by Eden Summers
I’m not sure what to say. I can’t tell him I was brought up in a family who doesn’t believe in trust. Or relay the justifiable reasons for them being that way. He’d never understand and I wouldn’t want him to.
“You don’t have to explain.” He leads me toward the hangar, the wind growing more fierce the closer we get to the corner of the building.
Once we reach the edge, elation takes hold, sending blood rushing through my veins.
A sleek black metal bird sits yards away, the glossy paint gleaming in the sunlight. It’s beautiful. All polished curves and extravagant masculinity with the pilot under the propellers, standing in wait.
I’m breathless.
Speechless.
“It’s not too late to change your mind.” Matthew tightens his arm around me.
“I won’t. I want this more than anything.”
I do.
I want the new memories with him.
I want a new life.
He leans in, kissing my temple like he has so many times before. “Then let’s do this.”
He holds me close as we approach the helicopter, and exchanges shouted greetings with the pilot. Matthew guides me inside, the back cabin lusciously appointed with leather seats and pristine carpet. He encourages me to take the far window seat before he climbs in after me to hand over a headset from a hook on the wall adjoining the cockpit, guiding the restrictive weight over my loose hair to settle against my ears.
The deafening sound gentles but the rush in my veins doesn’t slow. Matthew leans against me, his arm tight around my waist as I stare out the window, preparing for my fascination to increase. I’m rabid with rapture, my limbs thrumming, my pulse a giddy staccato.
My heart flutters with excitement while Bishop and the pilot settle into the cockpit. They talk, their mouths moving without the words filtering through the headphones.
“We can hear each other. They can’t hear us.” Matthew’s voice glides into my ears. “It shouldn’t take long for us to be off the ground.”
He’s right. Within moments, the gleaming monstrosity is wobbling off the tarmac, hovering for a second before it glides forward, taking my breath with it.
I’m not new to luxury travel. My family have been boarding jets without a thought to cost or environmental damage since I was a toddler. But this is a first for me.
I’ve never traveled with a man’s arms wrapped possessively around me, the potent devotion sending my head into the clouds.
Lightness overwhelms me the farther we ascend. Buildings become tiny blocks. Cars turn into ants gliding along black curving trails that stretch as far as the eye can see. A cluster of suburban homes transform into an ocean of green trees and sun-burned fields, all while Matthew guides me to rest against his chest, the side of my head nestling into his neck.
I’m Cinderella. Once, I was dirty and corrupted by my family’s choices. Now, I’m swept off my feet by a devilish prince who only seeks to earn more of my trust.
“Stella would love this.” I picture the surprise in her beautiful eyes. Her smile. The awe. “She’ll be entirely jealous.”
“We can bring her along whenever you like.” His hand splays on my hip, no hint of hesitation in his actions or words.
My child doesn’t daunt him. Not like she did Benji.
I know it’s different. One was a paternal parent conscripted into fatherhood. The other is an outsider who can easily walk away. But Matthew has no fear. No doubt.
He’s all in on this insane fairy tale, eager and enthusiastic to keep me from the darkness I’m meant to return to.
“You’re such a good guy.” I keep my attention on the patchwork fields. The tiny puffs of trees.
His mouth brushes just below the base of my neck, planting the softest, sweetest kiss. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was thinking.”
My chest blazes with heat, the naked skin on my back prickling with goose bumps.
That’s all it takes. A few words. A strategically placed glide of lips.
I fight against the need to glance over my shoulder to see the expression that matches the wicked words, but I visualize it in my mind, all sinful and sly.
His touch teases my shoulder, his fingers straying to the thin spaghetti strap. “Have I told you how gorgeous you are in this dress?”
“You don’t need to,” I whisper. “I always feel beautiful when you look at me.”
A rumble in his throat is his only response as his mouth continues to lead me astray, the sweet kisses turning into erotic flicks of tongue and rugged scrapes of teeth.
I bite my lip against the tingles in my breasts, the hitch of my pulse. I succumb to the need to see him and turn, my gaze finding his, his mischievous grin sending the flames inside me far lower.
I stare for several punctuated heartbeats, each thump an exclamation of need.
He’s such a phenomenally handsome man. Sensuous eyes dark as night. A jawline chiseled from stone and covered in masculine stubble. Then the smoothest lips a woman would sell her soul to kiss.
God, do I want to kiss them.
But not now. Not when a taste of him will make me want to devour.
“You’re missing the view.” His arm around my waist descends, his hand on my hip falling to the top of my thigh.
I look back to the window, attempting to break the trance, and freeze when his fingers slowly hitch the material of my sundress, creeping higher and higher.
“Matthew…” His name is a barely heard entreaty.
“Mmm?” He keeps hitching, not stopping until the hem is raised to my crotch, the gentle breeze of filtered air sweeping against my panties. He nudges closer to me, his body turning into mine, shielding me. “Keep admiring the view, amore mio, and I’ll keep doing the same with mine.”
I shudder, unable to control my body’s reaction, helpless against the moisture dampening my sex.
“Let me play.” His fingers skim the waistband of my underwear, his entire hand sneaking beneath to cover my mound.
“Matthew.” This time it’s a plea. A gasped warning.
I shoot a frantic glance toward the cockpit. One glimpse over Bishop’s shoulder and he’d see. Everything.
“He won’t look,” the devil taunts through my headphones. “It’s just the two of us.”
His touch slides lower, grazing my clit, parting my folds.
Nerves tingle. Limbs throb.
An inner voice is aghast at what I’m doing. How tawdry I’ve become. Yet, my blood boils for more. My pulse thunders to an erotic rhythm.
“We can’t do this here.” I grasp his wrist, the hold lackluster at best.
“Why not? We did it in a hotel bathtub with a stranger present. This time nobody is watching.” A finger teases my entrance, the digit effortlessly sliding through my slickness. “I’m the only one to admire your beauty. It seems like such a waste.”
“Bishop is right there.” I shake my head accidentally bumping our headphones. “Do you like being watched?”
“I like you being watched. Being wanted.” He leans tighter against my side, his fingers plunging deep.
I hold in a gasp, the air tightening my lungs.
“I enjoy the look men get when they see you,” he murmurs against my neck, slaying me. “When they admire how fucking gorgeous you are. How perfect. How compliant.”
I wish I could argue otherwise. That I’m not quick to obey or easily malleable. But in his arms, I’m all those things and more.
A puppet.
A servant.
A slave.
He curls his digits inside me, his entire body pressed to mine, his other hand sliding into my panties to find my clit. “Fuck my fingers, amore mio.”
I’m helpless to deny him.
I want to do this. For him. For me. For happiness that is usually stretched thin and far between.
I close my eyes, grinding into his touch, becoming one with pleasure.
I can’t breathe.
There’s too mu
ch… everything.
Bliss. Lust. Lies.
I want him to strip me bare. Not merely of clothes and underwear, but of secrecy and deception. I want him to know me. The real me. The person my family don’t see. The woman my husband never noticed.
“I’m so fucking hard for you, Layla,” he murmurs into my headphones. “I promise you’ll be sore and sated before the day is through.”
I don’t doubt it.
Not for a second.
“I want to taste you,” he growls. “To plant my face between your thighs until you’re lost for breath.”
I picture him doing exactly that. On his knees. My dress raised. My hands in his hair with Bishop a few feet away, able to catch us at any moment.
Oh, God.
My core flutters with an approaching orgasm. “I’m so close.”
“And so sensual.” His touch becomes more firm against my clit, wiggling back and forth, faster and faster. “So tempting. So fucking perfect.”
I pant. Gasp. Wheeze.
“Non ne avrò mai un altro.”
His softly murmured Italian is my undoing. I latch tight to his wrist with my nails, holding him deep inside me as I grind and thrust and shatter.
My pussy convulses, the spasms building and morphing.
“See?” His appreciative growl hums in my ears, the viciousness tattooing my soul. “Perfect.”
I whimper, climbing the crest, riding the wave.
I want to scream for him. Cry. Vow.
I could give him everything in this moment. My promises for the future. My commitment to togetherness even though I told myself this would be temporary.
How can I ever walk away from this? I never want to be without him.
I come down from the peak with clawed fingers and heaving breaths. “You have too much power over me.”
“You have it all wrong, amore mio.” His voice grows somber, his lips once again finding my shoulder for a gentle brush of affection. “Sei quello con tutto il potere.”
22
Layla
We land at a heliport far from the city buildings, my hair scattering from the whoop of the helicopter blades as Matthew leads us to an awaiting town car.
Our driver doesn’t say a word as we glide toward the coast, the sea breeze filling my lungs from Bishop’s open front-seat window, before we pull into a beachside hotel.
“I’ll get us checked in.” Bishop shoves open his door. “I’ll meet you in the restaurant.”
Matthew follows, holding out a hand to assist me in sliding along the back seat to step into the warm sun as a young male bellhop rushes toward us.
“Mr. Langston, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” The boy beams. “Do you have any bags I can help you with?”
“The trunk.” Matthew jerks his chin toward the rear of the vehicle and discreetly slips the man a tip. “Has Lorenzo arrived?”
“Yes, sir. He’s waiting inside.”
It doesn’t surprise me that Matthew is recognized on sight, or that the man he’s meeting is familiar to staff. What concerns me is the slight hint of tension that enters Matthew’s shoulders as he turns to face me, his dark eyes tight with hesitation.
“What’s wrong?” I scrutinize his expression, trying to understand the change in him.
“Come with me.” He grabs both my hands, entwining our fingers. “Come to my meeting.”
I hold my surprise in check, unsure if I should be concerned or appreciative.
This is a far bigger step than I anticipated. A massive switch from the information injunction we’ve had in place. And as much as I want to learn everything there is about him, I know I’m not ready to reciprocate at this level. Not yet.
“Who is it with?”
“An old friend. He’s a mentor of sorts. At least, he used to be.”
“You want me to meet your mentor?” That’s big. Huge.
“I’d be honored, and so would he.” He raises one of our joined hands and kisses my knuckles. “And if you haven’t figured me out by now, the request was a courtesy, but your attendance is compulsory.” He grins and tugs me toward the hotel doors. “You’ll be joining us, Layla. You’ve got two minutes to prepare.”
Two minutes? To prepare to meet his mentor?
“Are you kidding?” I scope my disheveled appearance in the glass windows as we approach. “I look a treat.”
“You better fucking believe it.” He shoves past the doors and leads the way into the reception area. “You always look edible.”
I ignore the heat rushing to my cheeks. The tingle in my belly.
I’m not succumbing to lust right now. Nope. Not again.
“Can we just stop for a minute.” I plant my feet and squeeze his hand, forcing him to comply. “Please.”
He turns to me with a frown. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I huff a laugh. “This is a big moment for me. And I think it is for you, too.”
The frown deepens, but he doesn’t deny my statement.
“This man is important to you.” It’s not a question. The evidence was his tightening posture when he realized Lorenzo was already here. That he was about to dictate for me to meet someone he cared about. “I don’t want to make a bad first impression.”
He steps forward, wrapping a rough arm around my shoulders to drag me into him, his face finding my hair, his aftershave filling my lungs. “I thought giving you no notice would be easier.” There’s forgiveness in his tone. “He will adore you, Layla. Just as much as I do.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I close my eyes, relaxing into him for the briefest respite.
“Then he’s out of my life,” he murmurs into my hair. “Gone. Done. I won’t spare him another thought.”
“I’d never let you do that.” No woman of worth would. “If you were considering getting rid of Bishop, on the other hand…”
“That’s different.” He snickers, pulling away to guide my hair back behind my ear. “What you get from him isn’t personal. It’s personality.”
“Well, his personality sucks.”
“I don’t disagree.” His fingers trail my jaw, my chin. “You’ll like Lorenzo.”
I have to trust him. Trust that this meeting will go well. That these new steps toward full disclosure are the right ones to make.
“The two of you will get along fine.” He places a kiss to my hairline, then reclaims my hand and continues toward the entry of the restaurant, the maître d' watching us approaches with familiarity in her gaze.
“Welcome, Mr. Langston. I think you’ll find Mr.—”
“It’s okay, Sophie.” He interrupts her speech and guides me to stride past her. “I can already see him.”
I scope the open dining area, seeing couples and families, none of them sparking interest until I reach the three men standing together at the bar. Two are younger, bulky and tall. The other is older, grey-haired with a shorter build. All of them wear dark suits, stylish and formal.
I’m underdressed.
The older man catches sight of us as he places his scotch glass before him on the polished wood, his grin quick to form. He strides toward us, spreading his arms, his light blue eyes beaming with pride. “Figlio mio.”
“Lorenzo.” Matthew squeezes my fingers before releasing my hand and accepting the offered hug. “It’s good to see you.”
They embrace with strong arms and claps on the back, all masculine in their affection as the two other men turn to witness the show from a few feet behind.
Matthew’s mentor isn’t what I expected. He’s far older, maybe in his sixties, with sun-kissed skin gentled by a myriad of deeply etched laugh lines. The only thing I anticipated correctly is his air of success. He oozes triumph, exactly like his mentee, the confidence in his expression bordering on arrogance.
“It’s been too long.” Lorenzo retreats to look him up and down. “You seem different. Overly carefree and alive.”
“I’m not sure I’m carefree, but I definitely feel alive.”
Matthew returns to my side, placing a protective palm on the curve of my back. “This is Layla, the cause of my new lease on life and quello che possiede il mio cuore.”
I tense at the words spoken in a foreign language, slightly unnerved at being kept from part of the conversation.
“The one who owns your heart?” Lorenzo’s brows rise as he steps forward to grab my hands in his. “I can see why. It’s such a pleasure to meet someone whose beauty is profound enough to ensnare my Matthew. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I glance to the man by my side. What the hell has he said about me? And why the hell has he said it? Is he really entrenched in this connection enough to have already told his mentor about me?
The slight raise of his chin, as if steeling himself against my response, makes me wonder even more.
“I assure you her beauty is merely part of the allure.” Matthew winks. “She’s captured me on every level.”
I can’t respond.
Not in words.
Instead, I blush. Cheeks to neck. Inside and out.
Compliments from strangers aren’t new. People who want to get close to my brother often attempt to get there through me or Keira first, with most using kind lies and false admiration. But this is different.
I’m not a potential asset.
I’m of no use to these men because they have no idea who I am.
“I see you both have the same remarkable skills of flattery.” I smile at the older man, his grandfatherly face seeming oddly familiar with its warmth and kindness. “Is that something you taught Matthew?”
His laughter rumbles like rolling thunder. “I wish I could take the credit, but he’s always had his own ways when it comes to women. After all these years, you’re the first I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”
“And if I have anything to do with it, she’ll be the last.” Matthew shakes the hands of the men looming in Lorenzo’s shadow, then walks farther into the restaurant. “I need coffee. Are we sitting inside or out?”
“Out. We can’t remain inside when we have the ocean to stare at.” Lorenzo links his arm with mine, leading me after Matthew who directs us toward the glass doors to the al fresco dining area, the two other men following behind. “I reserved the best table just for us.”
