“Fucking hell.” His eyes harden as they focus on my injured cheek. “They hit you?”
“No. I was shoved into the wall. I should’ve put my hands up to stop the impact but…” I shake my head within his gentle hold. “I guess I didn’t have time. I don’t know… I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“It’s okay.” His attention softens. “You’re going to be fine.”
I’m not so sure. Not with my sinister intentions now out in the world in the form of a tiny cyanide vial. But it’s nice to hear the assurance, to have such a confident and compelling man almost demand my recovery.
“What did they take?” His thumb strokes my uninjured cheek as Bishop climbs from the driver’s seat. “Did you call the police?”
“It was just my purse and a few things I purchased. The cops don’t need to be involved.” They can’t be. I wouldn’t even know how to start explaining my reasons for carrying poison if my bag was found. Although not illegal, cyanide is a controlled chemical and I have no reason to have it, especially not on my person and concealed in a drug vial. “It’s only a few credit cards and some cash.”
“You sure?” His gaze narrows. “This is serious.”
He has no idea.
I can’t explain how I obtained the murderous powder. The name of my contact would only raise more red flags. Could I go to prison? Or worse, if the Costas find out I’m here, and why, will they then target my family again in retaliation?
The blood drains from my face in a rapid vacuum.
“Layla, it’s going to be okay. Just talk to me. You look like you’re about to faint.”
What if someone were to think the vial of white powder was cocaine? What if they snorted it?
“I…” I fight against the overwhelming need to blurt my fears. “I had something in my bag.”
Matthew’s shoulders straighten, but his confident attention doesn’t waver. “Something illegal?”
I nod.
“A weapon?” The question lacks condemnation. He holds no surprise. Not even disappointment.
“Of sorts… If it got into the wrong hands—” My stomach lurches.
“It’s okay.” He leans closer, demanding I believe him with his close proximity. “I’ll take care of it.”
“How? What could you possibly do?”
“I’ve got contacts. If the bag is found, nothing is going to be tied back to you.” He releases my face and glances over his shoulder, sharing a silent communication with Bishop who stands a few feet away before returning his attention to me. “You’re a single woman alone in a foreign city. You’re entitled to have protection, whether it’s illegal or not. And if someone is harmed…” He pauses, his tone gaining conviction before he finally says, “I’ll take care of it, Layla. I promise you.”
I believe him. Even though he assumes I had a gun. Even though the aftermath of mistakenly snorting cyanide could be far worse than a gunshot, my traitorous insides relax a little at his assurance.
“Let’s get you out of here.” He helps me to my feet, then sweeps me into his arms.
“I can walk.” My protest is faint at best.
“I know you can. But this is the first opportunity I’ve had to prove myself to you, so let me take it.”
I look away, not wanting him to witness the effect of his words.
If this had happened at home, and my friends or family had rescued me, I’d be dealing with chastisements and judgment. The fear from my loved ones wouldn’t come through in kindness. Only criticism.
This is such a sweet balm to my nauseating idiocy.
Bishop opens the back door to the Lincoln and I’m bundled inside, gently slid into the middle seat before Matthew takes his place at my side.
I don’t get a chance to pull on my seatbelt before he’s lifting me again, dragging me onto his lap.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Holding you.” He wraps his arms around my waist, bundling me against his pristine suit. “You’re shaking.”
I am. I can’t help it. Even my heart trembles.
This shouldn’t be such a big deal. I’ve been through worse. But the shaking doesn’t stop. Not when Bishop climbs back into the car with my bags. And not once we start moving, with me still on Matthew’s lap, his tight hold acting as my seatbelt.
“Tell me you’re okay,” he murmurs.
My throat burns with adoration. With appreciation. I lean into him, my head against his shoulder, my heart yearning for more. “I am. It’s only shock.”
“You sure?”
I nod. “Positive.”
We fall silent, the low hum of the radio filtering through the speakers, the luxury of his hold cocooning me. I should be strengthening my emotional walls against him, against all the weakness, but for just this once, I decide to let someone else take the lead. To quit pretending I’m a force to be reckoned with and simply succumb to Matthew’s rescue.
We reach the hotel without another word, then the underground parking lot. Once the car stops near the elevator, my savior opens the door, then slides out from beneath me to haul me from the vehicle and back into his arms.
“This isn’t necessary.” I press a hand to his chest in another feeble objection.
“I know.” He nuzzles his nose near my ear, his breath tickling my neck. “I’m still taking advantage until the shock wears off. God knows once you’re strong enough you’ll return to being the independent woman who doesn’t want a piece of me.”
I huff a faint laugh despite his false assumption.
I do want a piece. I want all the pieces.
“What about her room key?” Bishop asks through his lowered car window. “Should I get a new one from reception?”
“Mine should still be in my pocket.” I double-check to make sure, finding the plastic card in my stained jeans.
“Regardless, she’ll be staying in my room,” Matthew adds. “Park the car and we’ll meet you upstairs.”
I don’t argue. I’m smart enough to acknowledge I need company right now. I don’t want to be out of these strong arms. I’d love to stay here forever, constantly protected by someone who doesn’t despise me.
I keep those thoughts to myself as I’m carried to the elevator, the confined space taking us to one of the top floors, then escorted to a freshly made suite far bigger than mine. We bypass a compact kitchen. A spotless living room. Then continue down a hall.
“Where are you taking me?” My question becomes redundant as we enter a bedroom, Matthew’s stride not faltering until I’m gently placed on a king-size bed.
“You can rest here.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and backs toward the door, a dedicated knight in shining armor. “I’m going to get you a stiff drink to settle the adrenaline. I’ll arrange an ice pack, too, and run you a bath. Want anything else?”
I’m lost for words. Speechless.
“Food? Water? A fresh change of clothes?” His gaze falls to one of the large dirt stains on the side of my jeans. “I could go to your room—”
“No. I don’t need anything else.” Only company. I don’t want him to leave. I swing my legs off the bed, preparing to follow him, needing his proximity. “Apart from a dose of the shakes, honestly, I’m fine.”