places with you. Then I can prop the unbruised side of my head on a pillow and the pack will stay in place.”
“Why don’t you lean on my shoulder instead,” Vance suggested and, without waiting for her answer, put his arm around her and arranged her so that she was snuggled close to him, her head resting on his chest, the cold weight of the ice pack soothing the last of the throbbing ache from her scalp. He’d had her swallow two pain relievers earlier and apparently they’d kicked in, too.
Using the remote, he clicked on the TV across the room. Baseball. They hadn’t even tossed a coin, but she didn’t mind. There was no way she could follow any kind of storyline with her cheek absorbing the beat of Vance’s heart. She closed her eyes, breathing him in, and her bones seemed to go lax, while her blood stayed at that whenever-I’m-around-him simmer.
As minutes passed, though, she could feel the growing tension in his body. His hard chest turned rigid, his short breaths more shallow. Uneasy, she shifted a little and the ice pack slid down her bare arm, making her twitch. He plucked it away.
“Done?” he said, his voice low.
“Sure.” She watched him toss it onto the tray that was centered on the coffee table. Uncertain if she should move, Layla remained in an awkward half-raised position until she heard Vance sigh and he pulled her back against him.
But she couldn’t relax at all now, not with the way the walls seemed to squeeze inward. The noise of the baseball game didn’t permeate her consciousness. In her head she heard only Vance’s breaths and her own, a syncopated, unsettling rhythm. Layla’s temperature climbed. Growing up, she’d had a dog, a mutt named Stewart. He’d had the softest ears and the sweetest disposition and had positively craved human attention. When you petted him, he’d warm in that exact location—the pink stretch of his belly, the dip between his shoulders, the top of his head. Layla felt as though she was doing that now, every point of contact with Vance its own singular hot spot.
She cleared her throat, searching for something to say that might ease the strain. “So...Baxter has woman trouble?”
“All men have woman trouble.”
Her mouth curved. “Not Uncle Phil.” The dedicated bachelor stayed way clear of it.
“You’re wrong. He worries about you.” There was a hesitation. “I worry about you.”
Uh-oh. Slowly, Layla straightened to a sitting position and met his gaze. “Why did you go to Captain Crow’s tonight?” She’d be annoyed if he was playing big brother again. “Were you worrying about me then?”
His expression didn’t flicker. “We’re out of beer. Baxter wanted a drink.”
“Oh,” she said, somewhat mollified. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you worried about me?”
His gaze slanted to the side, avoiding hers. “I don’t want you hurt, Layla.”
More uh-oh. Why did that sound like a patronizing I don’t want to hurt you, Layla?
She glowered at him. “I don’t want you hurt, either, Vance.”
“We should call it a night.” Pushing off the cushions, he rose to his feet. When she didn’t follow suit, he huffed out a breath. “Look, I’m in a mood.”
Layla raised an eyebrow. “A mood for what?”
For a moment he went still, and then his lips pressed together. “Don’t push me.”
Half thrilled and half wary, Layla found she wanted to do just that. For days and days, he’d been so controlled and polite and...civilized. He didn’t look that way now, he looked bigger than usual, edgy and impatient, as if some force inside him was ready to spring loose.
God, please, spring loose on her. A woman didn’t have to want forever to want that. Because the chemistry between them had never gone away. “Or what?”
He sent her a quick glance. “Or what, what?”
She licked dry lips. “What happens if I push you?”
His electric eyes shot to hers. Held.
The visual contact came with a physical jolt. Then that sexual tether snapped into place, hook-to-eye, the connection made, the two of them engaged in a torrid tango without moving a muscle. Frustration, irritation, caution crossed Vance’s face and he narrowed his eyes at her. “Stop,” he said.
Lifting her hands, Layla shrugged. “Green flash.”
The room’s temperature jacked up another few degrees. Though she held herself still, her nipples contracted to aching points. She glanced down reflexively, worried he might be able to tell, but then she knew he could.
“Layla,” he groaned. A flush ran across his high cheekbones and the bridge of