Page 164 of Beyond the Temptation: Vol 2

Between the flirty banter, shared laughter, and glances exchanged between us, time slips away. When they announce last call, I’m nowhere near ready for my time with Leila to be over. Judging by the expression on her face, I’m not the only one feeling that way.

Leila remains seated while I close my tab and say goodnight to Zane and Gabriel. She doesn’t move an inch until I turn to her and offer my hand. Taking it without hesitation, she slips off the bar stool to her feet. Her gaze drifts down to the floor and back up to my face. Then, she laughs.

“Good lord. I have to break my neck just to look you in the eye.”

She’s not wrong.

I stand tall at six feet, three inches and she’s a tiny little thing. She’s gotta be at least a foot shorter than me.

“Come on, snack size,” I tease, earning another laugh from her, and a playful slap to the chest.

I look down at her and smile. It feels good, having her this close.

Too bad we have to leave.

Not wanting to put any distance between us, I place my hand on her lower back and guide her toward the exit.

“I can’t believe it’s already two in the morning,” she says, walking out the door I’m holding open for her. “I didn’t plan to be out this late, but I’m also not ready for the night to end.”

I follow her out, stopping beside her on the sidewalk.

This is it.

If I’m gonna make a move, it’s now or never.

“It doesn’t have to,” I say gently, looking down to gauge her response.

“You’re not sick of me yet?” she asks softly.

I pin her with a serious look. “If that’s the impression I’ve given you, then I’m doing something seriously fucking wrong.”

Leila smiles. “Let’s get outta here.”

My lips curve. “Your place or mine?”

CHAPTER THREE

LEILA

“Nice place,” I say as Deacon leads me into his apartment and flips on the light.

I glance around his living room, taking in the details that paint a picture of his life. It’s a comfortable space, a blend of lived-in charm and eclectic taste. The walls are filled with an array of artwork, each piece telling a story of its own. A mix of vibrant paintings and colorful drawings that seem to reflect his interests and experiences.

“Are these all yours?”

“They are,” he says, but he doesn’t follow me into the room.

He seems content to let me look around, so I shift my gaze to the furniture, raising an eyebrow when I notice the collection of throw pillows on the mismatched ensemble.

Deacon chuckles. “I like to be comfortable.”

I don’t say a word, smiling to myself.

No two pieces of furniture look like they come from the same collection, but it only adds more personality to the space.

The coffee table in the center of the room is not only the focal point, but probably says the most about him. Stacks of books, open sketch pads, and a scattering of art supplies in organized chaos cover the surface, clearly showcasing Deacon’s artistic side.

“You want something to drink?” he asks as my attention drifts to the shelves lining the walls. Each holds a collection of books, trinkets, and other memorabilia. Simple things that might seem insignificant to most but tell a lot about him as a person.

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