Scarred by You Page 20

  “Yes. On business, and I sat inside. I wanted to bring you here, outside.”

  He’s eyeing me in a way that makes my heart flutter. I break from his stare, taking a sip of my cocktail and scouring my menu, willing the heat in my cheeks to dissipate.

  The silence feels awkward. I steal a dangerous glance and run my eyes over the skin between the hollow of his neck and the bottom of the V made by his shirt.

  “Do you mind?” he asks, holding the lapels of his blazer.

  “No, please, don’t stand to attention for me, take them off, it off, your blazer, take your blazer off.”

  Holy mother of fuck. Get a grip, Dayna.

  I close my menu and sip my cocktail as he slips out of his blazer, the cotton of his shirt pulling across his firm pecs. I bite my straw without realising and end up slurping my drink.

  My apology is met with a smirk.

  “You left,” I whisper, unsure for a second whether I thought it or said it aloud. He closes his menu and puts it down in front of him. “You left. The next day, the very next day, was one of the worst of my life and I… I wanted you to hold me and tell me everything would be okay.”

  He doesn’t speak. He watches me, expressionless.

  “You can’t tell me you love me now, Clark, and expect that to wipe away the past.”

  “I know.”

  “You were supposed to get married, and I just think… I think you have a lot going on in your head. You must have. It’s not okay for you to mess with my mind and tell me you love me when I know… I would be your rebound. No, don’t speak. That’s how it is, Clark, and I can’t do that. Even if I could forget, even if I was still…”

  “Still what?”

  I shake my head. “No. I won’t let you pick me up and shatter me again.”

  The gentle sound of guitar music breaks my train of thought and makes me look out to the Burj Khalifa Lake. Enrique Iglesias’s “Hero” plays out across the lake, and water begins to rise from multiple fountain heads in the middle. As the beat drops into the music, the fountains spurt and the water sways in time to the lyrics.

  I stand and move to the fence, looking out over the dancing fountains. It’s so alluring it brings goose pimples to my skin. He knew about the fountains. He knew how stunning this place is. And I don’t know whether I love him or hate him for bringing me here.

  I feel Clark move behind me. His hips press into my back, his hands either side of mine on the wooden rail.

  “Say you love me,” he whispers into my ear. “Say you love me, and I’ll never leave again.”

  God, I love him. I love him completely, unequivocally, despite knowing I really shouldn’t.

  I refuse to turn and look at him. My eyes are too full. “Why did you bring me here, Clark?”

  He moves away from me, leaving my skin chilled in spite of the warm air.

  I compose myself until the song ends and the water stops dancing. Then I take my seat and we order.

  “I asked you to come here because I want one more shot at asking you not to go through with the alternative bid,” he says, the warmth of his voice gone, as if I imagined him pressed up against me, begging me to love him, just moments ago.

  “Didn’t you hear me last night? God, Clark, surely you can see now how much I need this?”

  “I heard you, Dayna. But nothing is worth putting your life at risk. Nothing.”

  It’s not the first time I’ve heard similar sentiment today. I’ve had a verbal bashing from Arthur too. He and Teddy are in Camp Never Going To Make A Profit together. People say like father, like son. It’s definitely true in their case.

  “Caspar is full of empty threats, Clark.”

  “How can you say that?” His words grind through gritted teeth. He’s all but snarling at me. “Last night the man broke into your room with a knife and hit you.” He glances at his hand; the way he looks at me right after tells me he didn’t mean to.

  “How did you hurt your hand?” I ask, rubbing a thumb across his red knuckles. He doesn’t tell me, but I know the answer. He had my back. He tried to protect me. That knowledge only adds more turmoil to my mixed-up mind.

  A waiter places two plates of softshell crab in front of us. I start eating. Clark doesn’t. He turns his glass in his fingers.

  “I have a proposal for you. Another way to get what you want.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Let’s go in together. You and me. SP, Layton Oil. We could make a joint bid. We’d have more money, and maybe your blending capabilities could turn us a profit.”

  A waitress asks if everything is okay with our meals. I barely hear her. My attention is fixed on the man in front of me. “I can’t believe I fell for this, for you.”

  “What?”

  I snicker, a sound that’s coated in hurt. “You end an engagement, just like that, and suddenly, you’re back on the scene and saying you’re interested in me.” I take my napkin from my lap and throw it onto the table as I stand. “I’ve been taken for a fool by you far too many times. This is why you wanted to get close to me again. You know, Clark, very little surprises me in this industry. Oil is corrupt, the people are corrupt, but you… I thought you were different.”

  “Dayna, have you lost your mind? Sit down.” He stands and takes my wrist. “Sit down and hear me out before you make a scene. Right now.”

  “Take your hand off me.”

  “I’ve spent the entire day arguing with Ted over this, Dayna. I’m losing friends and hurting people because of you. And I don’t care, not if it means I keep you safe, so you can give me five goddamn minutes.”

  I don’t know why I listen, but I do. I sit back down and Clark shifts his chair closer to mine. I concentrate on not letting the pain that’s balling in my throat turn to tears.

  “I understand how much you want this well. I do. But Teddy thinks I should pull out, and I’m starting to agree with him. Layton Oil can’t beat Persian Fuels alone, and I know you can’t either. But if you make a deal with Bahrain, I swear to God, it — you — will be the death of me. So I’m telling you I’ll put everything on the line, I’ll go against Teddy’s advice, and I’ll bid with you, if you promise me you’ll stay away from that deal. There’s every chance we’d lose money. A good chance. But I’ll do it. I’m not lying to you, Dayna. I just want you to get what you need without killing yourself.”

  I press the base of my hand to my chest as pain strikes beneath my ribs. “If we did it and we won, Caspar wouldn’t necessarily stop coming at us, Clark.”

  “I know. But it would be different if we were together.”

  “How?”

  He takes my hand in his. “Because I’ll be behind you. Every step of the way. I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you.”

  My head is spinning, trying to comprehend what he’s suggesting, trying to make sense of everything I’m thinking and feeling.

  “Clark, a deal wouldn’t mean that we were together… in every way. I mean, we’re not, but we really couldn’t be, ever, if we joined forces. It wouldn’t be right. If it, we, went wrong…”

  “I know.”

  I used to love the oil industry. I used to thrive on deals and trading. When Little Princess exploded, the spark went away. When my father killed himself, the excitement, the gloss, the shine almost disappeared entirely. I can’t be with Clark. Not right now. But the thought of the industry taking him away from me permanently, or worse, meaning he gets hurt… I would come to hate it.

  “But don’t think it would stop me trying,” he says, breaking my thoughts with a wink that ignites my blood.

  I smile and hold his hand in both my own. “You’re relentless.”

  “You’re stunning.”

  “Clark—”

  He leans forwards and presses his mouth to mine. I want to push him away, but my body submits. I drown beneath him. It’s like he’s my only lifeline, the air I need to breathe. I cling to his shirt, forgetting our surroundings, until he breaks our c
onnection.

  He rests his forehead on mine and strokes a hand up my thigh. “This dress.” His words are heavy, laced with desire. “I want to take it off.”

  “Stop it,” I tell him with no conviction, holding my eyes shut.

  “Don’t fight me, baby. Forget it all. Business. The past. Just let me love you tonight.”

  A waiter coughs, breaking us apart. He’s visibly uncomfortable. Clark and I should have known better in Dubai. Men and women don’t show affection in public as custom, but we’re not married, which means Clark’s little flirt with the top of my thigh was against the law.

  I can’t explain how much that turns me on.

  The waiter takes our plates as I nip my lip in my teeth and nod slowly, suddenly hungry for only one thing. Clark’s kryptonite zaps my willpower, again. “One night, that’s all,” I whisper.

  He takes my hand to his lips, and his eyes sparkle. “Let’s enjoy dinner. You’re going to need your energy.”

  I find myself laughing, “You’re such a charmer, Layton.”

  We talk and laugh through our main course and another round of cocktails. It’s easy, natural and something that I’d forgotten we had, fun. We turn back towards the fountains as the sound of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” fills the air.

  “Enrique was nice, but this is pretty cool,” I tell him.

  “Good restaurant choice, then?”

  “Good choice.”

  The soft glow of the fountains catches his face, illuminating his strong features.

  “If only things weren’t so complicated,” I murmur.

  “They don’t have to be.”

  “You have no idea how much I want to believe that. You’re the only person who can make me lose sight of everything else.”

  He strokes a thumb across my knuckles on the table top. “I’d really like to get the bill.”

  I feel my pupils dilate, my eyelids get heavier. I cross my legs tighter and lick my lips as I nod.

  Clark settles the bill and we make our way out to a cab. He takes my hand, which makes me falter in my stride, but I relax into his grip and move closer to him. It’s only one night. One more night. A last goodbye.

  We sit in the back of the cab, and I can’t speak for him, but my hormones are out in force, battering my sex into submission. I’m aching to feel him, as if it’s been much longer than three days since he took me all night. Something about breaking the law, wanting each other but being forced to hide it, has my temperature rising.

  He subtly adjusts his jeans and I smirk when he catches me looking.

  “Fucking Middle East,” he mumbles.

  I glance at the driver’s rear-view mirror. He’s oblivious to the tension in the back of his cab, or if he isn’t, he doesn’t let it show. When we get to the hotel, Clark holds open the door for me, his hand grazing the small of my back as he helps me out of the cab.

  He takes my hand again and leads me to his hotel room in silence. There’s nothing more to say. Right now, I’m not even sure I could form a sentence. Desire has killed my mind and senses. Although I’ve retained enough comprehension to know that’s probably a good thing.

  I feel like a teenager with a crush. The kind that makes you feel sick when you see the guy, the kind that stops you from eating or wanting to hang out with friends. The kind of crush that makes you doodle his name all over your school books and get terrible grades because you want to be with the hottest boy in the school so much it’s all you can think about. It’s suffocating.

  In this moment, Clark Layton is the hottest guy in class, and he’s everywhere, intoxicating me, making me forget how to do the most basic of things, like breathe and walk.

  He holds open the door to his room, and I step inside. I don’t have time to remember how to inhale and exhale because he rams me against the wall, his pelvis pushing his erection into my stomach, his mouth consuming mine. I let my clutch fall to the floor, and he takes my hands above my head, fusing our bodies together.

  “Christ, I’ve wanted to do that all day.”

  Holding my wrists with one hand, he runs the other up my leg, lifting my thigh to his hip. There are so many things wrong with this, so many reasons we shouldn’t be doing this.

  “Stop.” He nibbles my lobe. “Over.” His breath leaves a trail down my neck. “Thinking.” He glides his tongue along my collarbone.

  I give in to desperation, moving my hands to fist in his hair and tilting my head, exposing myself to him fully.

  He teases, sucks and licks my shoulder as he draws the thin strap of my dress down my arm. I can’t tell him how much I want him. I won’t tell him how many nights I spent wondering why we ended. Praying that he’d change his mind. But in the way he looks at me now, he tells me all I need to know. He’s in this. And right now, that’s as much as I can handle. I give myself over to him. To this. To us. “Kiss me,” I beg.

  He rests his brow on mine. His hooded eyes are hypnotic. Then he gives me what I want, simultaneously lifting my other thigh and carrying me through the lounge of his suite into the bedroom.

  He lowers me in front of the queen bed and turns me away from him. His lips start at my nape, blowing air gently down my spine, a sensation that shoots to the depths of me, making my muscles tense, drenching my cleft. He unzips my dress and pushes it down my arms, letting it pool around my stilettos.

  “I’ll never get enough of tasting you. Feeling you.”

  He has to get enough. He has to walk away. Because I don’t have the strength to tell him no.

  “Clark…” I should tell him this is it. We can’t go beyond tonight. But the words don’t come.

  “Do you remember how good we are together?”

  “Yes.” The word is weak, breathless. “Please don’t try to convince me . . . ” Convince me of what? That we should be together?

  I leave the words hanging in the air as he runs his hands greedily over my skin then wraps a hand around my hair. He pulls my head to one side and sucks my neck as his fingers roam my stomach. His touch is like champagne, sheer indulgence. It goes straight to my head and blurs my thoughts.

  His next words are so quiet they’re almost lost in the sound of our panting. “This isn’t goodbye.”

  It has to be.

  I have to keep my head strong.

  I turn to face him and push his jacket over his arms. He lets me undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one, watching me in a way that leaves no doubt in my mind that he’s craving this as much as I am. He’s hungry for me. But the tender stroke of his fingertips down my cheek tells me there’s more to this than lust for him too.

  When he’s down to only his jeans, I drink him in: those abs, those pecs, the slight cut of his hips above his belt. He runs his hands through my hair and holds my face, not letting me look away.

  “There’s only you, baby. There’s only ever been you.”

  His words from earlier come back to me. Say you love me. He captures my heavy breath with his mouth. As if he doesn’t want to hear anything else I have to say. I cover his hands with my own.

  “Take me out of my head, Clark. Please.”

  It’s his turn to nod as he unhooks my bra and casts it aside. He cups my breasts then takes a nipple in his teeth. He groans as he sucks the sensitive tip. It’s a sound I feel deep in my sex. I let my head roll back, relishing every second.

  Then his hands are in my thong, pulling it down my legs. He lifts me and lays me back on the bed, lifting my heels to the edge and pulling my hips forwards. He kneels between my legs, the pressure of his hands on the inside of my thighs making me squirm with desire.

  “You have such a beautiful cunt.”

  I hate that word. Yet when Clark says it in that low, hoarse tone, I want him to say it again and again.

  I gasp as his tongue swirls my clit. In this moment, I’m both incredibly lost and undeniably found by the familiarity of his touch.

  My back arches and I think my head might burst. He slips his tongue down to my entrance, dip
ping in and out, fucking me with his warm, wet mouth. I rise quickly, embarrassingly quickly.

  “I fucking love seeing you like this,” he croaks.

  “Clark.” His name is as much as my brain can process.

  He rams his fingers into me and hones in on my clit. I feel my insides swell, greedily clenching around his fingers. I want more. Something deeper, thicker.

  “I want to feel you like this, around my cock. I want to watch your face as you come around me.”

  His words push me to the edge. “God, oh good fucking God.”

  “Finish for me, baby. Show me what I can do to you. Show me how much you want me.”

  I do want him. I shouldn’t. I do. God, do I.

  He sucks my clit and moves his fingers quicker through my slickness. My climax comes hard and fast. It drags with it memories of every look, every touch, every time he’s hovered above me and gazed into my eyes as he’s made love to me. My hips buck but he keeps going, his mouth licking me right through my orgasm until my skin is alight.

  I wait for my vision to focus and my pants to subside. Emotion threatens to run from my eyes, so I sit up and push it aside. I take my legs wide and drag him to me by his belt. He holds my head as I unbuckle and unbutton him. The tightening of his grip tells me he knows what’s coming. I take his jeans and boxers down in one go, freeing his solid shaft. I lick my dry lips as he drops his head back on a heavy exhale.

  “Dayna. Baby.”

  I want to give him this. To make him feel as all-consumed as I do by him. I draw my tongue up his cock, my eyes on his. Then I take the head in my mouth, licking and swallowing his pre-ejaculate, craving more of his taste. I remember how he feels, each curve of his length, the way his body responds to my touch. I work the base of his erection with my hand and move my mouth up and down, taking as much of him as I can, until he’s pulling my hair and his hips start moving, fighting against his need to push in and out of me. He lets me take control of his pleasure. His cock thickens and the muscles of his torso tighten.

  “Don’t make me come. I want to be inside you.”

  I keep going, and he lets me, until his hips start moving quickly and I lap up more beads of his excitement. He’s there.