Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) (7 page)

“Logan,” she groans.

“God, angel. Say it again. I love how my name tastes on your lips.”

“Logan.”

My cock painfully beats a hard rhythm against her thigh as I trail my lips down her neck. “Say it again,” I plead.

“Logan,” she whispers.

My lips kiss down her collarbone to the swell of her breast. Biting the strap of her dress, I pull it aside and down.

“Christ, angel. So damn perfect,” I say, and lap over a small pink nipple.

“Logan,” she moans. “Please,” she begs.

I latch on to a nipple, sucking it into my mouth. It pebbles and throbs against my tongue.

“Logan! Where are you?”

I freeze.

Sam stiffens beneath me.

I release her nipple with a
pop.

“Logan! Where are you?”

I let go of her hands. She looks up at me. “Are you expecting more company?”

“Fuck,” is all I can manage. I pull on the strap of her dress, reverently and reluctantly covering the most perfect tit I’ve even seen.

I remove myself from her. Standing, I give her my hand.

She takes it and I pull her up. “Do you know who it is?”

I nod. “Unfortunately.”

She straightens her dress and fixes her hair. “Who?”

“Janet. The fucking ex.”

She bites her lip before giving me a weak smile. “Sorry.”

I shake my head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Wait here and I’ll get rid of her.”

“No way. I’m not staying in here alone with the mancrib,” she says, nodding toward the stupid bed.

“Logan,” Janet shouts again.

“I don’t want her to see you. She’s… well, kind of a psycho.”

“She can’t be that bad.”

“Janet not only decorated this place but she designed the mancrib.”

She snorts. “I for sure have to meet her now.”

I give her my hand. “Okay, but remember I warned you.”

She takes my hand and we walk down the stairs to the first level.

Janet, standing near the bottom of the stairs, turns and looks up at us. She doesn’t look surprised to see me with someone, so I know this was planned.

I reluctantly let go of Sam’s hand and I step in front of her. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“God, Logan. Chill out. I came to get my stuff,” she says, craning her neck, trying to look around me at Sam.

“Your stuff has been sitting in the garage for months.”

She nudges me aside. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” she asks, giving Sam a curt once-over.

I look between them and mentally prepare myself for the inevitable catfight.

Sam winks at me.

I shake my head in surprise.
What are you up to, angel?

She walks up to Janet, holding out her hand, grinning like an idiot. “I’m Sam. You must be Janet. Logan and I were just talking about you.”

Janet, stunned stupid, holds out her hand. “You were?”

“Yes,” Sam tells her, giving her hand a firm, exaggerated shake. “Logan was just showing me the bed you designed. I’ve never seen anything like it. What a concept. A mancrib,” she gushes.

I bite my lip, pausing my mirth.

“Mancrib?” Janet asks, coming out of her stupor.

“You creative little devil,” Sam tells her, releasing her hand, giving her shoulder a gentle slug. “I wish I’d thought of it. We all know how men like to be coddled,” she says, giving me a knowing wink over her shoulder. “Men are all just big babies in man clothing, after all. Right?”

“Well… I…” Janet stutters.

Sam puts a hand on her shoulder, towering over her petite form. “Please tell me, girlfriend,” she dramatically pleads, “that you’re in the process of manufacturing more?”

I took note of her use of a hard
O
on
process
, and smile.

“What? Manufacturing?”

“Oh, I see,” Sam says and performs an over-the-top pinching of her lips, locking-them-up and throwing the key over her shoulder. “Everything is hush-hush. I don’t blame you. It’s such an awesome idea.”

Janet’s brow furrows. “What? I don’t understand?”

Sam pinches her cheeks. “Oh, my gawd! Are you not the cutest little designer, ever?”

Janet rubs her cheeks as Sam releases them and walks toward the door.

“Sam,” I call, as she opens it.

She slides on her sandals and pulls on a sweater she’d hung on a hook just outside the door.

I speed-walk toward her, not wanting her to leave “Sam, I—”

She picks up her handbag and gifts me with a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you later, neighbor,” she whispers in my ear.

“Angel,” is all I can manage, stunned into my own Sam-induced stupor.

“Janet,” she says, giving her a wave. “It was a pleasure. You be sure to let me know when I can get my hands on a mancrib. I know a lot of manbabies,” she says, and lifts her brow.

“Um. I… Okay,” Janet stammers.

Sam steps off the small entry porch and onto the sandy walkway.

I step out the door, holding up my hand. “Sam, wait up. I’ll walk you home.”

She dangles a set of keys. “No need, I drove.” She winks and walks down the sandy walkway that leads to the front of the house and driveway.

I step to the edge of the porch and watch her get into a sun-yellow VW Bug and drive away.

Janet stands next to me. “What the hell? Who was that?”

I laugh. “That was my angel.”

I
pour another cup of coffee, grab a blanket off the back of a chair, and walk out onto the deck. Draping the blanket over my shoulders, I sink my ass onto an Adirondack chair. Where it will stay until my running man makes his way down the beach. A smile plants itself on my lips as I think about last night. It didn’t turn out how I’d hoped but I still had a good time. I’d hoped it would have ended with Logan and me eating homemade apple-peach pie, whipped cream optional—in bed.

I look at my watch. 7:35 a.m. He’s late and I begin to wonder if he’s going to show at all. Maybe he’s mad at me for leaving like I did. I’d like to believe he understood why. I shudder despite the warmth of the coffee and blanket. Ex-girlfriends and wives aren’t something I’m good at. Or I should say they’re not good with me.

I took control of the situation with Janet before she got a chance to run her rather long rhinestone-studded gels down any part of my anatomy. No way was I going to stick around and find out how they felt as they penetrated my flesh. I’ve had a few confrontations with jealous ex-girlfriends and wives, and I’ve learned it’s best to take control of the situation then hightail it out of there.

I look at my watch again. 7:45. Disappointment and doubt begin to rear their ugly heads. I was disappointed when Logan didn’t find his way to my door last night. Maybe he and Janet got into it, and then participated in wild monkey make-up sex. She is a very pretty woman—nothing like me, of course. She’s much shorter, shoulder-length brown hair, ta-tas big and erect enough to poke your eyes out. What Lex and Jules call bionic tits. I look down at my small chest and long-ass legs.
Dang, girl. If he’s into big and erect short brunettes, you are one tall, small-chested chica out of lucka.

In general, I’m not a jealous person, but I do tend to be possessive. I don’t like sharing. If I stake a claim, it’s mine. But the thing is I’m not staking a claim on Logan. I don’t want more than a fling. So what’s my friggin’ problem? Why am I dwelling on something—some
one
—I shouldn’t even care about? My friggin’ problem is that I want him. I mean like
really
want him.
We have some major voodoo chemistry. Voodoo chemistry is rare and it can’t be faked. It’s been so long since I’ve felt any kind of chemistry that I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever feel it again. And to know it was within my reach and now—poof. Well, that just fuckin’ sucks.

I look at my watch. 8:06.
Dammit!
This is crazy. Me waiting on a guy, a guy I don’t even know. But I can’t help it. I keep thinking about him in bed with Janet and it feels so… wrong. Before I know it, tears cloud my vision, and I don’t need a visit to a shrink to get why this is bothering me so much.

You see, I don’t share. It’s just not in my DNA. And Lane, well… he wanted to share me. We were living in London at the time, and I’d had a long day dealing with womanizing asshole contractors. Needless to say, I was in a horrible mood. All I wanted to do when I got home was pour a glass of pinot, take a long hot bath, and go to bed. When I walked into our flat, I heard laugher. I thought it was the TV. But to my surprise and chagrin, Lane was entertaining a couple he’d met at the pub, just down the street. He introduced us and I didn’t think any of it. But as I was handing the man a glass of wine, he ran his hand up my skirted thigh. When I finally got Lane’s attention away from the woman, I dragged him to our bedroom. “What the hell is going on?” I asked him.

He gave me his signature cheeky dimpled grin. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Surprise me?” I asked, not liking the look in his eyes.

“Remember we talked about hooking up with another couple?”

I remember feeling horrified and utterly dejected. “Yes, I remember. And I also remember telling you it wasn’t a fantasy I could fulfill.”

He’d just laughed it off, thinking I was just fooling with him, or he could change my mind. But he couldn’t have been more wrong, and I couldn’t have been more hurt.

“Come on, baby,” he said. “It will be fun. I had Lee check them out. They’re sexy and hot. Don’t you think?” he said, trailing his lips down my neck.

I was wrong, thinking I’d reached my hurt plateau. “You had Lee check them out?” I asked, feeling my body shake and flush with anger and embarrassment. “What the fuck, Lane? I don’t want to hook-up with another couple. Just the thought of another woman’s hands on you makes me ill.”

He frowned. “You’re serious.”

“Couldn’t be more.”

The look of utter disappointment that flashed across his eyes wrecked me.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but it clearly wasn’t heartfelt. “My bad.”

I looked into the eyes of the man who’d been my lover and best friend for three years. A man whom I cherished, a man I’d never share. “Lane, I can’t believe you’d want to share me. I would never share you, ever.”

“Okay, I got it. My bad,” he said and walked away, and out of our flat, the hot, sexy hook-up trailing behind.

Something happened to me that night, something fractured deep within me. I wanted to forget about the whole thing, tried to let it go, telling myself I was being small, petty, and silly even. After all, nothing happened. But I couldn’t let it go, couldn’t stop thinking about it. It made me feel used, cheap, generic, when I wanted to feel cherished, unique, and claimed. Two days later, he’d gotten down on his knee and proposed. I knew the proposal was true and he loved me. However, we’d talked about marriage and agreed we weren’t ready. He knew he’d hurt me and I knew his proposal was his way of trying to mend us, bandage up the open wound he’d created between us. Knowing that I truly loved him, and being a coward, I opened up my heart and said yes, even though I knew things between us would never be the same. The next day I received a call from my grandmother; my sister had been gravely injured in a horse-riding accident. Months later, Lane was dead and the guilt I felt was overwhelming, consuming me alive. I hadn’t been truthful with him, hadn’t loved him in a way he deserved. Thinking about him and us is something that festers and eats away at my soul, a bit each day.