“Stay.” His voice drops in a gentle warning as he pauses at the threshold. “You need to rest. Let me look after you. I’ll be back soon.”
I fight another protest, the isolation hitting hard as soon as he’s gone. The minutes spent alone only give me time to relive what happened. The demand for my purse. The harsh shove. The painful collision with the wall. Then the panicked aftermath.
I kick off my shoes and wither into the pillows, trying to think what Cole would do in my situation.
The cyanide is a big deal.
I could easily say it was planted in my bag, but that’s not what I’m worried about. My panic revolves around the potential of an innocent victim. Then again, in my brother’s case, I’m sure he wouldn’t spare a stranger’s death a second thought.
He wouldn’t care.
If only I were that heartless.
I roll to my side, pull out my cell, and do a mental catalogue of the personal items I lost. My identification was definitely in there—photo ID for the airport who sometimes need more than the digital license stored on my phone. Then maybe one bank card. An AMEX. The rest were loaded to my cell months ago.
Realistically, I could get away with putting a hold on one account. But Cole would still find out.
I groan and navigate to my bank’s website, connecting a call to the correct department before I can talk myself out of it.
After providing every speck of personal detail known to man, I cancel the card and disconnect. The reordering of my license will have to wait for a time when I don’t feel as though I’ve run a marathon.
Even the allure of nearby running bathwater doesn’t ease my pulse. I’m still shaking, my limbs heavy.
I stare at the ceiling, fighting against the inner voices telling me how much trouble I’m going to face once I get home.
“You doing okay?” Matthew appears in the doorway, a scotch glass in his hand.
I am now. The mere sight of him brings overwhelming relief.
It has to be his commanding presence. The strong way he holds his shoulders. The chiseled angle of his jaw. And those eyes. My God. The intense way he looks at me makes me shiver.
“Layla?” He raises a brow.
He has to know the effect he has on me. It’s obvious. He walks into a room and the chemical shift is unsettling.
He’s always lured me in with the tease of escapism. And for once, I want to grasp the offering in both hands and leave the darkness of my world behind. If only for a few hours.
“I’m good.” I drop my cell to the mattress and push from the bed. “Thanks for taking care of me.” I walk toward him, my heartbeat excited although I’m still filled with hesitance.
He watches my approach with hungry eyes, the drink hanging limp in his hand, his arms strong and sure at his sides. “The bath is ready. It’ll help calm the nerves.”
“My nerves are calm.” I don’t stop until my toes brush the leather of his shoes.
I need to get lost in him. To lose sight not only of my failures but of myself. I don’t want to be this person anymore. I want to be free.
“If anything, this morning’s events have made me emboldened.” I lean up on the pads of my feet, place my palms on his hard chest, and inch toward his mouth.
My tongue tingles as I get within a mere breath of his lips only to have him turn his cheek, rejecting my advance.
“Layla,” he warns. “This is the adrenaline.”
I stiffen in horror, mortified.
All the air leaves my lungs on a rapid vacuum of humiliation, the scent of his exquisitely perfect aftershave only increasing my suffering when I have to draw in my next breath.
I drop back to the soles of my feet and retreat with heated cheeks.
“Wait.” He wraps an arm around my waist, holding me captive. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I—”
“You brought me into your room.” I push at his arm, attempting to break free. “You placed me on your bed.”
“Because I want you to be comfortable. I need you to feel safe.” He frowns and leans closer until we’re almost nose to nose. “But don’t get me wrong and think I’m not interested in you. I’ve made my feelings crystal clear. I want to fuck you within an inch of your life, amore mio. What I won’t do, though, is cross the line when you’re making decisions based on shock.”
I blink rapidly at his explicit detail. At the completely sordid image that inspires wildfire in my belly.
His arm tightens around me. “You’ve barely returned any of my interest. You only came to me now because you’re scared and need comfort. And I can give that to you. I just won’t do it in a way that will fill you with regret later.”
All his aggressive compassion only endeavors to increase my attraction.
“Are you listening, Layla?” He stares into my eyes, waiting. “My need for you defies sanity. But I won’t have you unless your appetite for me will hang around after the adrenaline wears off.”
“It will,” I whisper. “It will hang around.”
He keeps staring at me. Reading me. Then, with the flare of his nostrils and a barely audible growl, his mouth is on mine, setting me aflame.
I close my eyes, descending into a different type of darkness, this one born of passion and possession.
He devours me with harsh lips and a controlling hold. I can’t get close enough. Not even when my nails are digging into his shirt and my tongue is tangled with his.
It’s bliss and euphoria.
Compulsion and addiction.
I struggle to catch my breath, not wanting to pull away, not wanting this to end. I need everything from him. More than lips and hands.
Matthew leans back abruptly, as if it takes all the power in the world to separate us. He pants, his chest rising and falling, while I do the same.
“Drink.” He raises the glass in front of me, his eyes glazed with lust, and retreats a step, shoving his free hand through his hair. “It will dull the insanity.”
I hesitate, my engrained caution toward the alcohol holding me immobile for a split-second. Just long enough for him to frown.
He gives a breath of a scoff and lowers the offering back to his side. “So you want to share your body, but still don’t trust I’ll give you a drink that isn’t spiked?” He sighs. “Take a bath. You’ll feel better afterward.”
“That’s not it.” Well, it is, but…
He retreats again and again, understanding and disappointment staring back at me. “It’s okay. I get it. You barely know me.”
“No, you don’t get it. And how could you when you barely know me in return?” I accuse. “I’ve had excessive caution drummed into me all my life. I couldn’t even accept drinks at my friends’ birthday parties when I was a child.” I follow after him. “Caution isn’t just a tale my parents told me to encourage good behavior. Vigilance has always been something that kept me alive against the harshest threats.”
He stills in the middle of the hall, his eyes narrowing. “What threats? Who are you, Layla?”
“I’m someone with a target on my back.” I raise my chin with confidence. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”
His gaze remains narrowed, digging under my skin from the few feet of distance between us until finally he nods. “I’ve got enemies of my own. Enough to know you’re worth the risk of more.”