by Eden Summers
I glance away, unsettled by his insight.
“It’s okay.” He kisses my knuckles again. “I’ll fix that for you. It won’t take long and you’ll realize the power you have over me with your body alone. I’d start a war for you.”
The blush creeps down my neck, heating my breasts.
A war is what it would take for my brother to let me be with an outsider.
“Tell me the problems with your family,” he adds. “Maybe I can fix that, too.”
“You are the problem… Well, the assumption you’re responsible for the bruising on my face, anyway. They think I’m shacking up with an abuser.”
His face falls. “Why would they think that?”
“My past preferences, for a start.”
“With one of the Costas? Did Remy or Salvatore hit you?”
I want to correct him. To set him straight once and for all and confirm that I had no sexual relationship with my enemies. But I can’t expose that much of myself.
“It’s a long story,” I hedge. “Suffice to say I didn’t appreciate their judgment, and they didn’t welcome my anger. So when I delivered Stella to the airport, I caught the first flight to the only place I wanted to be.”
“It’ll blow over.” He tugs me back into his chest, pressing his lips to my forehead, holding me close for long, silent moments. “I’m sure they’ll be crawling back before you know it.”
“Apologies aren’t their strong suit.” They can’t even accept ones they’re offered. “But you’re right. It will blow over.” Eventually.
I place my palms on his waist, running my fingers over his smooth skin. The quiet stretches, yet the emptiness is filled with comfort.
I lean into the ease of simply being with him. I breathe him in and close my eyes to enjoy his warmth. It isn’t until a yawn takes over that his arms slowly fall to his sides.
“Do you want me to arrange a driver?” he murmurs into my hair. “I won’t hold it against you if you leave.”
The struggle of right against wrong and should against shouldn’t whispers in my ears. But what I want is this. More moments like here and now. More me and him in our own little world, even if it’s temporary.
I forced myself to stop feeling guilty about my life with Benji. Why can’t I stop questioning every forward step with Matthew, too? Just for a little while. Only until he grows tired of my anonymity and starts searching for more. Then I could leave.
Why not dive deep until then?
“Lay?” His lips press to my temple. “Are you staying or going?”
I suck in a deep breath, hearing Cole’s warnings in my head, battling against a life where I’ve been force-fed the line that I shouldn’t get close to strangers.
I wrap my arms around him, sinking in to what feels right. What feels whole. “I’d like to stay.”
20
Layla
“You sure?” The devil enters his voice. “You’ll get more sleep at a hotel.”
I graze my nails along his flesh, awakening goose bumps. “Sleep can be overrated.”
He palms my chin. “It definitely will be tonight.” He kisses me, soft and sweet and slow. Then incrementally, the connection changes. Soft builds into firm. Sweet shifts to wicked. Slow transforms to rabid.
We’re back to being all hands and lips and gasps, and it feels like my decision to stay is paving a brighter future, not inching toward impending doom.
We’re together all night, our bodies either entwined in passion, or collapsed in exhaustion. And in each moment, he treasures me. With his words. His touch. His gaze.
I can’t take one breath without it catching in my chest, the air latching onto feelings that morph and build beyond my control.
When morning comes, I wake to his lips on my shoulder, his whispered words greeting me to a new day. But I drift back to sleep, cocooned in bliss between his sheets.
I don’t know what time it is when I finally wake, the subtle noise in the living area keeping me conscious this time. I left my cell silenced in the kitchen knowing Cole would blow up my inbox as soon as he realized I fled Portland, and there’s no bedside clock in this room.
Matthew is no longer beside me. I can’t see him or smell his intoxicating aftershave. The only thing kissing the air is the faint hint of coffee, which is enough to drag me to my feet.
I contemplate walking out to him in my birthday suit, hips swaying, seductive smile in place. But I’m not that woman yet. After the obsessive adoration paid to my body last night, I’m a few steps closer to sexual confidence. I can sense it within reach—I’m just not quite there.
I grab the black robe strewn on the floor and cover myself as I pad from the room, already eager to place my mouth on Matthew’s.
Too bad Matthew isn’t the one sitting at the dining table. It’s Bishop’s scowling blue gaze that peers over the cell in his hands to look me up and down.
“Morning,” he mutters.
“Morning.” I cinch the gaping lapels higher around my chest as I glance over the open living area, searching for my life preserver.
“He’s not here.” Bishop slaps his cell on the table. “He had to go to the coast for business and didn’t want to wake you.”
“And he asked you to stay with me?”
“Apparently, I’m here to make up for my bad first impression by offering my services. I don’t think he anticipated you sleeping away my entire day, though.”
I focus on the microwave in the kitchen, squinting at the tiny numbers.
“It’s almost twelve.” There’s a bitter growl to his tone. “And I’ve got more than your shit to take care of, so I’m going to need to know the name of your hotel.”
My gaze snaps back to his. “Why?”
“To retrieve your things. You’re staying here from now on, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper, raking a hand through my tangled hair. How the hell did I sleep until noon? “But you don’t need to get my things.” The contents of my suitcase are strewn across my suite—lingerie, toiletries. There’s also a whole heap of cash in the safe. “Could you give me a ride instead?”
He holds my gaze, those severe eyes doing absolutely nothing to retract his first impression. “As long as you’re not going to take up the other half of my day. Like I said, I’ve got shit to do.” He pushes from his chair with a jerk of his chin toward a garment bag on the end of the table. “He said that was for you.”
“My clothes.” Thank God.
“Can you be ready in ten?” He stalks for the kitchen, entirely intimidating with his bulky frame beneath his suit. “I’ll make you a coffee while I wait.”
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” I hustle for the table to grab the garment bag, then rush for Matthew’s bedroom to get changed.
I pull on my now clean underwear, then shimmy into the dress, ignoring how I’m about to do the walk of shame into a five-star hotel, with a bruised face and tangled hair. Not to mention all the fresh marks now clinging to my body from Matthew’s rough kisses and enticing, ruthless hold.
When I walk back into the kitchen, my heels clapping on the clean tiles, Bishop greets me with a huff and a travel mug in his outstretched hand.
“Ready?” He starts for the door before I answer.
“Let me get my phone.” I hustle to snatch my cell from the counter and follow him, taking a sip of steamy heaven once I step over the threshold to the elevator.
The preview on the locked screen triggers my guilt—eight messages and five missed calls.
Cole will be responsible for most.
“Something wrong?” Bishop leans against the back wall, his legs crossed at the ankles.
“No. I’m fine.” I unlock the screen and open the messages, skimming over the mass of capital letters and exclamation points from my brother without reading them, and focus on the text from Matthew.
Morning, amore mio. I had an important meeting I couldn’t postpone. But I’ve changed my plans to be home in time to take you to dinner. Be ready b
y 7. Don’t miss me too much. I’ll make up for my absence when I return.
I grin, juggling the coffee in one hand with my cell in the other as I reply—Afternoon. I don’t think Bishop appreciated me sleeping in. What should I wear tonight?
I lock the screen, ignoring the messages from my brother, and jostle when the elevator reaches the parking lot.
“You going to tell me the hotel?” Bishop strides into the cement jungle filled with six-figure cars, maintaining his glower of annoyance.
“Avarden Towers.”
He shoves a hand into his pocket and the indicators of a nearby Lincoln Navigator flash to life. “Get in.”
I bite my tongue against the deliberate dictatorship and climb into the passenger seat, biding my time until I can get my belongings and place distance between us. The ride is silent—nothing but city traffic and the barely heard hum of the radio.
It isn’t until we’re at the hotel and he follows me into my suite that his look of disdain gets to me.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” I grab my scattered underwear from the bed and place them in my suitcase, the silence stretching the air thin. “No comment?” I shoot him a look.
“Of course I like you,” he drawls, heavy with sarcasm. “I love complications. They make my life more colorful.”
“I have no intention of being a complication.”
“Right… And what about your plans with the Costas?”
I pause, my hands filled with lingerie, my paranoia finally waking after the night of bliss. “I’m not here because of that. I don’t want my time with Matthew to have anything to do with them.”
He scoffs. “Does he know that?”
The superior undertones in his voice bug me. “Yes, he does.”
“Then you’re already well aware he won’t stand to be left out of any plans you have. There’s no way you can keep him in the dark.”
Watch me.
I clamp my mouth shut, keeping my thoughts to myself.
“Look, Layla. I don’t know you. But the fact you’re in the same circles as the Costas is a sign you’re bad news. I don’t need more proof than that.”
“You don’t think that’s hypocritical?” I storm for the bathroom and make quick work of snatching my makeup and toothbrush to shove into my toiletry bag.
“Regardless of if it is or isn’t,” he calls from the other room, “I think you know you’re trouble. And Matthew’s worked too hard to distance himself from that shit, changing every part of his life to keep his nose clean, to have you drag him back in.”
His words hit home, squeezing at the parts of me already filled with remorse over the tryst I can’t walk away from.
I hang my head and grip the counter, hating that he’s right. Hating how he can sense the pandemonium that shadows me like a vengeful ghost. Hating even more that Matthew has slain unknown demons to correct his life and I’m threatening to revive them.
But I promised myself I’d lean into happiness despite the obstacles. That I’d take what I could while I could, until the first glimpses of drama surfaced. And this self-righteous asshole won’t talk me out of it.
“I thought you were meant to be making up for a bad first impression.” I clutch my toiletry bag under my elbow and force a smile as I saunter back into the main room.
“Yeah…” He shrugs. “Doesn’t really seem like my thing, does it?”
I laugh. “I actually think you nailed your first impression. In hindsight you were authentic. You came across as a bully, and it’s now clear that’s exactly what you are.”
“I’m no bully, sweetheart. I’m a loyal friend. There’s a difference.”
I continue to the bed, shove my toiletry bag into the suitcase, and swing around to face him, his attitude scraping against the nerves already made raw by my brother. “I’m here in D.C. for no other reason than to spend time with Matthew. What I do in Denver is my business. I don’t want his help. Or yours, for that matter.”
“You were never getting mine.”
I fight a wince at how easily he loathes me without even knowing me. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
“You’re welcome.” He drops his arms to his sides and pushes from the cabinet to stand tall. “You ready to leave?”
“I need to get a few things from the safe. Can you give me a minute?”
He gifts me with another appraising look, still finding me lacking. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
I follow a few minutes behind, catching up to him in the parking lot.
We don’t speak again. Not on the short drive back to Matthew’s penthouse building. Not even when we ride the elevator. He keeps quiet, swinging open the penthouse door and holding it wide for me to proceed, then slamming it closed with him on the other side.
“Great,” I mutter.
Without a key, I’m effectively caged in. Again. But I’m not going to go chasing Bishop about it.
I busy myself for the rest of the afternoon by getting changed, then familiarizing myself with the many rooms in Matthew’s home. I open every door, careful not to snoop, but eager to learn more about him.
I admire the expensive artwork decorating the walls and the books on the shelves. I use the jacuzzi in his main bathroom and research his clubs online. I drink coffee on the balcony and text Stella to send her my love. And all the while, I fight against rerunning my conversation with Bishop this morning on a continuous loop.
Even here, away from my family and the mistakes of my past, I’m still the bad guy.
Bishop knows it.
I know it.
But as soon as Matthew returns that night, his grin subtle despite the unfiltered appreciation in his eyes, all my worries fade.
“Fuck, I missed you.” He drags me into his chest, his mouth roughly claiming mine. “You look stunning.”
I feel stunning.
I’m wearing white tailored pants and a mauve halter-neck top, yet he makes it seem like I’m dressed for a red-carpet event instead of dinner.
“I need to freshen up.” He speaks against my lips between hungry kisses and scrapes of teeth. “Help me get undressed?”
I smile, my eyes closed, my heart in heaven.
He didn’t just need help undressing. He wanted assistance bathing, too. He dragged me into the shower with him, his focus on learning more of my body instead of freshening up his own.
But this time it didn’t feel like sex.
It was something different. Something that started off voracious and passionate, then petered into a slower connection that was far more intense. He lavished me in slow kisses, one hand cradling my chin, the other between my thighs. He murmured his dreamy Italian promises between strokes of tongue and grinds of hips.
He made love to me, and it made me realize I’d been a virgin to the experience up until this point.
By the time I dried, dressed, then redid my makeup, it was after eight.
He held my hand as we walked into the rooftop restaurant, letting everyone know I was his and he was mine. The waitstaff greeted him by name, with smiles and enthusiasm, before escorting us to a table in the corner with an unfettered view of the Washington Monument alight in the clear night sky. And the whole time, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
“Is that happiness ebbing from you, amore mio?” He eyes me with contentment across the table. “You seem in good spirits.”
I sip my wine, willing my rampant heartbeat under control. “I am, despite being locked in your penthouse all day.”
He frowns. “Why? Didn’t Bishop tell you about the spare key?”
To hell with Bishop.
“No.” I return my gaze out the window. “That must have slipped his mind.”
That asshole deliberately kept me caged. He wanted to have the last word, and it came in the form of my isolation.
I continue to feel Matthew’s stare from my periphery, the slight gleam of white announcing a building grin.
“What?” I ask. “Do you like knowing I
was trapped in your penthouse like a damsel in distress?”
“No, but I’m beginning to understand why you were so excited to see me when I returned home.” The grin lessens, the subtle lift falling flat. “Bishop told me the two of you had an intense conversation this afternoon.”
“Intense is one word for it.”
His brows knit with curiosity. “How would you describe it?”
An ambush.
An assault.
I shrug. “I guess intense is accurate enough. I’m surprised he told you, though.”
“It’s the bonus that comes from working with someone who always thinks they’re right. They never have anything to hide.” He relaxes into his chair. “But just to be clear, I didn’t appreciate what he said.”
I take another sip of wine, biting back how much I didn’t appreciate it either.
“Why didn’t you call me to tell me what he’d done?” he asks. “Or tell me once I got home?”
“For the exact reason I argued with him in the first place. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“Bishop being a prick isn’t you causing trouble.”
I hold his gaze, wanting him to understand my sincerity as I say, “He’s one of the few people you have in your life, so even if he’s an absolute asshole—which he most definitely is—” I smirk. “—I’m not going to bring that up with you. I can understand him being protective.”
Matthew raises a brow and inclines his head, his mouth set in an understated smile as he falls silent.
It’s unnerving. The way he admires me with quiet fascination. It’s energizing, too.
“What?” My cheeks heat the longer he looks at me.
“I’m just adding more attributes to the list of what I find entirely endearing about you.” His voice is a murmur of underlying seduction. “Along with picturing how many times, and in what positions, I can have you once we finish dinner.”
My cheeks flame hotter, the inferno creeping down my neck.
I’ve been picturing that, too.
I can’t stop.
His touch haunts my skin, the possessive grip of desire keeping me chained to memory. Problem is, it’s also distracting me from the other important motivation for flying across the country.
