He would make sure of it.
Layla, feeling tousled from a restless night, stepped out on the porch with a cup of coffee in her hand. She took a sip. She needed the hot liquid as much as she needed more sleep. Kissing Gavin was hazardous to her health when the aftereffect was a frazzled mind.
What could she have been thinking to agree to the deal he’d put on the table? What woman in her right mind would agree to have sex with a man who counted on her to fail at the most important project of her life? She kept assuring herself that she had nothing to worry about because her research wasn’t wrong.
But what if it was?
She shook her head, refusing to second-guess herself or allow something as insignificant as sex to undermine her confidence in years of research. She lifted the cup to her lips again, took another sip and smiled. She couldn’t wait to show Gavin just how wrong he was. She would leave the Silver Spurs with Jesse James’s loot and she’d keep Gavin out of her panties.
She glanced over at the main house and tried to ignore the heat that settled in her stomach. Ms. Melody had called to invite Layla to breakfast, but she’d declined saying she needed to read over a few reports. The last thing Layla wanted was to run into Gavin. She would see him at ten and that suited her just fine. The man had a way of making her distracted.
And then there was that kiss she couldn’t stop thinking about. The one that still had her lips tingling this morning. While getting dressed she’d tried to convince herself not to worry about that kiss—not to worry about anything, especially not Gavin Blake. Agreeing to his deal meant nothing more than a reason to work harder to find James’s stash. She hadn’t lied to Ms. Melody. Layla had used this morning to review several documents. It was important to make sure she hadn’t missed anything in her research.
Layla checked her watch. Gavin would be arriving in an hour. That wasn’t a lot of time to prepare to see him again. But then she doubted she would ever be prepared for the likes of Gavin Blake.
* * *
“So what have you decided about the dig, Gavin?”
Gavin glanced up from his breakfast plate and met his grandmother’s eyes. He’d been in bed when she’d returned last night, but there was no getting out of the conversation this morning. One thing was for certain, he would not tell her about the deal he’d struck with Layla.
“Layla is showing me the site this morning. I want to check it out for myself before I make a decision.” He then resumed eating, hoping to end the conversation.
“So when are you leaving for Mississippi?”
He looked up at his grandmother again with a raised brow. “Who said anything about me going to Mississippi?”
She lifted her own brow. “Yesterday you mentioned you had important business to take care of there.”
Now he recalled mentioning it. “I changed my mind and won’t be leaving after all.” He resumed eating again, knowing his grandmother was eyeing him suspiciously.
“Why?”
He lifted his head again. “Why, what?”
“Why are you hanging around here?”
He held her inquisitive gaze. “Do you have a problem with me hanging around here, Gramma Mel?”
“Not as long as you don’t have some shenanigans brewing in that head of yours, Gavin.”
If only you knew, he thought. He pushed his plate away. “Breakfast was good as usual. I’m surprised you didn’t invite Layla to join us.”
“I did. But she made an excuse for not coming. I wonder why.”
He stood. His grandmother was fishing for information and he was determined not to get caught. “I have a call with Phil to go over the books. I’ll be in my office for an hour or so.”
“Alright. And you may have changed your mind about going to Mississippi, but I’m still scheduled to go to that library conference in Cincinnati. It lasts a week, and I booked it before I knew you were coming home.”
Gavin knew his grandmother enjoyed going to those conferences. “You should go,” he encouraged.
She looked at him as if he wasn’t trustworthy...of all things. “Is anything wrong?” he asked her.
“You tell me, Gavin. You’re not fooling me one bit. I know that look. You’re up to something and whatever it is, I hope you don’t get caught in your own trap.”
“What trap?”
“I’ll let you figure that one out. But keep something in mind.”
He lifted a brow. “What?”
“Layla is not Jamie.”
He frowned deeply. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I think something good could develop between the two of you, if you let it. But you won’t. You’re afraid she will be like Jamie. Whether you choose to believe me or not, your mom loved you and your dad. I would sit and hear her crying for him at night when he was gone.”
“Then why did she leave?”
“Loneliness drove her away, Gavin. The Silver Spurs isn’t meant for everyone and she was miserable here. Not everyone can handle the isolation.”
“But that was no reason for her to desert me and Dad.”
Without saying anything else he turned and walked out of the kitchen toward his office.
* * *
A lump formed in Layla’s throat when she heard the knock at the door. She didn’t have to look out of the peephole to see who it was. Gavin had said he would arrive at ten and it was ten on the dot. She glanced down at herself and then wished she hadn’t. Why should she care what he thought about how she looked today? And why had she decided to wear her hair down instead of back in a ponytail?
She opened the door and Gavin stood leaning in the doorway. He filled the space, looking like he needed to be some woman’s breakfast, lunch and dinner. Why did the man have to be so over-the-top gorgeous? Why did she want to drool, drool, and then drool some more?
And why did she want to snatch him inside and have her way with him?
She had no right to think any of those things, no right to fantasize. She had to stay focused on her work. “Good morning. I’m ready,” she said, grabbing her jacket. He moved aside when she stepped out and closed the door behind herself.
“Good morning, Layla. I hope you slept well,” Gavin said as they walked off the porch.
He slid his hand to her elbow to help her down the steps and she wished he hadn’t. Immediately, a spike of desire shot through her and she was tempted to snatch her arm away.
“Nice day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s nice.” She glanced over at him as he kept his hand on her elbow while he led her to his truck and opened the door.
“And speaking of nice,” he said, gripping her elbow a little tighter as he helped her up into the passenger seat. “You look good this morning. Real nice.”
“Thank you.”
He closed the truck door and as she watched him move around the front of the truck to the driver’s side, she couldn’t help thinking that he looked pretty good himself. Real nice. A pair of jeans hugged masculine thighs, a pullover sweater and a leather bomber jacket with the crest of a SEAL on the back graced broad shoulders. In her book there was something about a man who wore a leather bomber jacket, whether he was a biker, a model or a navy SEAL.