Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (i am reading a book TXT) 📗

Afraid to be played again by Morgan, I tiptoe to the door and peek out though the keyhole.

When I see Laia’s long black tresses dancing around her elbow—the only part of her body I’m able to peek at—my heart stutters.

I yank the door open.

“Laia!” From the over-zealous accent I didn’t intend to have, I know it’ll be a fierce battle to play down my actual feelings for her today.

Sooner or later I’ll have to confess to her that I don’t only like her.

Laia’s eyes dart to my chest, then her eyes scan the room behind me. “Are you alone?”

“Yes, of course,” I reply cheerfully. “I’m just getting ready for breakfast.”

“Well, start with putting on a shirt, will you?” she answers in a very efficient, assistant-like manner.

“Don’t like what you see?” I wink playfully but shove my head through the blue polo’s neck. After I’m done putting it on, I blink at Laia.

Her expression is perplexed, as if my previous comment bothered her.

Oh no, I hope she didn’t think I was trying to tempt her about her resolution…

“I’m sorry, Laia, I was just joking with you. I’m in too much of a good mood after yesterday night, you know.”

“I can imagine,” she murmurs, but her glance, despite being directed at my face, seems to travel through me instead of actually seeing me.

Why is she acting like a robot around me?

“What happened to you?” I ask, not even trying to hide the concern in my voice. “Where did you leave the giddy young woman I kissed good-night?”

My phrase seems to break through the spell, because her features reanimate.

“May I come in?” she says.

“Of course,” I respond, feeling like an idiot for not inviting her in.

As Laia walks inside, I notice she has her carry-on with her. The grey suitcase had been hidden from my view by the jamb.

“Why do you have your stuff with you?”

Laia rolls her luggage to the brown table beside the fridge, then turns to face me. “Because I came to tell you good-bye.”

“What?” My brows reach my hairline.

“I said, I came to greet you in a farewell kind of way. I’m taking the bus back to Phoenix,” she announces in a calm but emotionless voice.

Her eyes are fixed on my chest.

I launch forward and grab her shoulders. I hold her firmly until she’s forced to peer up at me.

“What’s this all about, Laia? Why are you acting like last evening didn’t happen? And why do you want to leave?”

Laia stares at me, the yellow dots in her irises shimmering like small fireballs. “Devon, I’m sorry, but this—whatever it is you think we have between us—isn’t going to work.”

My heart drops.

“Why would you say that?”

Laia sucks in a breath. “Let me answer your question with another question. Were you alone last night?”

“Yes, of course.”

Laia’s eyes flutter shut, and she shakes her head. “At least you could have the decency to tell it straight to my face.”

“Tell what?” I snap at her, irritation bubbling up in my chest from her unreasonable behavior. But just as the words leave my lips, a suspicion awakens in me.

“You know about Morgan? How?”

Laia opens her eyes and they glimmer with a deep sadness. “It doesn’t matter. But I know you invited her over after you took me to my room. And to think, I fell for your I-don’t-care-about-my-ex act…”

The disappointment in her words slaps me so hard I forget to protest her conclusion’s erroneousness.

Laia takes my silence as a sign of admitting my guilt because she nods. “I should have known better. But I wanted to believe you could change. That you could leave your past behind. You know why, Devon? Because I don’t only like you—I’m in love with you.”

“You’re in love with me?” I jerk back, unable to process the full meaning of her words. But after a second, a euphoric grin spreads on my face. “That’s wonderful news, Laia because I—”

Before I can finish, Laia’s palms whack me hard on my chest. “I’m not interested in hearing another lie or sweet-talking from you. What is it with you, anyway? Do you have a craving for getting what you can’t have? Is that why you tried your charms on me?”

“No, Laia! I truly meant what I said last night—”

Laia’s eyes narrow, and she squeaks, “I don’t believe you.”

“But I do,” I insist.

“Liar!” Laia is almost screaming now. Her body angles away from me with a rigid posture. “Stop playing with me!”

Desperation and irritation are splintering my heart in equal measures.

Dang it! This is not how I envisioned admitting to her what I feel.

A frenzied wish to make Laia see the myriad of profound things I harbor for her overhauls me. I need to make her see how wrong she is about my feelings. But how can I do that if she won’t listen?

Laia exhales loudly and bites on her lower lip.

With her gesture, I have my answer.

I reach out and cup her face. “You don’t believe me? Then at least believe this.”

I haul her closer with a brisk movement and press my mouth on hers with an urgent moan.

She tries to resist at first. Her hands flex against my shoulders, pushing me to back off, but her fingers don’t have real power.

Almost as if only half of her heart is in her refusal.

This gives me hope that the other half wants exactly what I want.

I steel my hold on her jawline, paying attention not to grip her delicate bones too forcefully.

My lips launch into a demonstration of my devotion to her, which she stubbornly refuses to acknowledge.

After a few seconds, her resistance softens, and then it ceases entirely. Her arms fall to her side, and her lips open up for me. I slide my hands to her nape and squeeze her closer to my chest.

The bright sunlight filtering through the window disappears, and so does the humming of the room’s AC. There’s nothing else but Laia’s hot breath, soft skin, and my pulse that slams in her heartbeats’ rhythm.

We’re lost in a hungry exchange of breaths, but all too