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

“Kris, I’ve already thought about it but I’m….”

“What, dear?”

I’m scared shitless.
“I’m not ready for a relationship.”

“Who said anything about a relationship? Just
do
the dude, and come back to work with a little skip in your step.”

“It’s not that simple. You know what it’s like for me. As soon as the dudes find out I’m
that
Samantha Grant, all they see is greenbacks, not the skin on my back.”

“I get it, dear. But not all dudes are looking for a sugar mommy, and they’re not all crazy and weird like that prince.”

“He’s a duke.”

“Whatever. God knows the man’s several cards short of a full deck. Samantha, dear, who says beach honey-buns needs to know who you are?”

I think on this for a few seconds. “You’re right. Who says I have to tell him. But… crap, I’m not good at lying.”

“Who said anything about lying? Just lay your cards on the table. Tell him you want a fling kind of thing, no questions asked. Worst-case scenario, he’ll say no. Best case, he’ll say, hell yes. Unless the dude is taken, brain damaged, gay, or just plain stupid, he’s not going to turn down a fling with you, Sam.”

Big-ass smile. “Kris, you’re a friggin’ genius.”

“Well, this friggin’ genius has got to get back to work. Sam, Amber and your interns are great but you need to hire more help. I’ve had to turn down three more potential clients this week. And your waiting list and job time-frame is plain stupid business.”

“I agree. It’s bad business. I’ve been holding off hiring and I don’t know why. After I get the Harmon building drawings done tonight, I’ll e-mail you a list of what I’m looking for and you can contact the two headhunters we’ve used in the past.”

“That’s music to this granny’s ears.”

“Let Amber know I’ll have my drawings to her in the morning. She should have plenty of time to go over them before she presents.”

“Sounds good. Don’t forget your Skype conference on Friday, and the Grant Hong Kong plant plans that need your approval by Monday.”

“That plant is turning into a nightmare. I’m going to need help with it.”

“Then get me that list. The sooner the better.”

“I hear you.”

“Keep me up to speed on hot-running-man.”

“I will. Talk to you tomorrow.”

I disconnect and view the time. Mr. Hot-running-man should be around in about fifteen minutes or so. His return trek isn’t as predictable as his beginning.

I sent a quick text to my associate Amber before cranking up the tunes and picking up my book. Before long, I’m engrossed in all that is early twentieth century architecture and forget about the time and smexy running man.

As I begin chapter seven, a shadow casts over the page. I look up.
Oh my.
Mr. Sexkabob himself. And holy baby Jesus, is he fine. I can’t take my eyes off him. I don’t even dare blink.

He smiles.

Dear Lord, give me a friggin’ break. The man’s sporting the smexiest dimples—ever.

He says something. I’m lost in his perfection.

He pulls a bud out of my ear.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I answer, unable to bat one freakin’ eye, afraid to lose this moment, this vision before me.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing toward the sand next to me.

“What?”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Join me?”

His stupid-assed grin gets grinnier.

“It’s Razor-rocks-ville,” I say, and toss a towel down for him to sit on.

Grinning like an idiot, he picks it up and rearranges the razor rocks with a Nike-cladded foot. After clearing the area of most of them, he drops the towel on the sand and sits his fine ass down.

Holding out his hand, he says, “Logan.”

I take it. “I’m….”
Who the hell am I?
Good God. The man makes my brain fart. “Sam.”

“Sam, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“What?”
Damn brain.

He chuckles.

Oh, my God. His laugh is nothing less than spectacular.

“What are you reading?”

“What?”

He smiles, gesturing toward my book. “Your book. What are you reading?”

“Oh, my book.”
Stupid ass.
I flash him the cover.

He raises a brow. “
Early Twentieth Century Architecture.
That sounds… intriguing.”

“It is,” I say, assuring him by continuously nodding.

He smirks. “If you say so.”

Pissed, and I don’t know why, I ask, “Have you read it?”
Idiot!

“No, can’t say I have.”

“Never judge a book by its cover,” I enlighten him.
Dumb ass!

He reaches over, tucking a strand of hair that has come loose from my pony behind my ear.

Okay. Touching? A little… cheeky, but you so liked it, girlfriend.

“Are you mad at me, angel?”

My cheeks flush from his touch and for calling me out. “Sam. My name is Sam.”

“Yes, I know, angel.”

I shake my head. “I am many things; an angel isn’t one of them.”

His full lips thinned. Clearly, not happy.

Gaining back my ability to structure a sentence, I change the subject. “So, Logan. Are y’all from around here?” I ask in a pretty gawd-dang bad Southern accent.

“No, ma’am. But I’ve been livin’ up in Raleigh for four years. My beach house is down yonder,” he says, in his own pretty gawd-dang bad Southern accent.

I have a pretty gawd-dang good idea where he’s originally from.

“Say
process.
”

“What?”

I smile. “Just say it.”

“Process.”

“You’re from Canada.”

“How did you…?”

“In the US, most pronounce
process
with a soft
O
. Canadians usually pronounce it with a hard
O
.”

“There are lots of words we pronounce differently.”

“True, but
process
is usually a certain give away.”

“I’m from British Columbia. Whistler.”

“I’ve been there a few times. Great town. Awesome skiing. Now it’s your turn, guess my origins.”

“I detected a slight British accent, but from there…” He shakes his head. “I’ve got nothin’, ma’am.”

“Not bad. Originally from New York, but lived most of my life in the UK and Europe.”

“So you travel a bit?”

“You could say that. But never enough for pleasure.”

“Where do you call home?”

“New York.”

He lifts a brow. “I’ll be moving to the city in a few weeks.”

“Oh.”
Dammit.

“Damn, angel. Don’t sound so thrilled about it,” he teases.

“Sorry, it’s just…. Never mind.”

“How did you end up on the Outer Banks?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I’ll try not to, but I can’t promise you, angel.”

“What’s with the
angel
?”

“You’re a heavenly sight to behold, Sam.”

“That’s a cheesy line.”

He lips thinned, again. “Sorry, I was being sincere. The first time I ran by and you looked up at me…” He shakes his head. “Sam, you’re stunning, a vision. I can’t tell you how many times during our little game I wanted to stop and introduce myself. But you’re so beautiful and… well, let’s just say, I chickened out.”

His smexy smile returns. “I’m a cocky bastard; I’ve never been shy, or hesitated to get what I want. There’s something about you. You’re a complete stranger but I feel….” He shakes his head again. “I feel as if I’m being tugged. As if some unknown force is pulling me into you, forcing us together.”

“Wow,” is all I stupidly say.

“Yeah, wow,” he says with a hint of disappointment.

His grin falters a bit as he looks at me. I get the feeling he’s waiting for me to confirm or reciprocate his feelings. I don’t reciprocate, needing a moment to think and to decipher them.

After a long uncomfortable beat, I move the conversation on. “What made you stop this time?”

“You were lost in your book, your head down.”

“I see. The sneak approach.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I thought it’s now or never.”

“I’m glad you did.”

His dimpled grin returns. “Finish telling me how you ended up here.”

“A dart.”

“A dart? As in the game?”

“Yeah. I have this big map of the lower forty-eight hanging in my office. Whenever I need a break, a mini holiday, I close my eyes and toss a dart.”

“Wow. So, wherever it lands is where you go?”

“Yes. I go where the dart lands unless I’ve already been there.”

“That’s the only rule?”

“Yeah.”

“What if you don’t want to go there?”

“I’m SOL. I go where the dart lands or the whole thing makes no sense.”

“Why? I mean, why don’t you just pick a place and go?”

“I wanted to try something new, unusual.”

He tilts his head as if he wants to ask more but lets it go. “It’s definitely different. But it does sound like fun.”

“I’ve never been disappointed.”

“Is Sam short for Samantha?”

Holy hell. Did you hear that? The way my name rolled of his tongue and passed through those full, oh-so-hot, and kissable man lips.

“Sam?”

“What?” I shake my head, bringing me out of my Logan stupor. “Oh, my name. Yes, short for Samantha.”

His eyes twinkle with sexy mischief. He so knows he makes my brain fart. “Glad to know you’re as muddled as I am.”

I’d like to deny it, but what’s the use? I’m as transparent as rice paper. “I’m afraid it would be impossible for me to deny it. You are one smexy beautiful man.”

He flushes.

Oh my good gawd, he’s blushing. It’s so goddamned unexpected, cute and fun; I can’t hold in my giggling glee.

He looks away. Embarrassed? Upset?

“Sorry I laughed. I was taken aback by your blushing; it was so damn hot.”

He looks at me. “Oh yeah?”

“God, yes.”

“I can’t remember the last time I blushed. What are you doing to me, angel?”

“I’m not doing—”

He leans toward me, over the arm of the low-rider chair, his lips an inch away from mine. “Samantha,” he breathes out, running a finger down my cheek.

I look into his big brown eyes. I see what I missed before—aching sadness. “I’m sorry,” I whisper against his lips, not knowing why, but knowing I truly care.

“Samantha,” he moans, pressing his lips to mine.

I close my eyes as his lips melt into mine, becoming our lips. A warm ache develops in the center of my chest, trickling through me like saline through a dripline. When it reaches my lower belly the ache and flow intensifies, turning hot as it settles in my groin. The intense heat makes me light-headed, dizzy.

When his tongue parts my lips, demanding entry, it’s too much. I pull away and open my eyes.

Sitting back, increasing the space between us, he visibly shudders. The expression on his beautiful face is one of hurt and childlike defiance. He looks as if I’ve taken away his favorite toy and smashed it into smithereens.

His expression makes me feel guilty, makes my heart ache. Wanting the look to disappear, needing something I can’t define, I reach for his hand. He looks at it for several long seconds before warily accepting, placing his palm over mine. I turn his hand over and run my thumb over thick calluses. When his jaw softens and his shoulders visibly relax, I dare a look into his eyes.

“Logan, I’m sorry. It was just unexpected. You make me feel….”

He gives me a weak smile. “Hey, angel. You don’t need to explain anything to me. You don’t even know me.”

He’s right. I don’t know him. So why in the hell do I feel as if I’ve known him forever? Yes, now that I’ve taken a moment to think, to analyze, I admit I feel the same as he does. Something unknown, some strange magnetic force seems to be pulling us together.

This stranger, this beautiful sad-eyed man, makes me dizzy, uncomfortable, and wanton. He makes me feel. I haven’t felt anything but regret, pain, and guilt for so long, it’s overwhelming.

My thumb continues to run over his palm, drawing small circles over his fractured lifeline.

“How did you get these calluses?”

“Years of holding a stick.”

I tilt my head. “A stick?”

“I play hockey.”

“For a living?”

He half-smiles. “Yeah. Been playing in Raleigh for the last four years. I just signed on with the Rangers.”

“Oh. That’s why you’re moving to New York.”

He raises a brow. “Why do you sound so disappointed?”

Because I don’t want you moving to New York. It complicates things, my plan. And I don’t like that you’re a professional player, probably on and off the ice.
“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry, just surprised.”

He raises a brow in obvious disbelief, but says nothing.

I forge on with my plan. “This is going to sound crazy, arrogant, presumptuous, forward, and… wrong.”

He hesitates for a second as if unsure then says, “Go on.”

“I’m obviously attracted to you and I think the feeling is mutual.”

Big-ass grin. “Definitely.”

Doubts mock me, weakening my bravado. “Hell. It seemed like a good idea, but now….”

“You’re blushing. Do you want me, angel? Do you want to fuck me?”

My entire body flushes. “I wasn’t going to say it, be so… blunt. But yes, that’s what I want.”

He brings a leg up, adjusting himself.

I bite my lip, preempting a knowing smile.

He chuckles. “Obviously, I feel the same way.”

I wipe faux sweat off my brow.

His chuckles warp into a full-on belly laugh.

“So what do you think?”

“About fucking?” he teases.

Real sweat trickles down my spine. “Yeah, about that.”

“I’m all over it, angel.”

I blow out a nervous breath. “If we do this… hook-up. I have some rules, stipulations.”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. “Okay. What kind of stipulations?”

“If we do this…. Shit.” I chicken out. I want him. Boy, do I want him. But it feels… wrong asking for it and then adding stipulations.

“Just tell me, angel.”

“Sorry. I’ve never done this…. I mean, I’ve done this, sex, I mean.”
Shit
. “I’ve never asked for it. Asked a hot stranger on the beach, or anywhere else for that matter, for sex.”

“Obviously.”