The Marriage Game Page 41
“Are you kidding me?” His voice dropped husky and low. “I’m taking you home where I can have you all to myself.”
“In that case . . .” She handed him the keys. “Since I don’t know where you live, I’ll let you drive.”
Moments later, Sam peeled out of the parking lot like fire was licking at their heels. He drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other in her lap, his fingers threaded through hers. She’d always thought of herself as an aggressive driver, but Sam tore up the streets. By the time they arrived outside a boutique building in the Mission, her heart was pounding so hard she thought she’d break a rib.
Sam grabbed her when they reached the lobby. She caught a glimpse of mint-and-cream-patterned wallpaper, freshly painted woodwork, and a pastel painting of an old-fashioned streetcar, before he pinned her against the wall beside the elevator and kissed her. She scraped her nails over his chest, tearing a button from his shirt just as the elevator door slid open. Sam palmed her curves, kissed her harder as he backed her into the elevator and slammed his hand over the button to close the door.
“You want to do it here? In the elevator?” Layla was game for anything so long as it meant she got to take off his clothes. “Fatal Attraction style or Fifty Shades Darker?”
“Upstairs.” He angled her head to deepen the kiss. Layla moaned into his mouth, grinding her hips against the bulge in his jeans. Sam answered with a groan, his fingers sliding under her shirt to stroke the bare skin of her stomach, and then higher.
Desperate to move things along, Layla pulled her shirt over her head.
“What are you . . . ?”
She unhooked her bra, and he gave a strangled gasp.
“No . . .”
“It’s okay. I’m not shy.” She whipped off her bra and tossed it on the floor with her shirt. “Come and get them.” She gave her girls a shake in case he didn’t get the message.
Sam’s eyes blazed, his gaze lingering on her breasts with an intensity that took her breath away. But there was something else in his eyes.
Fear.
He’s afraid of my breasts.
The elevator dinged. The doors slid open. Layla turned. Her brain registered a woman standing in the doorway. Her body froze.
“Good evening, Mrs. Goldberg.” Sam shoved Layla behind him. “How are you?”
“Good evening, Sam.” Mrs. Goldberg’s voice was shaky, hoarse, but tinged with amusement. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Sam shuffled sideways, keeping Layla back with one arm as they sidestepped out the door, his tattered shirt fluttering around them. “Are you going for your walk?”
“Yes, it’s a lovely evening.”
Layla peered out from behind Sam’s shoulder and met the gaze of an elderly woman in a fitted cream suit, soft peach blouse, and a string of pearls. “Um . . . hello.”
“And hello to you, dear. No need to hide. I was a nurse for forty years. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, because by the time you’re my age you need a crane to hold them up.” She stepped into the elevator and bent to pick up Layla’s clothing. “You might need these.”
“Thank you.” Layla extended a hand from behind Sam to retrieve her bra and shirt.
“Good night, Mrs. Goldberg,” Sam called out as he reached backward for the nearest door, still keeping Layla hidden.
“Good night, Sam and friend. Enjoy your evening. Try to keep the noise down.”
“She seems nice,” Layla said as the elevator closed.
With a growl, Sam unlocked the door, and then they were whirling, spinning around. Before Layla could get her bearings, Sam closed the door by slamming her against it.
“What just happened?” She blinked, trying to clear her vision as she took in the modern open-concept space with its concrete floors and striking architecture. Sleek cabinetry and high-end silver appliances dominated a large kitchen with quartz countertops and a distressed picnic-style wooden table. Soft evening light flowed through floor-to-ceiling windows, and abstract prints dominated the white walls. Cold, urban, and austere, it was utterly devoid of the bright colors, rich sensual fabrics, and ornate wood carvings that she was used to seeing in the homes of her desi family and friends.
Sam thudded one hand on the door behind her, leaned in so close she could feel the press of his chest against her breasts. “What were you thinking? You almost gave ninety-year-old Mrs. Goldberg a heart attack.”
“She looked pretty spry to me.” Layla gave a little shrug. “This whole thing was a fantasy of mine—racing through the streets, tearing off our clothes in the elevator, stumbling naked into your apartment . . . I guess I got carried away.”
He cupped her nape, pressed his thumb under her chin and tipped her head back, scalding her with his heated gaze. “Was I in this fantasy?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He rewarded her with a mind-blowing kiss that made her knees weak. Was she ready for the reality of hooking up with the kind of man who could very easily break her heart?
“What else happens in this fantasy?” His hand slid beneath her skirt and he stroked a warm finger along the edge of her panties. Her pulse throbbed between her thighs.
“After we’re naked, we have wild sex against the door.”
Sam yanked on her panties, almost amputating her leg when the sturdy cotton briefs held fast.
“Sorry.” Her throat worked on a swallow. “I wasn’t planning for my fantasy to come true, so I didn’t wear shreddable underwear.”
With a soft chuckle, Sam undid the button on her skirt and dropped to one knee to slide it down her legs. Layla grimaced as he studied her plain white panties.
“You are so sexy.” Sam leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her stomach as he gently slid her underwear over her hips. He looked up at her in a way no other man had looked at her before—as if he truly thought she was sexy in gray, worn, pima cotton high-waisted briefs pilling on the front and fraying around the thighs.
“What happens after we have sex against the door?” he asked.
“You carry me to the kitchen counter and smash all the plates onto the floor with one sweep of your arm so we have space to have more sex.”
His palms covered her breasts, and he teased her, squeezing gently as he nuzzled her neck. “Sounds unhygienic. How am I supposed to feed you afterward with no dishes?”
“I won’t be hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.” He bent down to draw her left nipple between his teeth. “I like that about you.”
Lust flooded her brain. She took a deep breath and tried to give herself over to the pleasure of his mouth, but visions of Karen danced in her head. “My nipples are dark,” she blurted out.