Layers(24)

Daniel’s hand strokes my arm while we pretend to watch the movie. It’s too hard to concentrate in this tense proximity. I can feel his warmth, enriched with his intoxicatingly scented breath softly hovering over my face. All I yearn for is his lips to connect with mine. I tilt my head up to level with his stare; he inclines his face, his eyes drop to my lips for a fleeting moment, somewhat hesitant, and come back up to meet mine. At the encounter our eyes immediately lock, and the charge between us rapidly intensifies. He moves his hand to stroke my face, very gently starting from my cheekbone and slowly descending toward my neck. Everything beneath my navel churns with anticipation.

Daniel’s stare dims, full of feral promise, as he keeps on descending his stroking hand toward my cleavage, moving farther south to my breast, all the while his eyes on mine, seeking consent. His touch is getting more intense; I swallow hard; my body responds to him with keenness by arching to press deeper against him.

When his hand reaches my belt, he slides it under my top, gently grazing my skin with his fingers, raising tiny bumps all over. I am melting into his touch. Moving down again, he slides his hand under my belt and lowers it toward my underwear. I hold my breath as his warm touch reaches under the delicate satin fabric; heat waves flush through me from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. Pressing harder against my skin his hand descends, instigating a sweet, sweet pain.

He bends his head toward me and his lips halt at my neck, kissing it with warm, seductive, saturated kisses. He gradually moves his hand back and presses it flat against my waist, turning on his side, lying parallel to me, minimizing the gap between us. I slant my head to look at him, and our breaths blend. His face is lightly flushed, his eyes narrow, dilated pupils deepening his stare.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” I breathe quietly, looking at him under my lashes.

“I don’t kiss if I don’t mean it.” His voice is cold, cutting hard through me.

What do you mean by that? I shrug inside, feeling as though a bucket of ice cold water was just brutally spilled over me, in one stroke killing the build up to this moment.

I look at him with a mixture of astonishment and fury. He acts like he’s all into me and then come these wounding words.

“What do you want from me, Daniel?” I ask, choking, very, very close to standing up and walking away.

“I don’t know,” he says, resting his head back with closed eyes, his face troubled.

“For a very determined man you don’t seem too decisive to me,” I say quietly, frustrated. “Is it anything specific about me?” I ask. “I’d be more than fine with the knowledge that all you want is to f**k me, though you sure have a strange way of showing it,” I continue, as anger takes the better of me.

“No, it’s not you.” He frowns at me and continues. “The thing is that I’m accustomed to something completely different.” I look at him absolutely puzzled, waiting for some sort of blessed elaboration to come, as I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about. “I haven’t dated anyone for a very long time now,” he says.

“Is it by choice? Were you abstaining?” I ask, still perplexed. It doesn’t seem like he would have a hard time finding dates.

“Oh no, I don’t. On the contrary. I see only professionals.”

I gawk at him in complete dismay, trying hard to make sense of what he just said. The hell?

“Call girls, Hayley. Very expensive ones, who never misinterpret ‘no strings attached’, and no, I don’t kiss them,” he retorts.

I’m not a call girl, so why won’t you kiss me? This is getting too hurtful; I’m getting more genuinely upset with every passing moment. There is a rapidly expending lump forming at the bottom of my throat. I thought I would be immune to him just like I was with all of his predecessors, but I’m not. Who am I kidding? I am so far from that. In the very short time we’ve known each other he’s managed to get under my skin, which allows him to hurt me like he just did.

I inch myself upright, and he studies me attentively, waiting for me to make a move or speak.

“I can’t do this, Daniel,” I murmur under my breath, grabbing my jacket. “I thought I could, but it seems I can’t.”

“Don’t, Hayley. Come back and lie next to me,” he says, his tone low and frustrated. He extends a hand toward me, but in mid-reach retrieves it to rest it on his thigh.

“And do what, Daniel? Fuck again and end up feeling empty and hurt by your reaction? You’ll just send all these mixed messages and play with my brain. No thank you, I’ll pass.” My eyes direct fire his way.

He looks at me like he’s irritated or a tad dismayed, biting the side of his thumb.

“I am not a call girl; I am not here to entertain you as you please.”

“I never said you were one, Hayley.” His voice becomes cold and hoarse.

“No Daniel, you didn’t, but you just made me feel like one.” I snort. “I don’t kiss if I don’t mean it,” jumps to my mind again, burning deep inside. I stand up and take a deep breath. “I’m leaving now.” Against my will, my words come out weak.

“Don’t, Hayley,” he says, and tries to take my hand.

“Sorry, this is too much for me.” I hold my hands up. “I seriously thought I could handle it, could handle you, but I can’t.” He appears to be highly effected but at this point I really don’t care how he feels or what he thinks.