Читать книгу Touch Me Now - Donna Hill - Страница 7

Prologue

It was late afternoon. The lunch crowd, what there had been of it, was gone. Business was slow, slower than usual for this time of year. Everyone was hurting, it seemed. She’d been let go from the paper months earlier, but had been lucky enough to pick up a few extra hours at Jack and Jill’s the local lounge and jazz spot in the West Village, and she had begun to build a pretty solid list of clients from her massage business thanks to Brent.

Thoughts of Brent brought a smile to her face and a rush of sensual excitement through her veins. There were times when she still wondered how she’d gotten so lucky. Brent had women running after him like a buy-two-get-one-free sale at Macy’s. But she was the one that he wanted. He’d proved it to her time and again and there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t tell her that he loved her or did something to show her.

She wiped down the tables and glanced with a sense of awe at the dazzling diamond on the third finger of her left hand. In six months she would join the ranks of her girls Melanie and Desiree and become a married woman. She’d picked out her dress. Simple and elegant Desiree had said. It was going to be a small, intimate wedding, only their really close friends and immediate family. Melanie offered her place at Sag Harbor for the wedding and reception. Layla couldn’t wait to be Mrs. Brent Davis.

“Daydreaming again?” Mona asked, sidling up next to her. Mona Clarke ran Jack and Jill’s and in the six months that Layla worked there, they’d become more than employer/employee, they’d become friends. Mona completely understood that Layla’s job at the lounge was only temporary and that her real love was the art of massage, the power to heal through touch.

Layla turned and a shy smile teased her full lip-glossed mouth. “That bad?”

“Yes, very,” Mona said, with her fist on her hip. “Hey, I got this.” She took the cloth from Layla’s hand. “It’s slow as maple syrup in here today. Why don’t you go on home to your man, see what he can do about that cheery disposition of yours,” she teased.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, go ahead. Unless you really need the tips you’re not going to make today. Go, go, practice some of your massage techniques on that fine specimen.”

Layla wiggled her brows. “Hmm, maybe I will.” She gave Mona a quick kiss on the cheek. “I owe you,” she called out as she hurried to the back to get her purse.

“See you on the weekend.”

Layla stopped at the local market on her way home and picked up some fresh vegetables and seasonings for a stir fry meal and a bottle of Brent’s favorite wine. She still had a few hours to prepare everything before Brent got off work. She wanted things to be extra special. In fact she planned to take Mona up on her suggestion and try out a new massage technique on him that she’d been mastering and maybe that new Victoria’s Secret lingerie that she’d splurged on. A wicked thought tickled her belly.

With her purchases in hand she strolled the four blocks to her apartment, intermittently stopping to check out the window displays at boutiques and artisanal shops along the way.

She climbed the stairs to her walk-up and came to a dead stop at the front door, momentarily alarmed by the sound of movement inside until she heard Brent’s voice. She let go of a breath of relief. Calling 911 would have really screwed up her afternoon. Brent home early. The surprise was on her.

Layla turned her key in the door all ready to leap into Brent’s arms but came to a grinding halt when she saw Brent and two suitcases in the middle of the floor.

He slowly turned to her with his cell phone still at his ear. There was a look in his hazel eyes that defied explanation. She’d never seen it before or since—her own terror, disbelief and pain reflected in someone else’s eyes.

All he said was that he was sorry. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t love her. He never wanted to hurt her. He was leaving.

She was certain she’d screamed, threw things, demanded answers, maybe she even begged him not to leave. Who knows? None of it changed anything, anyway. He was gone.

What was she going to do now with the pieces of her heart scattered all over her hardwood floors and her soul on the other side of the door walking into a life without her?