“I think I need to be alone. I just need some space, Luke.”
She thought he’d argue, but only gazed at her a moment, then nodded. With a sigh he turned, stripping off his shirt and showing his beautiful muscled back as he went. He moved to his room without looking back and shut the door. Layla inhaled, trying not to feel miffed by his temper and failing. She turned to her room and shut her own door. Stripping off her green sequined dress and donning her grey sleep-shirt, her gaze fell upon the Moroccan cuff on her desk. The burn on her wrist gave a massive throb and something inside Layla became furious, gazing at the silver cuff and thinking about John LeVeque.
And Mr. Rhakvir – her mystery guy, whose last name she knew now.
Not tonight. I’ll be damned if I let you come to me tonight, asshole. You can take your job and your mystery and your jewelry and just shove the whole damn thing where the sun don’t shine.
Taking up the Moroccan cuff, determination filled Layla as she walked down the stairs. Grabbing Luke’s bike lock from beside the front door, Layla went to the kitchen and opened her and Luke’s freezer, then chucked the silver cuff in between two packages of bacon. Shutting the freezer door, she clipped the lock into place between the freezer and fridge. Satisfied the cuff was finally secure, Layla went back upstairs and got in bed.
But she had barely closed her eyes when she found herself in the dream again.
Every night since she’d first dreamed of her mystery man in the backyard, this particular dream had come to her, as it came now. One moment she was awake and the next she was standing on a low rise of sand dunes in the desert. A sprawling villa of red stone stood before her, surrounded by a high wall. Within the compound, enormous trees and flowering vines rose up from gardens and courtyards. As she stood upon the rise, sand swirling around her ankles with a cool evening breeze, a man stepped out through the gates.
He approached as the evening fell, sapphire and violet claiming the wide sky as diamond stars flared above. His scent drowned Layla as he approached, a complex musk of jasmine, cinnamon, and sandalwood-heady flavors. Dressed in a white shirt with his shirtsleeves rolled up, his hands were thrust causally in the pockets of his dove-grey trousers, but though his posture was relaxed, his aura was anything but. Intensity swirled from him, sending curls of sand spiraling up through the air as he approached, his Mediterranean-blue eyes devouring Layla. She shivered as he drew near, feeling a terrible pull inside her body.
Needing him with an animal kind of magnetism; wanting him like she had wanted nothing in her life.
He was her air as he approached; he was her sky as darkness fell. He was her mate and her master and her slave as he drew near and took her hands in his. His touch sent a thrill of shivers through Layla; wind whipped around them as if caught in the passion that flared between them. He held her eyes with an impossibly deep gaze as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. Her fingers uncurled from his grip; stroking his beautiful lips and soft black stubble. He gave a shuddering exhalation, his eyes closing in rapture at her touch. When they opened, those eyes were luminous – alive with a fierce passion that Layla could only dream of having in her life.
“This is yours,” he murmured in her dream, as he slid the silver cuff over her wrist and pinned it back into place. “As I am. Bind to Bind, heart to heart, Dragon to Dragon – and soul to soul.Only from the heart can you touch the sky.Come to me. Touch the sky. Know what it feels like. Know what I feel like.”
At the touch of cold silver corralling her wrist yet again, Layla startled awake. Just like every night since she had first dreamed of him in her backyard, Layla felt a heaviness around her wrist. Glancing down, she saw the silver cuff back on her arm. No matter how many places she hid it, it always found its way back to her while she slept. As if it belonged there, as if it couldn’t be parted from her. Layla could never recall sleepwalking, and even though Luke had shared her bed countless times recently, he’d never spoken of it.
But every night, the cuff found its way back to her – just like her mystery man always found his way back into her dreams.
Wafting through Layla’s room came a faint hint of desert jasmine. And somewhere in the darkness, she felt oceanic aqua eyes watch her in the night.
CHAPTER 8 – FIGHT
Unemployment was hell – and Layla’s life had gone to hell along with it. It had been five weeks since her dismissal from the bar and her subsequent abduction scare, and now Luke and Layla stood on the back porch, in a shouting match with each other. Gawking through the windows, the housemates watched them as a tirade of alder leaves shuffled down, gold and mocking in the early autumn breeze. September had arrived and summer was finally over in Seattle; grey skies churning with storm-clouds high above – just as much as Luke and Layla stormed on the porch below.
It was their fifth fight in just the past week. Their rekindled relationship was tearing – worse than ever before. It had been bad before the night at Havana, but ever since then it had been positively atrocious, and now Layla stood on the porch with tears of wrath and frustration in her eyes as Luke glared at her. His green eyes were sharp like daggers as he made an angry gesture, raking his hand through his short, sweaty hair. Still wearing his black biking leggings, cycling shoes, and a fluorescent yellow shirt, his helmet had been flung to the porch at his feet. They’d gotten into it the moment he’d returned home from class. Their just-resumed relationship felt over along with the sunny days as yet another fight roared through them.
Reaching up, Luke scrubbed both hands through his wavy black hair with an exasperated growl. “I just don’t get it, Layla! Can’t you find anything?! It’s been five weeks and I’ve been coving your rent, your household bills… even buying your fucking groceries! I’m not made of cash, Layla! You need to find a job, like now.”
“I’ve looked, Luke!” Layla seethed, crossing her arms over her plum v-neck cotton shirt and taking a hip-strong stance in her skinny jeans and tan boots. A furious, mean energy roared through her, making her skin itch and prickle even as much as she was exhausted with all this. Her life felt like nothing but a storm of bad emotions, endless job applications, and rage-fury sex these days – not to mention dream-torn nights. “I’ve sent out over a hundred resumes and had fifteen interviews! It’s not my fault the job market sucks right now.”
“Try harder.” Luke snarled, vicious and not giving an inch.
They’d been sleeping together off and on since the night Layla had rebuffed him after Club Havana. But now was definitelyoffas they fought yet again. Layla’s life felt like it was spinning down and down, repeating old patterns with a vicious new twist ever since that night. Her body surged with fire all the time now, and she couldn’t control it. It spun her up into rage unlike anything she’d ever felt before, and when Luke pushed her – it lashed out at him. As if it had a mind of its own; as if itwantedhim to hurt, wanted to punch him away, especially since that night at the club.
Layla’s sharp tongue and hot temper spun Luke up into his own serious rage. Now he was livid, those emerald Irish eyes flashing at her like he was going to burn the house down.
“I can’t cover your expenses, Layla.” Luke growled at her, kicking at his helmet on the porch with a vicious energy. “The mortgage and taxes on this house are astronomical. I can’t keep bailing you out, for god’s sake! I’m in med school, it’s fucking expensive and I don’t have money to spare. Sell some of your grandmother Mimi’s furniture, pawn some of her jewelry – fuck, do something!”
“Easy for you to say, your parents bail you out whenever you need it.” Layla snarled back, a barbed energy seething from her, as if it wanted to strike out at Luke in any way that it could. “You play like you need money, Luke, but your folks have cash just waiting for their golden boy whenever he calls.”
It was mean; Layla knew it even as the words left her mouth. And yet, they were true. Luke had a family to bail him out when he fell on hard times and Layla didn’t – her immediate family were all dead and she didn’t know any of her distant relatives in Morocco. Luke hated it that he still took money from his parents for med school, but they were there for him.
Layla had no one but her housemates since her parents had died in that car accident on the floating bridge over Lake Washington two years ago. A fast collision, it had involved seven cars and Layla’s parents’ Prius had been accordioned. They’d left this world with a huge mortgage and no life insurance, and Layla had sold the house and all the furniture only to barely break even. Now, all she owned in the world was a small storage space of her grandmother Mimi’s 1930’s furniture and Mimi’s jewelry, which had passed to her when Mimi died.
“It’s not my fault I still have parents and you don’t, Layla.” Luke hurled back, truly nasty now that Layla had brought up his family’s money.
That slammed her. Layla teared instantly, feeling his words like a black barb inside her heart. “Howcouldyou, Luke?”
He blinked, then blanched. Reaching out to her, his face passed through a tirade of emotions before he at last murmured, “I’m sorry. That was mean.”
“You’re fucking right it was mean.” Layla rasped back, still blinking back tears. She’d almost flunked out of grad school after her parents’ death. Being with Luke had helped her through at the time, his steady presence helping her survive depression and dig into her classes to still pull off a perfect GPA. But he’d changed since then – and now they were being driven apart by hardships and wounds that had once brought them together.
