He twisted the fancy-ass lock, noting, with some annoyance, that if someone managed to scale the wall to the balcony, not hard with tall trees on either side of it, they could break a window, reach in and open that lock. An exterior door like that should open only with a key. His eyes lifted, checking for security sensors and he saw them on the windows but not on the doors. Asinine mistake and shoddy work. No one would shatter those huge glass plates to breach the apartment, they’d go through the f**king door.

He set this aside to talk to her about later, pushed down the handle and stepped out on the balcony. He pulled the lighter out of his packet of smokes, shook out a cigarette, put it between his lips, cupped his hand around the lighter and fired up.

He slid the lighter back into the packet, set it on the railing, lifted his head and exhaled smoke, scanning her view and wondering what to do next.

One could say he had not handled that with care and they were in this for the long haul. He was sensing she definitely got where he was coming from but something had to give. They couldn’t go on like this. Firstly, he needed to know a lot more about her life and he didn’t want to know. He did, he admitted, but he also didn’t. But he had to keep her safe while this shit was going down and knowing the little he knew about her life, her friends and her schedule, that would be difficult. Secondly, they couldn’t work under this cloud. The air had to be cleared and he didn’t want to do that either.

He looked from the view to her. She was still looking down at her papers but she was holding her right wrist in her left hand and doing it gingerly.

Fuck.

She was in pain and she thought his attention was elsewhere. She didn’t do that when he was lying on the couch, she did it when he was outside. She was hiding it from him. She didn’t want his attention and she didn’t want it with the added reminder of how she hurt her wrist.

He looked back to the view. He should give her that play. He knew he should.

But he wasn’t going to.

He took another drag and prepared to flick the mostly unsmoked cigarette out into the landscaping when he saw movement.

He stilled, only half a moment, then he brought the cigarette to his lips and took another drag. He kept smoking as he pretended to scan the view, lost in thought, when he saw him. Mostly hidden by a bush on the top swell of a hill, a man with a camera snapping photos.

What the f**k?

Excellent positioning, the hill was high, he was looking right into Rocky’s apartment.

Jesus.

Layne finished the cigarette, flicked the butt out into the landscaping and made a decision.

He turned, his eyes going to each side of the windows as he opened the door. She had no blinds.

She was getting blinds.

He entered and her head came up.

“If you’re going to smoke, I have ashtrays. You can take one out with you.”

He didn’t answer and skirted the coffee table.

Her head went back and back as he got closer.

She kept talking, “I have garden furniture ordered from Violet at the Garden Center. It’ll be delivered –”

She stopped speaking when he bent double and put his hands to her pits, dragging her legs out from under the coffee table, he lifted her to her feet.

“Layne! What –?”

“We’re bein’ watched,” he mumbled right before his head came down and his mouth went to hers.

His hands went to her h*ps and he kissed her, long, hard and closed mouthed as she held onto his shoulders. Then he turned her, backing her into the couch, she went down and he went down on top of her.

“Layne,” she whispered, her fingers clutching his shoulders.

“Go with it, sweetcheeks, he has a camera,” Layne muttered against her lips, ignored her body going stiff under his, he slanted his head and kissed her again.

Her lips tasted like wine and he liked that taste. The longer he kissed her, even without tongue, the softer they got, the stiffness went out of her body and it melted into his. Because of that, he did something on instinct and it was something stupid. Stupid and dangerous.

He touched his tongue to her lips.

They opened instantly.

Heat flooded his blood and that blood rushed to his cock.

His tongue slid between her lips and the show was over. This kiss was real. It was real and it was f**king great. She tasted good and she kissed not in the hungry way she kissed when they were together. She kissed like in his dreams, giving, her tongue dancing with his, not dueling, her body relaxed under his, their legs tangling. He gave up her lips to taste her neck as one hand went down and under her shirt then up the soft skin of her back, skin he’d wanted to touch since he saw it last night. His other hand went to the band in her hair, tugged it out and then buried itself in her thick, f**king mane and after he did this, her hands did much the same.

He wanted her mouth again, took it and when he did she arched her back, pressing her tits into his chest, her soft h*ps into his hard ones and she moaned against his tongue.

He growled against hers.

Then he took the kiss further, made it deeper, wetter, harder, demanding more from her and she gave it.

He felt her nails drag his back and he groaned into her mouth, his lips sliding down her jaw and her head turned so her mouth was at his ear.

“God,” she breathed, “I forgot how good you tasted. Tobacco.”

At her words, his hand fisted in her hair and he held her head to kiss her again, his other hand moving in, over her ribcage and up, to cup her breast, his thumb rubbing hard against her tight nipple.

Her body jerked, then arched and she whimpered into his mouth.

Fuck but she was hot.

Too hot.

This was not f**king good.

He tore his mouth from hers, pressed his face into her neck and tried to order his thoughts. This was difficult with her breast in his hand, her body under his and her hand trailing his back.

He rolled to the side, partially off her, his hand leaving her breast to move to her waist and he said against her neck, “Rocky.”

Her hand kept moving for a second then froze.

He gave her a minute, giving the same to himself, and her hand slid out from his shirt to disappear entirely, her bandaged hand moving from his hair to rest lightly on his neck. She turned her head away.

He lifted his up. “You okay?”

She was looking at the coffee table but she nodded.

“Roc,” he called and she waited a few beats then righted her head to look at him.

Lips pink and bruised, cheeks flushed but her eyes were blank. He was lying mostly on top of her but she was hiding from him.

He decided to give her that play.