Just Desserts (7 page)

Because I take things more seriously than you do!

Sam set down the bag and came to perch on the edge of the sofa, clasping her hands together in her lap. “I don’t quite know how to say this, but…Layla, I don’t think you’ve been happy for a long time.”

Layla opened her mouth to protest, to talk about professional gratification and the value of sacrifice—to defend her choices for the past decade and a half—but Sam cut her off before she got out more than a syllable.

“I know what you’re going to say. I know exactly what you’re going to say. But stop. Just stop. Okay?”

She seemed to be waiting for a response, so Layla nodded.

“You are on the cusp of something. You got fired for a reason and now you need to explore options—”

“Turn lemons into lemonade?” Layla interjected bitterly.

“Lemonade?” Sam said, wrinkling her nose. “No. You have the chance to investigate other opportunities and you should damned well take it. And maybe go back and clip Melinda’s bumper while you’re at it.”

“I…”
Have no idea what to say.
“What options?”

“Haven’t you ever wanted to be something other than a teacher? An astronaut or a cowboy?” Sam held up a hand. “I was being facetious with those choices. But, really. Have you ever thought of trying something else?”

“No.”

“Or dating another kind of man?”

“I date stable men.”

“Maybe you should try to date fun men. Men who aren’t husband material, but who can give you some most excellent experiences without being The One.”

“Experiences…”

Sam shrugged. “Yes,” she said simply. “More numbers in your equation.” She leaned forward and grasped Layla’s wrist. “Take advantage of this. Yes, look for a job. But…don’t just jump back into your old life, because you may well be there forever. Shop. Experience.”

“Eat, love, pray?”

Sam nodded. “If that’s what it takes.” She glanced at the watch hanging on a chain around her neck. “I have to go if I’m going to open on time. Are you coming?”

“Not today. I have a few things I should do at home.” Layla pushed the afghan aside. “But I am going to consider what you said.” Because it made sense, which kind of frightened her.

“Good.” Sam hoisted the bag into her shoulder. “You don’t want to turn into Grandma Bonnie.”

“Whose careful saving habits bankrolled your business. And Eric’s business and Derek’s fire academy training.”

“And who never smiled,” Sam said, starting for the door. “Think about that.”

Layla did think about that. For the rest of the day. She also fought fear of never being gainfully employed again, and anger at having her lessons stolen. And shame. She fought the shame. How was she going to explain to people about losing her job?

Perhaps she could say she was going back to grad school. This would be the perfect time. For one tiny insane split second she thought about begging Ella for a second chance. That was the old Layla talking. The new wounded-yet-determined-to-grow-stronger Layla told her to shut up. No begging.

She thought about Sam’s advice to date a guy just for fun instead of searching for The One. Layla wondered if she could do that. Dating in that way seemed to lack purpose. Why waste time just having fun with someone who was going to disappear from her life? Such as Justin.

Why not?

She could come up with a few pat answers, but the fact remained that Justin stirred something in her, made her believe that there were adventures to be had merely for the experience—something she’d never considered before. Experiences needed to serve a purpose. Be built upon. Be sensible.

That was how she’d lived her life—which was crumbling around her—up until now.

Could it be that, for the first time in recorded history, her sister was more in line with reality than she was? That she honestly did need to discover a life in which she smiled more?

JUSTIN LEFT THE KITCHEN eight hours after arriving. It was one of those rare days when he didn’t have to stay late to get everything on his list accomplished. He stood next to his car for a moment and rubbed the tense muscles in the back of his neck.

Did he go home and deal with the nagging anxiety and dark thoughts in the way he was most tempted to—with beer? Give his friend Donovan a shout to see if he wanted to do something? Head on down to Ceol, his favorite Irish pub, to see what was shaking on a Tuesday night?

Really torture himself and drop by Reggie and Tom’s place and play with his niece?

He’d go home. He didn’t like the way Reggie had been studying him of late, as if trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He’d never kept many secrets from his sisters—serious ones, anyway. The only secret he’d kept was this one, because at what point did he tell? Years had passed, years during which he’d assumed things would get better for him.

He drove to his condo and let himself into his very empty place. This was what he wanted, though. A private space. A retreat. So why did his home feel so uninviting?

Because he lived here alone with his thoughts, which were getting out of hand.

He was on his way to the fridge, to see what he had in the way of nonalcoholic beverages, when someone knocked on the door. A light, almost tentative sound. Probably that kid from the third floor selling cookies or wrapping paper—a one-girl sales machine.

He opened the door and found himself facing Layla.

CHAPTER FIVE

“THIS IS A SURPRISE,” he said, standing back in case she wanted to come inside.

One corner of her mouth lifted slightly at his ironic tone. “No doubt. We’ve seen each other maybe five times in the past five years and three of those have been in the last week.”

“Exactly. Did you lose something else?”

She didn’t answer immediately, but instead stood studying his face, as if trying to find the answer to some riddle. Or perhaps a clue to what exactly had happened the night before.

“I want to apologize for last night,” he said. It seemed the proper thing to say. It might even be the reason she was here, but somehow he didn’t think so.

“Then it follows that I should do the same,” she said, eyeing him calmly. The breeze lifted her straight dark hair, ruffled her bangs. She pushed away the strands that blew across her face.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Yeah. Sure.” He and Layla were beyond politeness-for-the-sake-of-politeness.

Once he closed the door, she stood without moving, her hands in her pockets.

“Why did you kiss me?”

His heart jumped at the point-blank question. “Damned if I know.”

“I guess that makes two of us.” She shifted her weight slightly, telling him she was not entirely comfortable, but then, neither was he. “And I don’t like things I don’t understand.” She bit her lip in a considering manner as she continued to study his face. He could not for the life of him come up with a flippant rejoinder.

The foyer where they stood was dimly lit, making the pale leather sofa in the living room shine like a welcoming beacon in the glow of the reading light. Layla kept glancing over at it and finally he said, “You want a beer or something?”

“No…” She looked up at him, her expression more candid and vulnerable than he ever remembered. Usually the force fields were up. “But I wouldn’t mind staying for just a minute, if it’s all right.”

“Have a seat,” Justin said, trying to figure out just what the hell was going on, why she was here.

She walked ahead of him to the sofa, hands still in her pockets, then sat down, closing her eyes as she leaned back against the cushion. The tension in her shoulders eased until he sat down next to her, and then they went rigid again. This was the Layla he knew and was comfortable with.

She opened her eyes, turned her head on the cushion to look at him, her dark hair fanning over her shoulder with the movement. And still she didn’t say anything.

Wow. Was she in shock? He’d never seen Layla silent for so long. Or maybe he’d never given her a chance to be quiet. He’d always been prodding for reaction.

“Kiss me again.”

Now
his
shoulders went tense. “What?”

“I need to know something. Please kiss me.”

“Like some kind of science experiment?”

“Justin, please.”

He gave her a cautious sidelong look, then leaned over and planted one on her cheek. She brought a hand up around the back of his neck before he could pull away, and guided his mouth to hers. Their lips met lightly, more of a teasing touch than a kiss, but it made him instantly hard. The pressure of her hand on his neck increased, as did the pressure of her lips when she opened her mouth, inviting him to delve deeper, which he did. Their tongues touched, teased, and then the kiss became almost desperate on her part, as if she was looking for something, seeing if Justin was the guy to give it to her.

Which seemed like a really good plan at the moment.

He pushed his hands into her silky hair, splaying his fingers, holding her head as he kissed her. He hoped she could think straight enough to get the data she needed, because his thought processes were being clouded by the incredible experience of discovering just what Layla felt like, tasted like.

Why had he wasted so much time tormenting her?

Because, as she’d quite correctly deduced, he’d been a totally obnoxious teenage jerk.

Finally, about the time his hands started wandering closer to her breasts, she pulled back, lowering her chin as she met his eyes dead-on, her lower lip slightly swollen, her hair a sexy mess. It was all he could do not to pick her up and carry her off to his room to do this right.

Do what right? He was not sleeping with Layla.

Well, maybe not right off the bat, anyway.

He let out a breath, totally off his game. When had he lost control of the dynamic between them? When had she taken control?
Why
was she taking control?

She frowned slightly, either critically judging the kiss or getting her bearings. One of the two. Justin didn’t need to think in order to pass judgment—pretty much an unexpected ten—but he appreciated the few seconds she gave him to get himself under control.

“Assessment?” he asked softly, hoping to pass this off as an interesting bit of experimentation—which he truly hoped it was.

“Good,” she replied.

“Just good?”

She smiled, as if she wasn’t buying into his front. It unnerved him to think of his trusty shield no longer working against her.

She ran a hand over her tangled hair, grimaced as she threaded her fingers through it. “A lot of stuff has changed in my life in a short amount of time.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“I guess,” she said, falling back against the cushions and staring across the room. She brought her forearm up to rest on top of her head. “I lost my job, Justin. I got fired today.”

“Fired? I thought you were going to quit.”

“I thought I was going to
threaten
to quit.” She exhaled heavily, and even though her voice was even, he could see that she was fighting tears. Of course she was. Layla was not the kind of person who would take getting fired in stride. “My principal chose to play hardball. Bad woman to bluff, apparently.”

“Damn. Layla. I’m…sorry.”

“Me, too. And in case you’re wondering, no, I’m not going to take you up on your job offer.” She closed her eyes briefly, swallowed hard, and for a moment he thought she was going to let the tears flow. But she didn’t. When she turned her head slightly so she could see him, her eyes were shiny, but she was regaining control. “They stole my stuff. Or they’re going to.”

“What stuff?”

“I spent two years putting together materials and lesson plans for immersion units.”

“I don’t know what an immersion unit is, unless we’re talking water baths or deep fat fryers.”

“An immersion unit is where the kids learn English and history by becoming characters. They act out scenarios. Write about their characters and the events they’ve witnessed and taken part in. It’s very effective.”

“Sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.” More fun than the history and English classes he remembered. Or rather didn’t remember, since he’d spent a lot of time sleeping in them. Or not showing up—until Reggie found out and cleaned his clock.

“I’ve won awards for the units,” she said shortly. “And I developed them on my own time.”

“You don’t have them on computer?”

“Just some of it. Most of the lessons are only in hard copy.”

“I don’t get how they can just steal them if you developed the lessons.”

“I’ll probably get them back—after Melinda copies everything.” Layla ground her teeth together. “She can have Robert, but I do
not
want her using the end result of two years of my blood, sweat, toil and tears.”

Justin had a simple solution. “Let’s go get them.”

FOR A MOMENT Layla simply stared at him. She’d come here on instinct, kissed him on instinct. She didn’t feel like being arrested on instinct. “I think that would be construed as breaking and entering or unlawful entry.”

“Do you have a key?”

She did. The spare that Derek had made for her, though she had no idea how, since the key was not supposed to be duplicated.

“You do have a key,” he said, correctly interpreting her silence.

“What of it?”

“How can it be breaking and entering if you have a key?”

She made an impatient gesture. “I don’t know.”

“Have you ever gone to the school after-hours? Worked there?”

“About every other day.”

“So why not go now. Just like you used to. Get the stuff you really need and beat feet.”

“I…”

“Is there an alarm system?”

“Only on the office and the computer lab.”

“Security guard?”

“During the day.”

“Janitor?”

“Not at night during vacation. They all go on days.”

“Sounds like my kind of break-in.” He stood, ready for action, the old Justin gleam in his eye. “Let’s go. Before the trollop has time to copy them. If you tell me where to find the stuff, I’ll go in and get it.” He reached down to pick up a small spiral notebook that had a recipe written on the open page. He flipped to a fresh sheet and handed the book to her. “Draw me a map.”

She shook her head.

“No? Why not?”

“Because I’m coming with you.”

LAYLA HAD ALWAYS suspected that if she embarked on a life of crime, Justin would be involved. And he was. After much debate about what would be less noticeable in the school lot—her car or his—they drove his car to the school and parked next to the Dumpster, out of camera range. Layla knew exactly where the cameras were and what they picked up, thanks to her students. They’d also told her that the security guard didn’t always turn them on.

How on earth they knew these things, Layla had no idea, but she hoped they were right and that the cameras weren’t on tonight. Even if they were, it was too dark to make out anything.

“Just stay close to this wall and we’ll be okay until we hit the doorway. Then we’ll be on tape.” Her hope was that no one would recognize her in Justin’s oversize black sweatshirt, plus a ball cap and sunglasses. She was having a hard time seeing in the sunglasses.

Justin did as he was told, perhaps for the first time in his life, walking along the edge of the building with her, his hand lightly touching the small of her back, making her very, very aware of him.

She kept her head down as she moved onto the back step and fitted her spare key in the lock. It turned smoothly, as always, and she pushed the door open, her heart thumping hard against her ribs. Just a quick in and out, taking only what was hers.

Nothing wrong with that.

The door closed behind them and the motion sensor light in the hall came on, startling both of them. Justin touched her back again and she started moving down the corridor. Her room was at the far end, across from Melinda’s, and when Layla opened the door, she could see that someone had already been going through her files. But the person, aka Melinda, hadn’t yet found the two storage boxes crammed under the back table beneath the sheets Layla used as togas for the Roman unit.

She bent down and pulled the first box out, and Justin picked it up, putting it on the table. She’d just placed her hand on it when someone walked down the hall, talking on a phone. She instantly froze, her heart hammering, and Justin crouched low beside her, pressing close in the darkness, so close she felt enveloped in his warmth. He nudged her and together they slowly eased under the counter, huddling together, out of sight.

If she got arrested, she was never going to get another teaching job. Breaking and entering a school. What the hell was wrong with her? And Justin couldn’t afford to be arrested, either. Not when he worked in a business that relied on reputation.

“What now?” she whispered, her eyes so wide they probably filled her entire face.

The guy paused outside the door and continued to talk. Layla did not recognize the voice, and figured it had to be the new night janitor—the position Ella said she wouldn’t be filling until after the students were on vacation. Layla hadn’t realized she meant immediately after.

“I cannot believe this is happening.”

“It’s happening,” Justin whispered back. He put an arm over her, drew her even closer. “But he hasn’t called the cops.”