Sam leaned against the door, blocking her way. “So that’s what you want? A boy toy?” Harman had seemed like an easy strike until he had somehow maneuvered his way into a date.

“Oh, come on. You have to give me a pass. I’ve never seen a man with a body like that. It was like looking at a rare painting, a perfect flower, or a glorious sunset. You can’t not appreciate that kind of beauty.”

“You could have done it with your mouth closed,” he snapped. “I can’t imagine what you’d be like at the Louvre. They’d probably have to follow you around with a bucket and mop.” His blood pumped hot and furious through his veins, a potent cocktail of frustration, disappointment, and desire.

“I don’t understand you.” Layla glared. “He’s got his flaws, but he doesn’t seem like a bad guy. If I wind up marrying him, you get the office. Why are you so annoyed?”

“I’m not annoyed,” he bit out, although his pulse had kicked up a notch, and he felt like spending an hour in the gym punching a bag and imagining it was Harman’s face. “If you really want to waste your life on a shallow, egotistical airhead, you should do things the proper way. The families should meet . . .” He almost couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. He was anti-tradition. If anything, he should be delighted she had found a match so quickly. Hell, he should be on the phone right now arranging movers to get rid of the purple couch.

“My dad is still in the hospital.”

“Then what’s your hurry? Meet the other men on the list. Don’t rush such an important decision.” He took a deep breath and then another. When had he ever let his emotions override his common sense? Every day he dealt with angry employees. They called him names, threw things at him, questioned the existence of his soul. Nothing affected him. The walls that he’d built to contain his remorse and regret allowed him to do his job without succumbing to their pain. Except when it came to Layla.

“Are you . . .” She tipped her head to the side and gave him a quizzical look. “Jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Once he ages, all that stretched skin is going to sag, his face will prematurely age, and he’ll deflate like a popped balloon. Not to mention the hair loss and functionality problems.”

Her eyes widened. “You are jealous. I thought you’d be happy.”

“And I thought you were serious about finding a suitable partner, and not someone who just wants you to be his brown girl brand.” He shrugged. “Cleary I was wrong. The game is over. I win.”

“You win?” She was shouting now. Sam glanced around quickly to make sure they weren’t disturbing anyone, but they were very much alone at the far edge of the lot where he had insisted they park to minimize the risk of her vehicle being scratched.

“You don’t win, you conceited, egotistical ass. I’m going on a date, not marrying him.” She moved closer, standing less than a foot away, seemingly unconcerned that he was eight inches taller and outweighed her by a good fifty pounds. What was it about Layla that brought down his defenses so easily? He couldn’t even think straight. Wasn’t this what he wanted? The office, and Layla gone?

“You’re just dragging it out because you don’t want to lose the game,” he retorted. “I know your type.”

“And I know your type. You’ve spent so much time hiding how you feel, you wouldn’t know an emotion if it hit you in the face.”

His lips pressed tight together, and he tried to find the inner calm that sustained him when he had to deal with disgruntled employees. But he was too wound up, too involved, too aware of the woman standing in front of him—the heat of her body, the flush in her cheeks, the rise and fall of her chest as she drew in breath after ragged breath.

“I know cowardice when I see it,” he retorted. “You’ve let Dev’s death define you. You’re afraid to let people in because you’re afraid of losing them. That’s why you agreed to the date with Harman. There’s no chance you’ll ever fall in love with him because he’ll never love anyone more than himself.”

“You don’t know anything.” She heaved in a furious breath, looking up at him through the thicket of her lashes. Her breasts brushed against his chest. Her soft lips parted.

His walls crumbled. With nothing to contain his emotion, he succumbed to desire. “I know I made a mistake letting you go the other night.”

And then he kissed her. The world around him faded to the singular sensation of her lips on his, as soft and gentle as her words had been cold and harsh. All that mattered was the warmth of her body, and her sweet sigh of surrender as she melted against him.

So it was all the more shocking when she slapped him across the face.

• 14 •

“WHAT the—” Sam’s stunned expression would have been comical if Layla hadn’t been so fixated on his soft, lush mouth.

“You didn’t ask.” She seized his shirt in both hands and dragged him down for another kiss. “And I’m angry with you.”

Their mouths crashed together. Tongues tangled. He kissed her as if he wanted to consume her, devour her alive. Fierce kisses, hard kisses, desperate, wanting kisses. He tasted like chocolate and smelled like sin.

“Sam . . .” She pulled away. “I can’t breathe.”

“Neither can I.” He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in for another hungry kiss. Hot, hard, and wet, melting her to the side of the Jeep. His tongue worked past her lips to plunge into her mouth, every stroke tugging at things low and deep in her belly.

Her hands moved to his chest, sliding over his pecs and the ripple of abs beneath his shirt. Harman was perfect but Sam was real, his body hard from his fight training, muscles thick from use. He hissed out a breath when her fingers grazed the top of his belt, his infamous self-control giving way to her curious hands.

“What are we doing?” he murmured as he drew her earlobe into his mouth, his five-o’clock shadow rough against her sensitive skin.

“I don’t know, but don’t stop.”

“No chance of that.” He shifted against her, his arousal as evident from his ragged breaths as the growing hardness pressed against her hips.

When he thrust a thick thigh between her legs, she rocked against him, reckless and wanton in her need for release. She was dying, burning, her body on fire. She’d never felt anything like the toxic combination of anger and lust that pounded through her veins. It made her head spin, drove logic away.

“Get in the Jeep.” He reached behind her, pulled open the passenger door.

“You want to do it here? Like in Titanic?”