Chapter 97

"I’m more tart than sweet," Layla warned him.

"Sugar cloys," Lucas husked, and he wondered if that was the very basic truth that explained his reaction to her. She was independent and outspoken, and he had never met anyone quite like her before.

He stroked a finger across the pulse flickering madly at her collarbone and her breath tripped in her throat. "You keep touching me..."

His eyes glowed with potent gold. I can’t keep my hands off of you. Is it a problem?’

Layla’s lashes screened her eyes. She wasn’t used to being touched, and he did it with such ease and spontaneity. Her mother had been physically demonstrative when she had been sober, and their brief time at the commune in Wales had been almost happy. But, after her mother’s death, her uncle’s family had been much more reserved, and Layla had received little physical affection from them. She said in a low voice, thinking she had better watch herself with him because somehow he was getting under her skin in a way she had not f