Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) (19 page)

“I don’t see what’s so funny, Mr. Johnson.”

“I’m sorry, Arnold. I just… well, I don’t think Ms. Grant feels that way.”

“What do you mean by
that way
? We are promised, after all.”

“Arnold, I like you. You’re a… nice guy, but I believe you need… help.”

“I think I am perfectly capable of asking a woman to marry me.”

“Marry,” I hiss.

Sam tugs on my pant leg. “Be quiet, you idiot.”

“Did you hear that?” Arnold asks.

“Um. No. I didn’t hear a thing,” Lee says.

Long pause. “I could have sworn—”

“Arnold,” Lee says. “I’m not sure if tonight is an appropriate… time or place for a proposal.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is a special night for the Grants. I don’t think Samantha would appreciate a proposal tonight.”

“Well, I disagree.”

Heavy sigh. “Okay, Arnold. If I see Sam, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson. That’s very kind of you. I know she came this way.” He chuckles.

“What so funny?” Lee asks.

“Oh, it’s just a silly thought. I was just thinking that she might be hiding from me.”

Lee clears his throat. “Well… I’m sure she just stepped out for some… air.”

“I’m just going to hang around here for a while.”

“Okay,” Lee says. “There’s a bench at the end of the hall, if you care to sit.”

“There’s one right up here, Mr. Johnson.”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that one.”

“Thanks again for your help. I’m going to sit and wait for a while.”

“Okay, Arnold. Good luck.”

We hear footsteps just outside the door.

“Well, you heard it, Sam, I tried,” Lee says quietly through the door. “But the guy is, well you know. He’s determined I’ll give him that. He’s got a ring, in case you didn’t catch that. What is it? His tenth proposal? Stay in there for a bit. I’m sure you two can find… something to do while you wait.” He chuckles and walks away.

“What the hell?”

“Help me up.”

“We need a light.”

“Your cell phone,” she says. “I don’t have mine.”

I reach into my pocket, pulling it out. “I got it.” I take a step toward her voice.

Crash.

Bang.

“Fuck,” I say, as my ass makes contact with the floor.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. I stumbled over something.”

“Probably that damn bucket. Turn on your phone.”

“I dropped it.”

“You dropped it? Why the hell did you do that?”

“It’s not like I planned it.”

“I’ll feel around for it. Oh…sorry.”

“Oh, my. Please don’t stop.”

“Why the hell are you sporting a huge hard-on?”

I chuckle. “I can’t help it if I’m huge.”

“That’s not what I asked, you idiot.”

“It’s what you do to me, angel.”

Big sigh. “Just help me find the damn phone.”

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

“Of course I did. It’s what you do to me, Romeo.”

I frown even though I know she can’t see it. “I’m not fond of that nickname, ya know.”

“Well, I’m not fond that you have your own balcony and hopping caravan.”

“Hopping caravan?”

“Shh, I think I found your phone.”

“Why do I have to
shh
for that?”

“I don’t know. Wait. Crap. It’s not a phone. It feels like a hard sponge.”

I manage to pull myself up by using stacks of toilet paper or paper towels as leverage. “Put out your hand and I’ll pull you up.”

“Okay, let me take my heels off first.”

I find her hand and pull her up.

“Let’s feel around for a light switch.”

“No. We can’t. I know where that bench is. Arnold will see the light.”

I pull her to me, holding her tight.

“What are you doing, Romano?”

“Grinding my cock into you.”

“I thought so.”

“So, what’s with this Arnold? Is he really a duke?”

“Can you give me a little room? I can’t think with your cock rubbing against me.”

“If I must.” I step back.

“Thank you.”

“The duke?”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, he’s a duke, and the biggest pain in my ass. I’ve known him since, or I should say, known of him since I was a child. A few months ago, I stupidly went out with him a couple of times. On the second date, he told me he loved me. The next day he proposed for the first time. He’s harmless, but annoyingly persistent.

“Well, I don’t like it. Why don’t you just tell him to fuck off?”

Big sigh.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me again?”

“No. I flipped you off. God, Logan. Do you think I’m a complete idiot? I’ve all but had the guy arrested. He’s short a few hens in his coop, if you didn’t pick up on that.”

“Of course I picked up on it.”

“Then you must get that telling the guy to fuck off doesn’t quite compute in his brain. He’s been texting me for days. He said he had something important to tell me. I knew he was planning to propose, again, tonight. I texted him and begged him not to, begged him not to come. He told me he wouldn’t. I foolishly believed him. He believes if he proposes in front of an audience, I’ll finally say yes.”

“Well, I’m not going to put up with it. You’re mine and it’s about time he—”

She squeezes my dick—hard. “Get a grip, Romano. I just don’t want to give him the opportunity to ask me. I want this night to be… a good memory for my family. If he proposed, I would decline, of course. And although he’s harmless, I know he would cause a scene.”

“Let me take care of him.”

“And your kind of taking care of wouldn’t cause a scene? Please, Logan, don’t do anything. We just need to stay hidden for a few more minutes. He’ll get tired of waiting.”

“Why don’t you have Lee take care of him?”

“It’s complicated, Logan. Arnold is the grandson of one of Gram’s best friends, and she’s ill, breast cancer. He’s done this before, pursued other women. He eventually gives up.”

“Well, I’m sorry about his grandmother, but still.”

“But still, nothing, Logan. Let it go.”

I feel behind me. “I think there are some boxes behind me.” I take her hand and we sit.

“Well… since we’re here, let’s talk.”

“Okay,” I tell her, my hand roaming.

“That’s not talking, Logan,” she says, removing my hand from her breast.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not.”

“Logan, please don’t touch me right now,” she says, with a hint of… anger?

God, I wish I could see her face. “Okay.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to; it’s just that I can’t think when you do.”

“Okay,” I say, and make a minor adjustment.

She remains silent and it makes me nervous. “Angel, what’s going on?”

“I’m thinking?”

“While you’re thinking, can I say something?”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel… common. I was so excited that you were coming to the game, I didn’t think about where Shawna would seat you.”

“Logan?” she says, sounding so sad.

“What, angel?”

“I have no right to know, but… I need to know.”

“Know what?”

“How many since…?”

You’ve got to be kidding.
It can’t believe she thinks I could be with another woman. I’ve been looking for her for months. Thinking about and wanting only her. Fuck it. Lost in my anger, I lash out. “I’m a player, Sam. How many do you think?”

I hear her breath catch, and it makes me feel like a dick.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I had no right to ask or to even… hope.”

I reach for her. “Angel, I’m sorry. I—”

She pushes my hand away. “Don’t.”

We sit in silence for what seems like hours. Our thoughts and unspoken words make the air around us feel stale and heavy. I silently beg her to,
talk to me, fight for me, fight for us.

“I’m a Grant, Logan. Grants are a different breed, you see. They’re strong, brave, untouchable, unyielding. I’m none of those things; I’m a fraud. I’m scared all the time. And I’m sad and lonely because I’m too petrified to do anything about it. But I try not to dwell, to cower to my weaknesses, because I love my family, and I have responsibilities, and expectations. Those responsibilities and expectations are what keeps me going, keeps me from drowning. I don’t expect you to understand any of this. I just wanted you to see me and know the real me, not the façade, the lie. That’s one of the reasons why I didn’t want you to know my true identity. If you’d known who I was, known I was a Grant, you would have seen me differently, treated me differently. When men look at me, they see my name, my money, my connections, not me. Never me.”

I put my hand over hers. “Sam, I—”

She squeezes it. “Let me finish, Logan.”

“Okay.”

“There were moments during our time together on the beach that I wanted to tell you who I was. But I just couldn’t. Not only because I was a Grant, but also because I wanted to shield my heart. The no-strings hook-up was my idea, but after spending time with you, I found myself wanting more. You were too good, too… much. And even though I enjoyed it, fucking loved it… I hated you for it.”

“Why?”

“Because of who you are.”

“Who I am?”

She blows out a breath. “It’s complicated, but I’ll try to explain.”

“Please.”

“I lost someone dear to me, Logan. I loved him and he loved me, but it wasn’t enough for me. No, Samantha Grant wasn’t satisfied, she needed more, and now he’s dead.”

“I’m lost here, Sam. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“His name was Lane. We were engaged and he was killed. Shot in the heart at our engagement party.”

“God, Sam. I’m so sorry.”

“It was… awful, one the worst nights of my life. I don’t want to talk about it, or him, with you. I only bring it up so you understand what I’m telling you, understand why I feel the way I do.”

“Okay,” I say, not knowing what else to say.

“I was working in London at the time for Grant International.”

“Allie said you’re an architectural engineer?”

“Yes, I have my own firm and I also work for Grant. I was working on a plant redesign. I’d had a bad day and when I got home, Lane was there and he wasn’t alone. I was working long hours and Lane had been spending his days sightseeing and hanging out at a pub near our flat. Lane was one of those people who made friends easily; he was open and easy to talk to.”

I hear a smile in her voice; and even though he’s dead, I’m jealous. I’m such an asshole.

“Anyway, he’d befriended this couple at the pub and they were at the flat when I got home. Long story short, Lane wanted to… share me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wanted a swap and share.”

“Oh. And you didn’t?”

“God, no,” she says, sadly. “He’d mentioned it a couple of times before, and we’d talked about it. It was a fantasy of his; I told him it wasn’t one I could fulfill for him. He thought I was being a prude, judging him even, but I wasn’t. I’d done some experimenting when I was younger; I’m not innocent or a prude. It was the fact that he was the
one
for me, ya know. And I was supposed to be the
one
for him, and I’d never share him. The thought of anyone touching him, or him touching someone else, made me ill. That night changed me, changed us. I felt less in his eyes, common, generic. I tried, Logan, but I couldn’t get over it. It was stupid really, nothing even happened, but…”

I squeeze her hand, encouraging her to go on.

“When I found out about the Juliets and the Romeo balcony, it stung. Then when Shawna gave me your note and room key, the sting kicked up a notch; it burned. Even though I had no right to feel hurt or betrayed, I was. I felt the way I did the night Lane brought that couple home, common. I went home that night, after the game, and cried myself to sleep. I cried, Logan, because I love you. I’ve fallen in love with you. Even though I’ve told myself not to, that it was a bad idea, I have.”

I’m stunned. I’ve loved her from the moment our eyes met on the beach, the first day we began playing our little game. As we sit in the dark, my moment of euphoria warps into hurt and anger. I let the anger get the best of me and soon I’m overcome. I’m so angry with her for judging me, for not seeing me for who I am, but who I was.

I let go of her hand and stand. I want to leave her sitting in the dark. I want to yell at her and punch the wall until my knuckles are bruised, bloody, and broken. My God, what she does to me. Takes me from happiness to pain, in seconds. Somehow I manage to I rein it in. I don’t want to hurt her further, and I don’t want to make this night memorable for the wrong reason.

“I can feel you, Logan,” she whispers. “I can feel your anger. How dare you be angry with me for telling the truth?”

It takes a couple of minutes for me to calm to the point I can speak. “How dare I? How dare you, Samantha Grant? How dare you judge me? How dare you not trust me? How dare you not see me?”

She says nothing but I know she’s rolling her eyes at me.

I grab at her, latching on to her arm. She pulls away, but I hold her tightly. I pull her up and feel around for a wall. Finding it, I push her against it.

She tries to push me off her. “What the fuck do—”

My lips crash into hers, silencing her. She struggles against me, but I’m too strong. Samantha Grant is going nowhere.

She continues to fight me, but I don’t let up. I locate the hidden zipper on the side of her sexy cut-too-low dress, and tug; it falls to her waist.

Her breath catches. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m being the bastard you think I am, the player, the manwhore, the bunny fucker.”

Running my hand up her back, feeling for a bra, slip or whatever, I find none—nothing. My cock twitches. “What the fuck, angel. You better have on panties.”

“God you’re such an ass. The dress has a built-in bra.”

“Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Angel?”

“Okay, I did. What do you want? What are you doing to me?”

What am I doing to her?
“I want your complete attention,” I say, as my hand travels under her dress. Finding her thong, I tear it off.