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Chapter 3: Layla's First Summer

Layla Edwards had been with the Calders for just over a year when she turned twenty-three. The summer heat made every chore feel charged. She'd taken the job last spring after a string of short gigs in LA, looking for steady pay and a place to live. The pay was solid, the hours manageable, and the house quiet and full of light, with marble floors and high ceilings. But it was Daniel who made the place feel alive in a way she hadn't expected.

From the beginning, she noticed him.

It wasn't just his height, standing six-four, or the build that suggested he rowed every morning. His broad shoulders and strong forearms carried a quiet, self-assured strength. The real impression came from his movement through the house, fluid and deliberate, as if he existed in perfect harmony with his surroundings. Passing her in the hallway while she dusted, he would offer a low, "Morning, Layla," both polite and a touch intimate. His deep, rough voice always left a lingering impression.

The first real jolt came that first summer, late June, when the pool became the center of the house's rhythm.

Elena was away for a three-day investor retreat in New York. Daniel stayed behind, working from the home office but taking long breaks to swim laps in the infinity pool overlooking the canyon. Layla was supposed to be cleaning the cabana: wiping down the teak lounge chairs, restocking the outdoor fridge with chilled water and Elena's favorite sparkling rosé, fluffing the striped towels into neat stacks. She bent over the low table, arranging sunscreen bottles, when Daniel emerged from the house in nothing but navy swim trunks.

She froze mid-motion.

The trunks were snug and probably expensive, tailored to suggest they cost more than her rent. They hugged his thighs and the sharp V of his hips, but it was the front that made her stop. The fabric was pulled tight over a transparent, heavy bulge—so obvious it almost seemed indecent, even when he was soft. As he walked toward the pool with a towel over his shoulder, the movement made it shift, the head of him pressing against the fabric in a slow roll that sent a jolt through her.

Layla's mouth went dry. She straightened quickly, knocking a bottle of coconut-scented oil onto the tile with a soft clatter. Daniel paused, glanced over, one dark brow lifting in faint amusement.

"You all right?" he asked, voice low and unrushed.

She nodded, cheeks burning. "Just clumsy today."

He gave her a small, knowing smile—not obvious, but enough to make her thighs tense. Then he turned and dove smoothly into the water. The surface rippled as she watched the strong lines of his back move through the pool, arms moving in steady rhythm, his glutes flexing under the wet fabric with every kick.

She didn't move for a minute after he disappeared under the water again. Her nipples were tight against the thin cotton of her uniform dress, her panties already damp. She told herself it was the heat, the sun, anything but the truth: that single glimpse of his cock's outline had imprinted itself behind her eyelids like a brand.

From then on, she noticed everything.

The way the front of his trousers tented slightly when he stood close while she vacuumed the great room, his body heat radiating through the air between them. The casual adjustment he'd make, a hand sliding down to shift himself when he thought she wasn't looking, the thick ridge briefly more pronounced before disappearing behind his palm. The mornings he'd come back from a run shirtless, sweat glistening on his chest, gym shorts riding low enough that the waistband framed the deep cut of his Adonis belt and the promising swell beneath.

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