I turned on my heel amidst their laughter and walked as fast as I could out of the studio. The freaking jerks.
They were lucky I loved them.
5
Layla
By the time I pulled into the parking garage of my building and tucked my car into its designated spot, the adrenaline high from rehearsal had worn off. My body was tired, my muscles fatigued. I needed a nice long soak in my tub with some bath salts and a glass of wine. After that, I had a date with my couch and The Witcher on Netflix. I couldn’t think of a better way to close out a long day than with Henry Cavill looking hot as hell in leather pants. Because . . . dat ass!
That thought had me smiling as I stepped into the elevator and hit the button for my floor. I watched the red numbers climb slowly, counting up from the parking levels until it suddenly stopped at the lobby. For such an amazing building, the elevator was agonizingly slow. It could take minutes if you were the only one in it, but if the car made multiple stops, it could feel like forever before you made it to where you needed to go.
The doors slid open and the good mood I’d been in all day evaporated like a single drop of water falling onto desert sand.
“Of freaking course,” I grumbled sullenly as Jude Kingsley stepped into the elevator.
He returned my glare before stopping beside me and turned to face the front. “And I’d been having such a good day up to this point,” he muttered bitterly.
I let out a snort and fluttered my eyelashes. “What, did you pop a little kid’s balloon? Maybe cut in front of a pregnant lady in line at the coffee shop?” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, I know! You kicked a poor, innocent puppy on the sidewalk. That’s what had you so chipper, isn’t it?”
He gave me a smirk, and damn it, why did it have to look so good on him? The son of a bitch.
“I woke up happy,” he stated, and it would have been a lie if I claimed I didn’t find that admission somewhat intriguing.
Turning to face me, he took a step toward me, closing some of the distance between us. The move was unexpected, and my heartrate spiked at his closeness. The small elevator car suddenly felt even tinier, like the walls were closing in. The air was filled with his scent. Something like cedar and sun mixed with a spicy musk that reminded me of the outdoors. My chest stuttered on a choppy inhale when I tilted my head back to look up at him. In all the months we’d been enemies, this had to be the first time we’d been so close to each other.
With hardly any space between us, I was able to see that those midnight blue eyes of his also held flecks of golden honey. He blinked slowly as he stared down at me, those long, sooty lashes lying across his sharp cheekbones before he opened them again.
“I had the best dream last night.” He stopped, waiting for me to ask what he dreamed about, like he knew that statement and his proximity had left me way off-kilter, my curiosity piqued.
Stupid intuitive jerk.
Unable to help myself, I arched a questioning brow. “Oh?”
His voice dropped lower, taking on an almost velvety soft quality. “Yeah. You were in it, princess.”
My skin felt tingly, my mouth was Sahara dry. I didn’t feel like myself all of a sudden. It was almost as if he’d cast a spell, and I was just along for the ride, unable—or maybe unwilling at that point—to take control back. It was those eyes, man. Those freaking dark, alluring, sexy bedroom eyes. There wasn’t a woman in the world who’d be able to resist their power up close. Not even me.
I tried to swallow past the cotton taking up residence in my throat and croaked, “What—what was your dream about?”
He started speaking in a tone that could only be described as intoxicating. “Well, you see, it was a beautiful, sunny day, and we were standing on the sidewalk outside the building. You were in these jeans that made your ass look incredible.” His tongue peeked out and swiped across his plump bottom lip. “I couldn’t stop staring. Then . . . ”
I was straight up enraptured at that moment.
Oh my God. What is happening right now? “Then what?”
“Then . . . you stepped off the curb and got hit by a bus.” It was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head. Whatever voodoo he was working broke right then, and I remembered instantly that I wanted this man to die by a thousand papercuts—preferable by my hand.
“Ugh! You asshole!” I reached out and shoved him back with both hands as the dickhead laughed.
“Best goddamn dream I’ve ever had,” he chuckled.
I let out a low growl and stepped to the side, pressing up against the wall to get as far away from him as possible. “I hope you die of dysentery. It would be fitting, you shitting yourself to death.” I let out a dreamy sigh. “Thinking about that makes me happy.”
He grinned wickedly. His perfectly straight, white teeth showcased beneath the dark scruff on his jaw. Freaking handsome bastard. “I knew it. You can’t stop thinking about me. Tell me, how often have you imagined me naked?”
I gritted my teeth and clenched my hands into fists. What I wouldn’t give to punch him right in that smug mouth. “The answer to that would be never,” I lied. Because as much as I hated him, I couldn’t help but wonder what that tall, strong body looked like beneath his clothes. But I’d be damned if I’d let him know that. “The only time I think about you is when I’m imagining all the places I could hide your body so it would never be found.”
He chuckled. “Sure thing, princess. Keep telling yourself that.”
God, this man had a gift for raising my blood pressure without even having to try. “Sorry to break it to you, but men whose entire wardrobe consists of nothing but flannel and faded jeans don’t really do it for me.” Another lie. Stupid man could rock the hell out of flannel and faded jeans—which he did on a regular basis.
Something changed in his demeanor just then, and the atmosphere in the elevator turned downright chilly. It was almost as if he’d been having fun before, screwing with me for kicks, but all possible humor was now gone. “Princess, that doesn’t surprise me one damn bit.”
That got my hackles up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He looked me up and down, his chuckle dripping with derision as his top lip curled up in a sneer. “You’re in gym clothes, but wearing makeup. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without any.” He pointed at my gym bag. “That designer bag you’re carryin’ right there costs about five hundred bucks. Then there’s your car.”
“What the hell is wrong with my car?” I clipped.
“Not a damn thing. Honestly, I’d expect nothing less from your type.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and shot fire from my eyes, my stance just as defensive as my tone when I snapped, “My type? And what the actual fuck is my type, huh, asshole?”
He looked at me like I was a moody, unruly little girl. “You know exactly what type. Always dressed to the nines, always with perfect hair and makeup, expensive clothes and accessories. A woman like you wouldn’t go for that blue-collar worker, the ones who aren’t scared to get their hands dirty. You probably like your men in expensive three-piece suits, right? Men with luxury cars even more expensive than yours with fat wallets and even fatter bank accounts.”