Holy f**k. He’d never thought she’d say yes. At best, he’d expected a “f**k you”; at worst, a slap across the face.
“Your room?” she asked.
They’d always been in his place. He wanted to know what Layla’s place looked like, even though it was just a hotel room. “Let’s go to yours.”
Her eyebrows furrowed, but she pressed seven on the elevator.
She stood stiffly beside him, and he tried to come up with something to say.
“Why’d you agree?”
“To what?”
“Coming with me.”
She snorted. “You haven’t gotten me to come yet.”
“But we both know I can. Again and again.”
Color crept up her long neck. He wanted to flick the buttons open on her blouse. He’d never pictured her in anything but jeans and T-shirts, and this version of Layla was a turn-on. All professional and s**t. He imagined her in
