night, when the phone at my desk rings. “Taylor Gibbs’s office, this is—”

“Layla, it’s Xavier.”

“Hey, Z. What’s up?”

“I need your signature on a few things. You want to come down to my office, or should I come to you?”

I check the clock. Almost five. “I’m on my way out. I’ll come down.”

“Great.”

Grabbing my things, I head to his office. Luckily, the room is at the opposite end of the locker room from the showers, or coming down here would make my job very uncomfortable. Pushing the door open, I keep my eyes to the ground and make a beeline to the back room.

His office door is open a crack. I knock lightly and push my way in.

He’s sitting behind his desk. “Layla, that was fast.” Papers rustle as he slides them into his top drawer.

“Oh, yeah. I’m in a rush to get home.” Not really, more like a rush to drive the kick-ass hot rod that’s waiting for me in the lot.

He sorts through a short stack of papers, pulling out a few and handing them to me. “Just need a signature on these treatment forms.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Routine red tape.”

I grab a pen off his desk then flip through the papers, giving each a brief scan. Pharmaceutical orders. I’ve seen similar order forms before, and even recognize the company logo belonging to of the big pharm companies that’s putting the smaller ones out of business. It was a topic I heard about often in my old life. The thought gives me the creepy crawlies. I sign quickly and drop the pen. “That it?”

He looks them over. “Sure is. Thanks.”

After a smile and a friendly good-bye, I leave the office. I keep my head low and make my way back through the locker room, using the tile on the floor and my peripheral vision to find my way. I’m halfway to the door when I slam into a solid wall of muscle.

I throw my hands up against a knotted abdomen covered in a cotton T-shirt. Thank God, I didn’t run into one of the guys naked. “Sorry. Shoot, I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”

I swallow a breath at the familiar voice. Blake.

“I stepped in front of you.” The rolling bass of Blake’s words draws my gaze up.

His stare is severe, despite his blank expression.

I take a step back and drop my hands. “Hey.”

He lifts his chin in greeting.

“Listen, I uh… didn’t get a chance to thank you properly at the garage. You’re right. I need to be better about accepting help. So…” So what? How do I thank him? A handshake seems too formal. A hug?

He stands still, his eyebrows raised.

I awkwardly open my arms. “Um…” I push up to my tiptoes and move in for a hug.

He leans back fractionally, and, in a moment of terror, I wonder if a hug is too personal. Too late now.

Even on my tiptoes, my arms don’t reach his thick, corded neck. I lock my hands at his nape and pull him in. He leans down, the raw strength of his powerful arms wrap around my waist and tug me close. I’m practically lifted off my feet as he holds me to his body. His firm chest presses against mine, the heat of his skin penetrates my thin sweater and coils deep in my belly.

The safety of his strength and the warmth of his touch, combined with the clean, spicy scent of his skin, would be any girl’s happy place. With my cheek pressed to his shoulder, I bite my lip against a moan. How something can feel so good and be so, so bad, I’ll never know.

I pull away, and he releases me easily. “Thanks.”

His eyes do that thing where they travel from my lips to my hairline. Like he’s looking at a steak and doesn’t know which bite to take first.

A slow shiver crawls down my spine.

“Your place.” His strange statement has my cheeks burning.

My place. As in… no, that’s not what he means. Is it? What would I do if it was? “What?”

“Your address.” He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. “For tomorrow.”

Uncomfortable laughter shoots from my lips. “Yes. Of course.” I dig in my purse looking for a piece of paper and a—oh, found a pen. “One second here. If I could just find something to write on.”

He puffs out what sounds like an impatient breath. With one yank, he has the pen in his hand, and one move later, my hand is in his. “Text it to me.”

A little buzzed from the combination of his big hand consuming mine and the subtle forest smell I’m beginning to associate with only him, I bob my head affirmatively as he scribbles something on my palm.