The reason she was still a virgin was because no one had ever come close to Alberto, in her eyes. She’d had a few dates, but they’d gone nowhere. Maybe she was just that dull, old-fashioned thing, a one-man woman. She’d felt the same way about friendship. It had to be the real deal or she didn’t want to know.
Precious had been the real deal. Now she was gone.
‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ she said. ‘And by the time I could have told you, well… it was too late.’
Alberto turned towards her, propping himself up on one elbow, running a hand down over her face, brushing back her loose dark hair. His eyes met hers.
‘I’m so sorry about your friend,’ he said. ‘From what I saw of her, she seemed a very special person.’
‘Yes. She was.’ Layla’s eyes filled with tears again and he pulled her close, held her.
‘Shh,’ he murmured against her hair and she sobbed helplessly, the grief overflowing again in an unstoppable tide.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, kissing her brow. ‘The bastard who did it – we’re going to get him. OK?’ He pushed her head back, looked at her tear-drenched face. ‘Layla. You believe me?’
Layla gulped, wiped at her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I believe you.’
If anyone could catch that bastard, it was Alberto – and her dad.
Layla stiffened.
Oh God. Dad.
What would he make of this?
No. She couldn’t think about that yet. Her mind baulked at the very idea of explaining this to him. She gazed at Alberto. Couldn’t believe he was here, like this, with her. But he was.
‘I love you,’ she said, linking her arms around his neck. ‘Kiss me.’
Alberto kissed her, long and hard and slow. His hand dipped lower, cupping her breast, his thumb rubbing slowly, maddeningly, over the nipple, teasing it into hardness. Layla groaned.
‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked, his hand dipping lower, lower, until she gasped.
‘No. A bit.’ It had hurt, but she had been tense, expecting it to. It wasn’t his fault. And as he had just pointed out, she hadn’t told him she was a virgin, and she should have.
‘It’ll be better this time,’ he said. ‘Lie back…’
He was caressing her gently, firmly, until she was liquid with longing, gasping with need. Then he mounted her again and she felt him, amazingly hard but silken, pushing into her easily this time, filling her. She clung to him, ecstatic. Nothing had ever felt so right.
‘Jesus,’ he moaned against her neck, thrusting desperately. His eyes met hers and he kissed her, their tongues playing. ‘Jesus, Layla…’ he gasped against her mouth.
‘I love you,’ she panted. ‘Alberto, I love you so much.’