Untamed (The Amoveo Legend 3) Page 12

  Busted. His baritone voice slipped easily into her mind and made her wet.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Raife said as he grabbed the Grey Goose off the shelf and pulled a long pour from the bottle.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked innocently.

  “Your boy here.” He nodded toward William. “Top shelf all the way,” he said without looking up. To her relief, he passed the drink to William and went to the other end of the bar to tend customers, but she knew he was still keeping tabs on them.

  Layla sat a bit straighter in her seat and noticed William’s gaze as it flicked down to her cleavage. She smiled. Busted, she whispered back. His gaze meandered back to her face, and he raised his drink to her. The man had no shame, and it didn’t faze him in the least to be caught staring at her boobs.

  What was his deal? One minute he’s putting the brakes on a steamy make-out session, and the next he’s ogling her.

  “Why did you stay?” Her eyes narrowed as she leaned one arm on the bar to face him. “I mean today, after our incident in the woods,” she said quietly, not wanting Raife to hear them. “I would’ve thought I made it clear that you and I are not going to become a we? You had your chance to bang me, and you passed.”

  The words weren’t even off her lips for more than a second before she knew how untrue and hollow they sounded.

  The cocky smile that had been lingering on his lips faltered, and his brow furrowed, carving a deep line between his eyes. “It bothers me that you think that’s all I want with you,” he said quietly. “And that is unacceptable.” He placed his drink on the bar and leaned in closer, so his lips hovered tantalizingly close to her ear. “I’m not leaving before I make you understand that,” he whispered.

  Layla’s heart fluttered in her chest as the warmth of his breath puffed past her ear. His knee brushed hers as he rose from his stool and sent a zap of electricity up her leg. Shaking and feeling like she’d just gone through a spin cycle in a dryer, Layla watched him walk toward the men’s room and wondered just what on earth she’d gotten herself into.

  She swiveled on her stool and braced her elbows on the bar, held the cool drink against her forehead, and focused on keeping her eyes from shifting. Playing with her body was one thing, but playing with her heart? No way. That wasn’t a game that she was going to play.

  “Hey there, darling!” Joyce’s familiar singsong voice pulled Layla from her thoughts. Joyce had been tending bar and waiting tables here since God was a boy, or at least that’s what she always told people. “You okay? You look like you’re plum wore out,” she said, peering over her cat-eye glasses.

  “Hey, Joyce.” Layla smiled weakly. “Yeah, just a long day, I guess.”

  “Well, it’s good to have you back.” She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and grabbed a notepad from her apron. “What can I get you to eat?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Layla waved. “I’ll just nurse this for a while.”

  “You got it, darlin’.” She winked and smoothed her bouffant gray hair. “Say, who was that handsome fella I saw you come in with?” Joyce wiggled her eyebrows and snapped her gum loudly. “He looks like one of those fellas from the magazines.” She shuddered and made a yummy noise. “All muscle and bone.”

  “Oh, that’s William.” She sipped her drink in an effort to quell the flames that sparked at the mere mention of his name. “He’s just a friend.”

  Joyce made a tsking noise and peered at Layla over her glasses. “Honey, that man is made for more than friendship, and if I were about twenty years younger, I’d prove it.” She winked. “Gotta tend to some of these tables.” She shimmied out from behind the bar at the top of the horseshoe. “Tyler’s band may take up a lot of space, but they sure do bring in the customers,” she hollered above the music.

  Layla watched Joyce as she navigated the crowd with the ease of experience. Her thoughts went back to William, and just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, an unsettling energy signature wormed its way through the bar.

  Sylvia Clark had arrived.

  Layla swiveled on the stool and avoided looking at the door. She concentrated on her drink in a vain attempt to avoid Sylvia and whatever crap she planned on pulling. She glanced over at Raife to see if he’d noticed her presence, but if he had, he was ignoring her and remaining focused on customers on the opposite side of the bar.

  Eyes squeezed shut, Layla drained the remnants of her drink.

  God, she really wanted another one. She scanned the bar, but only Raife was around, and Joyce was still attempting to manage the overflowing tables. She was about to cave in and get Raife’s attention when that fingernails-on-a-chalkboard voice sliced through the din of the bar, giving her an instant headache. Crap.

  “Well, well, well.” Sylvia sighed. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  Layla cursed under her breath and placed her empty glass on the bar. “Hello, Sylvia,” she said with a quick sideways glance. Not a moment too soon, Raife saw what she needed before she even had to ask, and was by her side making quick work of a fresh drink, ignoring Sylvia.

  “Thanks, Raife,” she said with a tight smile.

  “Anything for my little sister.” He smiled, but his pleasant demeanor faded as soon as Sylvia slithered her way up on to William’s seat at the bar.

  Sylvia hitched her skirt up and crossed her long but undeniably great legs, all the while keeping her ice-cold gaze on Layla.

  “Someone’s sitting there,” Raife said without looking up.

  She shrugged off her wrap, revealing a skintight red dress that left little to the imagination. She draped the shawl carelessly over the back of her seat, while keeping her chilly blue eyes on Layla. “Are you a bartender or a census taker?” she snapped before flicking her sharp gaze back to Layla. “Always nice to see you, Layla,” she said all too sweetly.

  There was nothing sweet about this woman, and Layla still couldn’t figure out why she was trying so hard to hang out with her. Their relationship had always hung by a thread, and once Sylvia crushed Raife’s heart, and Layla had to watch him suffer—the thread snapped, and nothing but disdain remained.

  So what was her endgame with this “nice to see you” crap?

  “Where’s that big hunk of man you were with yesterday?” She tossed her long blond hair over one shoulder and gave a casual look around the bar. “I don’t see him anywhere. I was hoping he could spare me a dance tonight.”

  Layla’s fist balled up tightly on the bar, and her jaw clenched at the very idea of Sylvia dancing with William. Don’t take the bait. Raife’s calm voice touched her mind. Layla glanced at him, but he kept his eyes on the drink he was making. She wants you to lose your cool.

  Raife was right—Sylvia was just trying to needle her.

  Layla sat up a little taller in her chair and crossed her legs while keeping her eyes on Sylvia. She knew it was ridiculous to be jealous over some guy she’d just met, and even though none of it made any damn sense, she couldn’t help how she felt. She may not be ready to run off with William and make shapeshifter babies, but she also knew she wasn’t prepared to give him up to the likes of Sylvia Clark.

  “He’s in the men’s room, if you must know,” Layla said evenly. “And you are sitting in his seat, so don’t get too comfortable.”

  “See, that’s the difference between you and me.” She sighed. “Unlike you, I’m always comfortable, but given your unsavory childhood, it’s understandable.” Before Layla could respond and tell her where she could go, Sylvia threw a coquettish look over her shoulder at the band. “Tyler and his boys are really on fire tonight.”

  Raife placed the drink in front of Layla and shot a less than friendly look at Sylvia. “What can I get you?” he asked, as if he really didn’t give a shit what she wanted, and Layla had to suppress a grin.

  “I’ll have a vodka stinger,” she said dismissively, and then waved him off without so much as looking at him.

  Raife mumbled something inaudible an
d likely insulting, but it seemed to have escaped Sylvia’s attention. He made the drink in record time, slid it in front of her, and closed out her tab. “If you need anything, Layla, you just give me a shout,” he said before moving to the other side of the bar.

  Sylvia picked up her drink and sipped it as if she was the damn Queen of England. God, she wanted to punch her lights out. What was she up to anyway? Looking at the tight dress that stressed her big boobs, it was glaringly obvious that she came dressed to kill. With all of the divorces under her belt, she reminded Layla of a black widow spider. She may not have killed the poor bastards she’d been with, but she sure did bleed their bank accounts dry and sap their spirits.

  Her eyes narrowed. It seemed that she had every intention of trying to lure William into her bed and make him her next target. As she studied the woman who sat across from her, she came to the conclusion that she was tired of wading through Sylvia’s bullshit, and it was time to face it all head-on.

  No more running.

  Life had gotten complicated enough in the past couple of days, and she had zero desire to contend with this snake in the grass on top of everything else. Since she didn’t have her camera on her, she’d just have to come out and ask.

  “So, what’s the deal? Or more specifically, what’s your deal?” Layla asked the question in a calm, even tone and kept her expression neutral. “Why did you ask us to come here tonight, and why on earth are you being so nice to me? You and I haven’t laid eyes on each other in years.” A slow smile curved her lips as she watched the smug look on Sylvia’s face fall away. “And if memory serves, that was a less than cordial exchange.”

  Anger flickered across her face, but she quickly squelched it, and once again wore a mask of calm detachment. “Well, forgive me for trying to put the past behind us.” She smoothed out the short skirt of her dress and sipped her drink. “Is that a crime?” she asked with feigned innocence.

  Layla studied her with suspicious eyes. “Not for most people.”

  Sylvia shrugged one slim shoulder and swirled the green drink stick in her glass. “So how is it out at the farm?” she asked, changing the subject. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been back and all. Is everything just like it used to be?”

  “It’s as beautiful as it ever was, but—” She stopped midsentence and snapped her mouth shut. Telling Frank Clark’s daughter her concerns would be plain old dumb. “But, it’s my home, so of course, I think it’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, well, I know my daddy loves that land,” she said with a bit more edge in her voice. “He’s been after Rosie to sell it to him for years, but she hasn’t caved in to him yet.” She sipped her drink, but continued to study her from over the rim of the glass. “But she will. Everyone always gives in to Daddy… eventually.”

  Anger flared hard and fast, and Layla struggled to keep her eyes from shifting. “Your daddy isn’t getting our farm. Not now. Not ever,” she bit out. “That land has been in Rosie’s family for over two hundred years,” she said in a much louder voice, “and there’s no way she’d sell it. Especially not to Frank Clark!”

  “Really?” A sick smile of satisfaction curled across Sylvia’s face as she watched Layla get upset. “Well now, if you studied your local history, then you’d know that my family owned it before Rosie’s did.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dread crept up her spine, and all the hairs on her neck stood on end. Raife had tuned in on their conversation and touched his mind to hers. She’s just trying to get your goat. It’s all bullshit.

  “What? Rosie never told you how her great-great-something or other swindled my great-great-great somebody out of the land in some stupid bet? It was quite the scandal back in the day and… well…” She sighed. “My granddaddy made my daddy promise to get it back. In case you hadn’t noticed, my daddy has bought up every other farm surrounding that one.” Her smile grew bigger, and she reminded Layla of a shark. “Yours is the only one left.”

  “And it’s going to stay that way,” Layla shot back.

  “We’ll see.” As she sipped her drink, her gaze was captured by something across the room. Her eyes grew round as saucers, and her energy signature quickened with the unmistakable pulse of lust. Layla swore silently. She knew what it was that had captured Sylvia’s attention so completely and didn’t even have to turn around because she sensed him there before Sylvia had seen him.

  “William isn’t going to dance with you, and he’s not going to fuck you either.” Layla practically growled, and for a split second, didn’t think that was even her voice. It had been loud enough so that the people behind her even heard it.

  “I beg your pardon,” Sylvia sputtered while laying a hand dramatically over her cleavage. “What on earth are you talking about, and how dare you speak to me that way?”

  Before she could tell Sylvia exactly where she could go and what she could do when she got there, William was standing between them, larger than life. He was staring down at Sylvia with an expression Layla couldn’t quite read—and she started to feel dizzy.

  One glance at Sylvia, and Layla knew there was no doubt about what was on his mind. What else could he be thinking of but sex? The woman practically screamed it. Somehow, in the five seconds Layla looked away, Sylvia’s breasts bulged out of her top even more, and the skirt had hiked up to an almost illegal point. How on earth could she compete with that?

  “Well, hello there, handsome,” she said as she leaned closer to him, accentuating her breasts. “How about a dance?”

  William didn’t flinch but kept his steady gaze fixed on Sylvia, and quite frankly, Layla couldn’t blame him. The woman was sexy, had a rockin’ body, and practically had a sign on her forehead that screamed “do me.” The silence seemed to stretch forever as Sylvia eye-fucked Layla’s supposed mate. Layla beat back the ridiculous urge to scratch her eyes out and rip that pretty blond hair right out of her empty head.

  Sweat broke out on her back and the whole bar seemed smaller, louder, and upside down, all of which made her dizzy and disoriented. Did they crank the heat up in this place? An odd prickling sensation flickered over her arms and up the back of her neck. A low growl rumbled in her throat, and her eyes tingled as they came dangerously close to shifting. More new stuff? Great. Now she was growling?

  Oh, no!

  Panic crept in as she realized what was happening—she was starting to shift.

  Sweet Jesus. The last thing she needed was to shift into her cheetah form for the first time in the middle of the bar. Layla squeezed her eyes shut and struggled for control over her haywire body. She could feel her body temperature rising as the air thickened, and an odd buzzing filled her head. Then, when she thought she was about to lose it completely, William’s calm voice slipped into her mind with irritating ease. Take some deep breaths, and keep your mind focused on your breathing. That will stop the shift.

  That took some balls. The man was hitting on another woman right in front of her, and now he’s telling her what to do? Layla didn’t respond—or couldn’t—at that moment she wasn’t sure which, but she begrudgingly took his direction.

  Much to her relief, it worked.

  Her skin cooled in slow ripples, and the tingling sensation in her eyes ebbed to a dull throb. She took a couple more deep breaths and happily noted that the nauseating spinning sensation had stopped too. She wanted to open her eyes, but the sight of William twirling Sylvia around the dance floor may well push her past the point of control. As she continued to filter out the swirl of sensations, William’s voice cut through the bar noise and floated over the music, causing her heart to skip a beat.

  “I’d love to dance,” he murmured quietly. “I came over here to ask the most beautiful woman in the bar if she would do me the pleasure.”

  Layla’s heart sank, and when she opened her eyes, Sylvia was staring back at her with a victorious smile. Then, just as she was about to tell them that they could have each other, William’s strong, warm hand curled over hers. Her b
reath clogged in her throat, and those dark seductive eyes locked on hers as he brushed his thumb over the top of her fingers.

  “May I have this dance?” His eyes twinkled as he brought her quivering hand to his warm, sinful lips. Memories of how he tasted flooded her, and she could swear that snowflakes were melting on her tongue.

  Layla’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she finally said, “Yes, of course… I’d love to.”

  After she managed to spit out the words, she hopped off the bar stool and brushed past a very pissed-off Sylvia. Normally, she’d have taken the time to make a comment, or at least throw her a look of victory, but she didn’t. As William led her onto the dance floor, she didn’t even give Sylvia a second thought. All she could think of, see, or feel was the man who held her hand.

  As he pulled her effortlessly onto the crowded dance floor, she thought he’d release her hand, and they’d dance the way everyone else was—jumping around, clapping, and throwing in the occasional gyration. However, instead of releasing her, he pulled her up against his strong body, placed her hand on his shoulder, slipped one arm behind her back, and took her other hand in his, poised and ready to lead.

  Layla just stared at him for a second, not sure of what to say. The band had just started a rousing rendition of “Shook Me All Night Long,” and he was holding her as if they were going to waltz.

  She didn’t think anyone in the history of the planet had ever waltzed at the Rustic.

  His eyes crinkled at the corners and smiled down at her, clearly amused by her confusion. “What’s the matter?” he asked as his fingers dug into her back, and she instinctively clutched his muscular shoulder in response.

  Her breasts pressed into his chest with every breath, and her fingers were cradled perfectly in his. Everything about them, against all odds, seemed to fit.

  She moistened her lips and looked around nervously at the sweaty, dancing crowd that was beginning to swallow them up. “I thought you wanted to dance?” she shouted above the thundering beat.