“Marcos Diaz!”
We both jolt in surprise and turn towards Layla, who is standing behind the sofa with her hands on her hips. I didn’t even hear her sneak up on us. If looks could kill though, Marcos would be dead meat. He only laughs, standing and walking over to her with outstretched arms.
“Awe, c’mon chaparrita. You know it’s true!” He attempts to wrap her in a hug, but she steps back.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she hisses at him. “I know what you’re doing. Tryingto get Teagan to agree with you so he gets in trouble.”
“Actually, I like Teagan and hope you don’t do anything to scare him away. It was a genuine warning so he’ll know what to expect. You, Mami, and the girls are scary.”
She slaps him upside the head, muttering a string of what I assume are Spanish curses. Watching the two of them is immensely entertaining. My sister doesn’t joke around with me like this, no matter how much I’ve tried.
Layla notices me enjoying their tiff and narrows her eyes at me. “Something funny, guapo?”
I stand and round the couch, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her into me. I kiss her temple, my lips brushing against her soft hair. “Nah, just love watching the two of yous go at it.”
Her eyes dart to mine, brows furrowing. I can tell she wants to say something, but she presses her lips together before turning her attention to her brother.
“Are you planning on staying here, Marcos?” she asks.
“That’s why I brought my bags with me, but I’m not sure if I want to share space with lovers. You might keep me up at night.”
Layla blushes so violently I can feel the heat radiating from her. Before she has a chance to fly off the handle at him, I intervene.
“Hey, I’ll stay at my place, so don’t worry about that.” Layla makes a noise of protest, but I hold up a hand. “It’s okay, Lovely. It’s just for a little while, yeah? I need to do some stuff at the flat anyway.”
She sticks her bottom lip out in a pout, and only because her brother is standing less than two feet from us do I refrain from sucking it between my teeth.
* * *
“How do you think Marcos will like Ro?”
Layla and I are in the kitchen washing dishes shortly after her brother leaves to meet with Rowan. I offered to take him, but he insisted he go on his own so that he could get a feel for Ro without his matesaround.
“Honestly,” she says, drying her hands on the towel next to the sink. “He’ll probably love him. They have a lot in common. Football, lots of girlfriends…okay, well that’s all I can think of off the top of my head.”
Chuckling, I place the clean and now dried mugs in the cabinet. It’s a mundane task, but the sense of rightness I have sharing space with Layla is at the forefront of my mind.
“You think he’s serious about this mot of his?”
A delicate snort leaves her before she turns, resting against the edge of the counter. She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing those luscious tits up. I’m going to miss burying my face in those every morning and night while I’m back at my flat.
“It’s hard to say with Marcos. He’s only ever been this serious about playing pro, so it’s throwing me off. I’d be interested in meeting her just to see what the fuss is about. He’s brought so many girlfriends home over the years and always behaves in a certain way. We’d be able to tell a lot by the way he acts.”
“Aye, that makes sense. Not that I ever brought a string of lasses home to meet the family, but the ones you feel more serious about bring out a different side of a man.”
Layla doesn’t respond, so I glance over to find her narrowing her eyes at me and her jaw clenching. Abandoning the dishes, I stalk towards her and wrap my arms around her waist and snake my hands down to cup that lovely arse of hers. Those brown eyes flare with desire.
“Ach, you’re not jealous, are ya, Lovely?”
“No,” she lies.
Chuckling darkly, I yank her hips into mine so she can feel what she does to me. She whimpers at the contact. “Have you not realized that I know you?” I bring my lips to her ear. “That I know your body? I can tell when you’re happy, sad, angry,jealous…turned on.”
She shivers, a small gasp leaving her before she whispers, “Can you read my mind too?”
Skimming the tip of my nose from her ear to her shoulder, I say, “Not yet.”
“Good,” she breathes, sinking to her knees before me.
