Page 74 of Layla

Her grin banishes the sick feeling. “You know what I think?” she asks. “I thinkyou’rethe one that needs taking care of.”

I couldn’t help from grinning back if I tried. “Is that so?”

She nods eagerly. “You need some fun in your life, Mr. Hard-ass.”

“Then it’s a good thing I found you.”

She laughs. “Fun is my middle name.”

My lips go to her neck, needing to feel her again, to taste her. To love her. “Then let’s have some fun.”

* * *

If I had thoughtit was difficult to be around her before, it’s nothing on how hard it is to be around her now. Now that I know exactly what it feels like to touch her, exactly how she responds to my kisses, keeping my hands off of her is physically painful. Add in the fact that this is a travel day, that we’re stuck on the bus with the rest of her bandmates for hours, and I’m starting to realize that my torture resistance training in the service was woefully inadequate.

And she knows exactly how I’m feeling. All day long I catch her smirking at me, her eyes flashing with amusement, like she can tell exactly what I’m thinking and she finds great humor in my pain.

The only thing that makes it bearable is how happy she seems. It’s not just the teasing way she keeps looking at me, either. She’s smiling more than I’ve seen her smile since I first joined the tour. She plays video games with the boys, gossips with Haylee while she paints her friend’s toenails, teases Louis mercilessly with the rest of them when we stop for lunch.

I’m not the only one who notices. Just about everyone on the bus comments on her good mood. When James jokes that she must have gotten laid after the show, it’s everything I can do not to meet her eyes. When I finally allow myself to look up a few moments later, it’s to see her watching me, that familiar smirk on her face.

God, I want to kiss her.

At least the ride isn’t too long. We make it to Tampa, the sight of the next show, in less than six hours. The band has to go straight to the local radio stations to do promo spots and then they’re free for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I sit in the front of the van after the last interview, watching through the rearview mirror while they argue about how to spend their afternoon off. More accurately, I watch Layla in the mirror while the rest of them argue, feeling a pathetic rush every time her eyes meet mine.

Apparently, Lance is taking his girlfriend and his kid to Busch Gardens and Dylan immediately invites himself along before trying to convince the rest of the band to join them.

“No,” James says immediately.

“Why?” Lance asks in an overly innocent tone. “Don’t you want to go on rides with us? They have this one, SheiKra, it’stwo hundredfeet tall—”

James’s face has gone completely white and the rest of them don’t bother to hide their snickers.

“Don’t tease him,” Haylee says, patting the bassist’s hand. “It’s not his fault he’s terrified of heights. It’s not like that makes him a giant baby or something.”

James growls at her and they all laugh. Dylan turns to her. “You in?”

Haylee shrugs. “Sure.” She leans over the middle seat to poke Layla. “Come with?”

Her eyes flick to mine, just briefly, in the mirror and I can’t read her expression. Does she want my opinion about the security aspect? It sounds like a nightmare, especially short notice, but I’m not going to tell her no if she wants to spend the time with her friends. But she responds just as I decide to nod at her.

“I’m not in the mood,” she says, her voice casual. “I think I’ve had enough of crowds.”

Haylee looks torn. “You want me to stay back with you?”

Again, Layla’s eyes meet mine. This time there’s a glint of mischief there. “Nah. I’m just going to nap by the pool. I have a new bikini I haven’t had a chance to break in.”

“In other words,” Dylan says, rolling his eyes, “she’s going to troll for guys and she doesn’t want you there to cramp her game.”

Her eyes never leave mine in the mirror. “What can I say? I’m in the market for a hot guy. Preferably one with lots of muscles.”

A strangled cough escapes me and I turn away from the mirror, but I just know she’s smirking.

I want to follow her right up to her room at the hotel but I force myself to head to a conference room with the rest of my security team. My job is to go wherever Layla goes but I’m also in charge of this team and guarding three members of the band at an amusement park is a big undertaking that requires some planning. Just before the meeting breaks up, my text alert sounds. I pull out my phone absentmindedly, my focus on the park map in front of me, and when I glance down at it, I almost swallow my tongue.

It’s a picture of Layla in a tiny scrap of red fabric that I suppose could be called a bikini.Got tired of waiting,the accompanying text reads.Heading down to the pool.

Absolutely not, I type hurriedly.