Chapter 8

• Layla frowned, surprised by the news.
• I’ve been cruising the California coastline for the past week. Lucas walked her down the stairs, but not before one of the men seated at the table across the way cleared their path. When she turned her head, she saw the other two falling into step behind them. One of them was talking into one of those security earpieces she had only previously seen worn in films, and the men backed into the dancers to impose a barrier around her and Lucas and ensure their smooth passage across the crowded dance floor.
• "Are those men bouncers?" she asked.
• "My security team."
• "Why do you need a security team?" Layla inquired nervously.
• Protection. I’ve had a security presence in my life since childhood, 'Lucas confided evenly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. My mother and her sister were Greek heiresses. Sadly, my aunt was kidnapped and held for ransom as a teenager.’
• "Good grief," Layla whispered in the comparative quiet of the club foyer. Was she freed? I mean, did she come home again?’
• "Yes, she came home, but she never fully recovered from her ordeal," Lucas replied grimly.
• Layla stiffened, registering that something pretty horrible had happened to his aunt while she was being held, and she suppressed a shiver.
• "It makes more sense to guard against such risks," Lucas declared in a lighter tone as a car drew up by the kerb and one of his guards hastened to open the door for them.
• Layla was nonplussed, out of her depth and feeling it. He had to be very rich to feel the need to take such precautions. She was with a man who inhabited a totally different world from her own, and she breathed in slowly and deeply while she wondered if she had made a rather foolish decision.
• "This is a little unnerving for me," Layla admitted abruptly, watching one man climb into the front with the driver while the others climbed into the second car behind them.
• Ignore them...I do,’ Lucas asserted, recognizing that she was not impressed, like most women, but instead ill at ease with the trappings of his lifestyle.
• On the drive to the marina, her breath feathered in her throat while Lucas chatted easily about his recent travels and stroked the back of her hand with a lazy forefinger. The car stopped, and the passenger door sprang open. In her high heels, his hand cupping her elbow to steady her, she walked a few steps and stopped dead when Lucas stepped into a motorboat and extended his hand to her.
• ‘I... I... Where’s your boat?’ Layla demanded uneasily.
• "There..."
• Layla followed his gesture, and further out in the bay, she saw a ship’s silhouette etched against the moonlit sky. "It looks like the Titanic!" she gasped, because it was huge.
• "An unfortunate comparison. I can assure you that ‘Seaduction’ is seaworthy and safe.’ Lucas stepped back onto the marina and bent down to scoop her up into his arms before stepping back into the launch with her.
• He had acted so fast Layla hadn’t had a moment to do more than utter a startled squeak of protest. Then he set her down again, settling her into a padded seat by his side. The speedboat was racing across the sea before she could even catch her breath. She thought ruefully of a night on a yacht. Well, that might be fun, she conceded, and fun had been in very short supply since she’d arrived for this vacation as Emily’s pretty much unwelcome guest.
• ‘OK?’ Lucas prompted as the launch reached the yacht.
• "I’m fine." Layla swallowed back her worries and allowed him to guide her up a gangway.
• Lucas didn’t know what had come over him. He wasn’t the caveman type, but as soon as he had seen her anxious expression, he had panicked, deeply unaccustomed to the idea that she might be changing her mind, and he had snatched her off the marina and got her into the launch as fast as he could. Layla White brought out something in him that he didn’t like, something very basic and elemental and essentially unnerving. Possibly, once he figured out what that mystery something was, he would feel better about it.
• A man in a peaked cap greeted Lucas, and Layla didn’t know where to look because she was embarrassed, convinced that their plans for what remained of the night had to be obvious. Lucas wafted her away up another staircase and down a corridor. He spread open the heavy carved doors and invited her to precede him.
• Her sea-glass eyes widened to their fullest extent, stunned appreciation etched on her lovely face as she slowly executed a circle to take in the full effect of the gorgeous bedroom. Huge windows looked out on the starry sky and the dark rippling water so far below. Lucas hit a button and the blinds buzzed into place to seal them in privacy. Blinking, she turned, eyes skating hastily over the opulent bed with its perfectly draped oyster silk spread. There were paintings on the walls, honest-to-goodness oil paintings, at least one of which looked sufficiently classic and imposing enough to be an Old Master.
• Would you like a drink? Something to eat?’ Lucas inquired, wondering why he had brought her to the master suite when he usually took his lovers to one of the guest cabins for the night. He had always been a very private man.
• "No, thanks. I’m sorry, I’m a bit out of my depth with all this,” Layla confessed, hands shifting to shyly indicate the unbelievable luxury of her surroundings.
• And yet she looked as if she belonged, Lucas thought suddenly, her hair a river of fire across her shoulders, framing her astonishingly vivid little face, light green eyes flickering with uncertainty against a pallor that only made her freckles stand out. She truly was a beauty in a very natural way that was entirely new to a male much more accustomed to women groomed to a high standard of artificial perfection.
• ‘It’s only money.’
• Layla chuckled, her slim shoulders straightening.‘We’re from very different backgrounds, Lucas.’
• ‘There are no barriers here.’ Lucas stalked closer, surprisingly light and quiet on his feet for so large a male. He reached for her hand and drew her towards him. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told you how much I wanted you, meli mou.’
• "What did you call me?"
• ‘Meli mou?’ His mouth quirked as he brushed a stray red strand of hair back off her cheekbone. Her hair felt like silk against his fingers and she was much smaller than his women usually were, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder in spite of her fantastically high heels. Her diminutive stature gave him the oddest protective feeling. It’s Greek for "my honey”