Free All the Way by Kristi Avalon Page B

gathering inside her.
    She found a drinking fountain, leaned on it for support and took a long cold drink. But it didn’t help. It reminded her of the time she and Blake had arrived early for one of Robby’s track meets. He’d snuck her beneath the bleachers against her grinning protests and made out with her like they were teenagers stealing a moment alone before they got caught. Except they did get caught, by the track coach who’d leaned over the drinking fountain at the end of the bleachers.
    “Sorry, coach,” Blake had said, not sounding the least bit sorry as he rearranged Layla’s disheveled state, took her hand and pulled her back into the sunshine. Coach Dennis had thrown them a look, snorted in amusement and walked away shaking his head.
    What would’ve happened if we hadn’t been caught? she’d wondered at the time.
    As she left the drinking fountain to find the bathrooms, a blush crept up her neck. She pushed into the women’s bathroom.
    Last year when Blake had taken her to a cozy restaurant in Little Italy, she’d gone to the ladies room. Only he had followed her in. Locked the door behind him. She’d shrieked, afraid of getting caught. He’d stifled the sound with his lips. His tongue thrust deep into her mouth, melting her nerves into a flaming pool of desire. His spontaneity dissolved her fears.
    It happened every time. He was the one man who had known instinctively what would tear down her inner defenses. Knew how to pierce the armor she wore to keep him from coming too close, because the more she let him in, the more she had to lose.
    But when he’d kissed her behind that locked door, the only thing she’d been interested in losing was her modesty. He’d clutched her to him, kissing her until her whole body hummed with need. Then he’d backed her against the marble wall beside the towel dispenser. His lips had covered the exposed skin of her plunging neckline as he sank to his knees in front of her. His hands slid under her dress. Layla whimpered her approval, loving the way he handled her so confidently. His palms coasted up the backs of her knees, her thighs. He dragged the dress hem up to her waist. The heat of his touch burned away all resistance. His head dipped. He tugged the crotch of her panties aside, leaned forward and…
    Layla nearly groaned at the sensual memory. Then she jumped as a door in the row of metal stalls in front of her banged open. A woman wearing an Ohio State T-shirt walked out, her ponytail swishing as she turned and gave Layla a funny look. Layla dashed into the nearest stall.
    Mopping her damp forehead with the back of her hand, she blew out a long breath. The last thing she needed was to be turned on, especially by steamy memories of Blake. Though she couldn’t help smiling when she recalled the look on the middle-aged lady’s face when Blake had unlocked and opened the restaurant bathroom door. The woman’s mouth had formed a tight O, her hand fluttering to the string of pearls around her neck. Blake had grinned, shrugged, and made up something about helping Layla with her dress. The woman had speared them with a suspicious look, muttering, “Or helping her out of her dress.”
    They had definitely shocked her uptight sensibilities. Blake had always possessed an appealing habit of doing the same thing to Layla.
    Appealing? She frowned, shook her head to clear it. She had no business thinking about him like that.
    Struggling out from the undertow of her thoughts, she shut her eyes against the image of him kneeling between her legs. Looking up at her. His eyes dark with lust and sparkling with sexual knowledge that took her breath away even as he’d hovered there, his mouth so close to her juncture.
    Oh, my God. Stop it!
    She blinked hard. The metal stall felt cool against her back and neck. She leaned into its support, pressed her fingers to the crotch of her jeans. A throb of awareness nearly made her moan. Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip.
    No. Good