I’d never seen anyone so beautiful in my entire life.
“Let’s eat,” I said.
Laila and I started with the fruit before bringing our omelettes onto our lap. We cut into them, and I grimaced.
Egg oozed out.
“Shit.” I poked at my omelette, and it jiggled.
Laila’s did the same.
“I don’t think I cooked them all the way through,” I admitted. Fucking balls! After all this effort, it hadn’t gone according to plan. So be it. I could try again, couldn’t I? “Damn it, I thought I’d pulled it off. Let me give it another go. Or I can dump them back on the pan and make a good scramble.”
“Storm.”
“Here, give me your plate.” I held out a hand expectantly, but Laila didn’t hand her food over. Instead, she set it back down on the cutting board, picked up the board, and moved it off the bed onto her nightstand. I frowned. “Laila, you must be famished. Give it here and let me make something for you.”
She turned her smiling face to me. “I’d way rather you stay here with me. Besides, it’s the thought that counts.”
Laila was just being nice.
“Let me take you somewhere for breakfast.”
Laila put her hands on my chest and pushed me back into the plethora of pillows crammed up against her headboard. She swung one leg over me, letting the blankets slip down around her waist.
Naked, she straddled me. “I would rather we spend a bit more time here, in bed.”
My cock rose to the occasion. Desperate little fucker.
I ran my hands up and down her thighs. I couldn’t explain what was going on with me, but I felt compelled to do things for her. What did she need? How could I be of service?
She leaned over me and kissed me. Her hair fell all around us like our own personal privacy screen.
“What can I do to make today better for you?” I asked. “What do you say to a drive out of the city? We could go somewhere new. A small town far enough away and quiet enough where they won’t know us. We could spend the day and stay for dinner.”
Laila rocked back with a sad sigh. “That sounds so lovely, but I have to go to my dad’s today and figure out what’s going on with Casey. The longer I put it off, the worse things will get, and I don’t think we can afford that. Rain check?”
I gave her thighs a squeeze. “Definitely. Can I drive you to your dad’s?”
“On one condition.”
“Anything.”
She bit her bottom lip and smiled. “We stay in bed for another hour.”
CHAPTER 26
LAILA
What was it about a man behind the wheel of a fast car?
I could never explain why I found the way a man held a steering wheel sexy. I certainly couldn’t explain how the sight of Storm palming the steering wheel as he turned into my father’s driveway made me feel all flustered and giddy like a schoolgirl getting her first kiss under the bleachers. I watched him like a hawk, practically drooling over how good he looked in his Henley and dark jeans.
We’d stopped off at his estate on our way to my dad’s so he could take a quick shower and change his clothes. I may or may not have joined him in the shower, and we were now two hours later arriving at my dad’s than I’d originally intended. Funny enough, we could have been eons later if I’d indulged the urge to explore Storm’s monstrous family estate. When we first came down the driveway, I’d been shocked by the sheer size of the place, and as soon as we stepped inside, the grandness of it had taken my breath away. I kept my eye on the prize and followed Storm through a maze of hallways upstairs to his bedroom and then bathroom, where I hopped in the shower and things got, well… steamy.
Perhaps there would be time in the near future to explore the estate properly.
Lucky for me, Dad never cared when I stopped by, and he knew I’d be there sometime this afternoon, so our lateness wouldn’t matter.
In the driveway, Storm turned to me and rested a hand on the back of my seat. “Do you want me to stay?”
Yes. I shook my head. “No, this might take a long time.”
“Text me when you’re done? Let me know you’re okay?”
“I will.”
Who was this man? What had happened to the one who constantly poked fun and wanted to stir the pot? As I gazed into Storm’s eyes, I saw the mischief was still there, and he was still Storm, but he’d softened around the edges.
He’d let his walls down.
So had I.
I kissed him before I got out of his car, and I felt his eyes on my back as I walked up the driveway to my father’s front door. I knocked, and a few short seconds later, my phone buzzed in my purse. Once I found it buried beneath my wallet, keys, and makeup bag, I saw that the message was from Storm.
Good luck, call me if you need anything.
Smiling so big it hurt my cheeks, I turned and waved at Storm still parked in the driveway. He waved back.
The front door opened and I spun to face my father, who ushered me inside out of the cold rain with a wave of his hand. “Come in, come in. Whoa.”
“What?”
“Whose car is that?”
Storm was already backing out of the driveway. He turned the wheels and drove off.
“That’s… a friend of mine,” I said.
Dad watched the taillights disappear down the street before closing the front door and turning to me. “Is that so? You haven’t mentioned him before. Storm Thornton, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
Dad chuckled. “I know you can take care of yourself, Laila, but be careful with men like that, won’t you? They have everything they could ever dream of, and yet they always want more.”
I followed Dad to the back of the house. We passed the staircase that led up to the bedrooms and the gallery wall Mom had installed along the side of the staircase. It looked the same as it had all those years ago.
Crisp black frames held black and white pictures of our family over the years. My favorite had been taken in our living room one Christmas morning when I was about ten and Casey was eight. She still believed in Santa, but I’d long since dispelled those childish beliefs. Mom and Dad had begged me that year to suspend the magic a little longer for Casey’s sake. I’d dragged my feet about it and complained to them every chance I could, but that morning, when Casey saw the tree and the presents and her eyes lit up with wonder, I’d realized why they wanted to give her one more year believing in magic. In the picture on the gallery wall, I had my arms around my baby sister and we were both laughing so hard our eyes were closed.
Mom was sitting on the floor beside us, cross-legged, fingers wrapped around her ankles, wrapping paper all around her. Her black hair was up in a messy knot on top of her head and secured with a Christmas scrunchie, and she was looking past the camera at Dad. Her face was so full of love I could hardly bear to look at it now.
I trailed my fingers over her image, muttered a quiet hello, and continued to the kitchen at the back of the house, where Dad put the kettle on the stove for tea.
We sat down in the kitchen nook.
“Is she still sleeping?” I nodded up at the ceiling, implying I knew Casey would probably still be upstairs asleep in her old bedroom.