Luke collapsed atop her, shuddering, twitching with ecstasy. Layla breathed hard beneath him, the both of them gasping from some of the most athletic and blistering sex Layla had ever enjoyed. She still didn’t know what had just happened, what had rekindled them in such ridiculous passion so suddenly. Layla had a sudden vision of her mystery man from the gallery – of his burning aqua eyes as he set the Moroccan cuff on her wrist.
Of the blaze of passionate heat that had followed.
Layla shuddered, trying to banish that thought, but finding it wouldn’t go. Without saying a word, she gave Luke a kiss and slipped out from beneath him, as he rolled to the bed with a deep sound of exhausted satisfaction. They didn’t say anything as Layla pulled on her grey sleep shirt, then donned a cream zebra thong. Watching her, Luke pulled the condom off and deposited it in the trash, then rolled from the bed and hauled his jeans back on, still breathing hard and flushed.
Layla went for the bathroom to clean up, but before she could reach the door, Luke pulled her back in for a kiss. The hamsa-mark burned on Layla’s arm before he let her go. Luke’s emerald eyes shone with a kind of inner demon as Layla lifted her hand to his jaw. He shuddered, his eyes closing and dark eyelashes fluttering from her touch. Layla could almost feel the ecstasy that still rolled through him – flowing out from his body and back in through hers in the deep quiet of the house.
Luke inhaled a breath and let it out. Opening his eyes, the green blazed like she’d taken his soul and set it afire. Layla took in that amazing look, then turned, departing down the hallway to the bathroom. She felt him watch her go, still standing in her doorway. Layla didn’t look back. Arriving at the end of the hall, she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.
And then burst into tears, sliding down the door to sit on the cold black and white tiles – a vivid aqua gaze rather than an emerald one burning in her mind.
CHAPTER 6 – MIDNIGHT
Sitting in her room at the deep midnight hour, Layla leaned back in her desk-chair, staring at her laptop. After her whirlwind of passion with Luke and her subsequent breakdown in the bathroom, something inside Layla had shifted. Some demon that had been rushing through her veins was now quiet as she stared at the screen and the message written there.
After Luke had gone back to his room, Layla had shut herself up in hers. She’d heard the rest of the housemates come home and Luke move down to join them watching a movie in the living room, as she’d revised her resume and drafted a cover letter with a furious kind of will. References she had aplenty, and had picked three practically without thinking. Now, as the grandfather clock down the hall chimed midnight, she stared at the crimsonThank Youthat had appeared on the screen after her submission to the Red Letter Hotel’s Concierge position in Paris. Nothing else; no notification of next steps, no automated email confirmation that her resume had been received.
JustThank Youin red – as if that was all that was to be said.
Layla’s gaze shifted to the Moroccan cuff, on her desk beside her laptop now. After her strange tryst with Luke and her bathroom sojourn, the hamsa-cuff had been the first thing she’d settled eyes on upon returning to her room. She picked it up now, feeling a surge from the cool silver and an answering pound from her wrist. Setting the cuff down, her gaze fell to the wastebasket, to the embossed business card she’d torn up earlier. Fetching it out of the bin, she fitted the halves back together on her desk. She’d ripped through the card-stock, but not through the red ‘R’ or its golden crown. As if it had resisted her fury, the phone number was likewise intact. Layla found herself wondering if she should have called the number rather than submitting her resume online – when the doorbell rang downstairs.
She heard the movie paused as someone went to the front door, the wooden door-harp pounding out a spontaneous melody as the door was opened. She heard Luke’s caustic tenor as he answered, then a smooth, mellow baritone that made Layla’s ears perk. But the voice at the door had a slightly Southern accent, and it was deep – no one she knew. There was a pause and then Luke spoke curtly and Layla heard the door shut. The housemates were clanking around getting food in the kitchen, but Layla heard the stout mahogany stairs creak as someone ascended, then a knock on her door.
“Layla?”
“Come in.” She swiveled her desk chair, seeing Luke open the door, then lean in the doorframe, a square cream envelope in his hand. He wore a funny expression, his black brows knit in a frown. They hadn’t spoken since their strange and heated sex earlier. Layla had been in the bathroom a while, trying not to let her keening be heard through the rest of the house. She still didn’t know if Luke had heard her crying – he’d not said anything – and by the time she was finished, he’d been back in his own room.
But now he stood in her doorway, his gaze intense with an echo of what had passed between them earlier, though it was also puzzled. “We just got a hand-delivered envelope from a private courier. It’s for you.”
“What? Who from?” Rising, Layla realized her grey sleep-shirt had ridden high on her hips from sitting in the chair. It was also falling off one shoulder with no bra beneath and Luke’s eyes traveled up her body in a slow slide before she tugged the dress down and he met her gaze.
Holding out the envelope, he spoke again. “The courier didn’t say who it was from, only that it was urgent.”
“What did he look like?” Layla asked, moving to the door and holding out her hand. Luke passed the envelope over without touching her, though his body language said he still wanted to. It was quieter now, but an echo of heat still pulled at Layla also, as if trying to pull her into his arms.
But as she received the envelope, she inhaled quickly, surprised. The card-stock was smooth and expensive, the exact texture of her Mystery Guy’s business card. On the front was her nameMs. Layla Priceelegantly calligraphed in scarlet ink. Turning it over, Layla saw it was sealed with a scarlet blob of wax, a stylized ‘R’ imprinted in the wax and surrounded by a five-point crown.
“The courier was buff, good arms, tall like a linebacker.” Luke gave a description of the man as Layla turned the envelope back over in her hands. “Black, bald, Southern accent, expensive ice in one ear. Smart charcoal suit with a crimson tie.”
The courier wasn’t Layla’s Mystery Guy, but it was clear this envelope had come from the Red Letter Hotel, though how in the world could they have sent it so fast? Layla had only submitted her resume – she glanced at her desk clock – six minutes ago.
Sliding her thumbnail beneath the wax, she popped it off without breaking the seal, not minding that Luke hovered at her shoulder. Within was another decadent piece of card-stock like a wedding invitation. Pulling it out, Layla saw the embossed scarlet ‘R’ and golden crown imprinted at the top, then a short paragraph of text in an elegant, handwritten script.
Ms. Layla Price,
We are honored to accept your application to Concierge Services at our location in Paris, France. Please make ready to travel without delay, as your position begins immediately. A driver will arrive within the hour to take you to the airport – and not to worry, all arrangements for your well-being have been attended to. We look forward to providing you with the opportunity of a lifetime, and eagerly await your arrival.
Sincerely,
Dusk Arlohaim, Head of Concierge Services
Red Letter Hotel, Paris, France
Layla gaped. She’d only sent her resume in eight minutes ago now, and already they’d sent this acceptance letter? And expected her to begin the position immediately?
“Is this some kind of joke?” Luke spoke at her shoulder with a snort, having read the letter along with her. “I mean, did you even apply toanyof those hotel Concierge positions yet? You just got fired from your bar job earlier tonight.”
“I applied to one,” Layla breathed, an intense shock of fear sliding deep within her and making her heart hammer. Her hands went cold and clammy where they held the expensive card-stock. It suddenly felt rough beneath her fingertips, as if every one of Layla’s nerve-endings was alert like barbs. “I applied to one position. Just ten minutes ago.”
