Layla Morgan is tired of getting into trouble, and getting hurt. And she fears her wild nature is going to strike yet again. But maybe this time, she’s finally met the guy that can stand close enough to touch her inner flames, and not get burned.
Tyler Lachlan doesn’t stand a chance of resisting the delicious distraction of the mystery woman across Times Square. He’s sure there’s more to her than her sultry voice and mahogany thighs, but he doesn’t know if he’s willing to risk his career to find out.
Could what began as a voyeuristic affair across Times Square develop into something more?
Layla froze as he came back into view.
Gorgeous. A trim goatee covered his square jaw, making him look distinguished. She’d never thought Times Square was so big and small at the same time. Before, she hadn’t really thought of it at all except with some barely concealed disdain. She watched as he went about what appeared to be normal business, his thick shoulders bunching with every movement. He shuffled a few papers on his desk, sat down, and fiddled with his computer. Not once did he look out his window again. Layla ignored the sinking feeling at his lack of attention.
She refused to open the curtain the rest of the way and try to entice him, as much as she wished to. Because this could be almost as dangerous as another affair with a married man. So she contented herself with watching him until he looked up. Her breath caught in her throat. He shook his head and returned to his work. Could he feel her watching him? He glanced at her again. Could he see her watching him? She held his gaze through the half-inch gap in the fabric and waited, holding her breath until he looked down again. She dropped the curtain.
Her plan to release some steam and settle down had been blown to shreds, because now her stomach was knotted with the what-ifs. The soft carpet against the backs of her thighs tickled, urging her to move. Her body still felt too sensitive, too aroused. She needed to shower and get her head screwed on straight. And stay as far away from her window as possible until she figured out what to do.
Grabbing the edge of the table, Layla pulled herself up and slid off her high heels, using the solid surface beneath her fingers for support. She walked on shaky legs through the living room and kitchenette area, then into her bedroom and to the bathroom, refusing to look back and steal a glimpse. Thank God the curtains in the bedroom were closed too. She set her glasses on the sink. Had he been as turned on as she was?
She closed herself into the bathroom. Mulling over the ideas in her head, she rolled down her black thigh-highs one at a time. Maybe she could leave her curtains open tomorrow morning when she got home just to see what would happen. He probably wouldn’t even be there. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed about that. She shook her head, deciding it didn’t matter.
After unhooking her bra, she tossed it and her panties in the corner with the rest of her dirties. The maids must love me. Though, of course, they did, and she knew it. They’d told her before that they didn’t mind taking care of her, and for that she was grateful. She turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower. She let the heat seep into her muscles and relax her shoulders. Sitting down in the tub, Layla grabbed the stopper and let the showerhead fill the basin with water. She lay back until the water covered her stomach, all the while trying to decide if she should give in to her wild nature and torture Mr. Times Square.
About the Author:
Rachell Nichole is saucy mama who writes Sizzling Romantic Entanglements. She is the author of An Affair Across Times Square, Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce, and A Marietta Wedding. Rachell lives in New York with a mountain of books, a loving family, and an evil cat named Godiva that she adores.