Layla and Charlotte have gone to corral the younger kids as the movie nears the end. Whines are heard about not wanting to go to bed.
My eyes keep sweeping the area. I know I’m not on duty tonight, but it’s a force of habit. Always on alert.
“Tattooing hungover,” Sean tells him.
He shakes his head. “Not in our shop.” Pierce laughs. “But maybe when you and Layla come next time I might. When is your girl going to come visit us in London?”
Your girl.
Fuck, I wish that statement were true. As if a magnet to her, my eyes land on her immediately. No matter where she is, I can find her in a moment.
Layla has Mary in her arms, rocking her gently. If that isn’t a sight to behold.
I’ve never wanted kids. Being an only child and growing up how I did, it was never something I wanted. Seeing Layla now?
I could entertain that idea with her.
“Hopefully I’ll get her there sooner rather than later. Otherwise I’m flying back here.”
The woman in question wanders in our direction. “You boys are needed for bedtime.”
Layla hands off the child in her arms to Pierce as they head toward the lodge.
“Having fun with your mates?” Her smile is bright.
“Listen to you, you cheeky little shit.”
“What can I say? My British fiancé is rubbing off on me.”
Grabbing a roasting stick, Layla hands one to me. “Dessert and then would you care to join me for our movie?”
They could play that blasted kids’ movie again and I’d sit through it if I got to spend time with Layla.
“Only because of the s’mores.”
“Of course.”
I watch Layla as she makes hers, and I step in close beside her. Everything this woman does is mesmerizing. I shouldn’t be so taken with her—she’s roasting a fucking marshmallow—but everything she does is sensual.
“Are you not making yours?”
Layla is holding a perfectly crisped marshmallow and mine is still white.
“Figured I should have a taste of yours. See how to cook it.”
Quirking a brow at me, Layla makes her s’more. “Try it.”
She holds her hand out to me to take it from her, but I don’t. Instead, wrapping my fingers around her wrist, I bring the dessert to my mouth and take a bite.
Her eyes darken as they dip to my mouth.
“You’ve got a little…” Layla’s finger brushes over my mouth, coming back with marshmallow on it. I watch as she sucks her finger into her mouth.
Holy shit.
The thought of her doing that to me—to my dick—slams into my brain. This girl is doing everything in her power to drive me crazy.
How the hell am I not supposed to fall for my fake fiancée when she’s looking at me like she wants to devour me?
