“It’s not that simple.”
“Make it simple.” His voice becomes a growl. “Forget the complications.”
“I have a daughter,” I repeat into the darkened void.
“And where is she now?”
My heart squeezes. “At boarding school.” Far from where I want her to be—under my roof, in my arms. I’d had no choice in her leaving at the start of the first semester a month ago.
Cole had made plans to send Tobias to the illustrious school in Chicago a year prior. What I didn’t anticipate was my crippling eruption of grief when Stella begged to go with him.
“She doesn’t live with me,” I whisper.
I’d tried to talk her out of leaving for months. I’d pleaded, bribed, and coerced to the best of my abilities. But nothing I did persuaded her to change her mind, and I couldn’t bring myself to make the decision for her. I’d already stripped enough from her life.
I also refused to take my concerns to Cole.
He granted my wish the day my husband was buried. He went against his usually unbreakable beliefs on retaliation and let those who pulled the trigger on Benji walk away scot-free.
I had no right to ask for more favors.
“That’s why you can travel to Denver whenever you like?” Matthew asks.
I nod. My daughter’s absence is why I’m here. For more reasons than one.
Within days of her leaving, I’d realized the innumerable sporting and craft distractions I’d scheduled to fill her time since her father’s death were actually a benefit I’d also grown reliant upon.
I’d needed those long drives to baseball and the homework sessions to keep me occupied. To divert my thoughts. Because with her gone, my idle mind became a vicious mistress who demanded action.
“I’m here for a reason.” I open my eyes, my inhale hitching at the deep brown that stares back at me. “I can’t afford to be distracted.”
It’s clear in the tight set of his lips that he understands what I’m referencing.
I’ve spent every spare minute stalking my enemies since Stella moved away. Learning exactly how wonderful the Costas’ world became since they murdered Benji.
I don’t regret begging Cole not to retaliate. The years of peace were necessary to get my daughter and I back on our feet. But my spying made it clear it was now time to set things straight.
I need redemption, and they deserve to suffer.
“I don’t want to be a distraction.” Matthew lowers his hands to my waist, gripping me tight to raise me onto the counter. “The Costas aren’t a family to be messed with, Layla. Snooping around isn’t safe. I can fuck with them enough for us both. Just tell me which one of them to target and what you want done.”
And with those admissions, I’d be handing over insight I’m not willing to give. He’d know I wasn’t a scorned lover focused on a single family member. He’d be fully aware my thirst for revenge runs far deeper, my intentions more vicious than spying due to lover’s heartbreak.
“Let me think on it,” I lie.
I can’t.
I won’t.
I have to do this without him.
I spread my thighs, welcoming him between my legs, succumbing to the allure of his strength just for a moment. He has no clue my family are far more insidious than the Costas.
Dark folktales have been created about my brother. Worse were made with my father in mind.
It’s a given in the criminal world. Ghost stories are brought to life from a slither of reality. Like the Butcher Boys of Baltimore.
The Dark Death in Dallas.
Freddy Fingers from Arizona.
My brother’s enforcer—Hunter—has his own moniker, too, one I’m sure was built on fact.
But Emmanuel Costa is different. He isn’t a blip on the underworld radar. And he sure as hell doesn’t scare me.
“Think as long as you like.” Matthew leans closer, brushing the tips of our noses, the intimate contact making me yearn for things I can’t have. “There’s no rush as long as I know you’re mine.”
His possessive words coil around me, strong and delicious. I eat them up despite knowing they’re not meant for me. Not made for the type of person I am.
He wouldn’t even think them if he knew who I was.
“You don’t under—”
He cuts me off with a kiss, punishing and hard, before retreating. “I can make this work, Layla. Just tell me it’s what you want.”
It is.
God, how it is.
I want him and us and this.
I want fun and happiness and lust.
I crave all the things he’s shown me and all those that wait in the wings. But—
“Stop thinking yourself out of this and tell me what I want to hear,” he whispers against my lips. “I want you, amore mio. And I know you want me, too. Chemistry doesn’t lie.”
No, it doesn’t. I’d never even known the power of attraction until we met. The strength of it. The delicate suffocation of sense and control.
I stare into those demanding eyes, hating how easy it would be to lead him on just for a few more moments of bliss.
He teases his mouth over mine, his tongue grazing my lips. “Tell me.”
I whimper, too weak to withstand temptation. “I’m yours,” I whisper.
For now.
Until the moment he leaves for D.C.
15
Layla
After unending kisses upon the vanity counter that send my blood racing, Matthew swoops me into his arms and returns me to the sofa.
He ignores my panted breaths, and the lust I know glistens in my eyes with every docile blink, and places distance between us like a devout gentleman, making sure I hold a cooling pack to my cheek for hours.
We talk. Laugh. And even though I don’t want to, I fall, not just hard, but wholeheartedly, for a man I barely know.
He orders room service. We eat oysters and drink more champagne. He asks question after conversational question and listens to the answers with a level of interest most don’t pay me. And he isn’t intrusive.
He asks about my happiness.
He wants to know all the intricate details of my soul. From my favorite sounds, to the places in the world I love most, and every trivial piece of information in between.
He takes in the tidbits I share with unwavering focus, devouring the insight like I’m an anticipated book he’s finally able to read. Not merely listening, but learning. Studying. He seems to take note of the cadence in my voice, and holds my gaze longer when I attempt to guard myself, waiting for me to expose the truth.
And I do. For the most part.
Everything I tell him is real. It just isn’t deep.
I skate on the shallowest depths of my being, never truly letting him in even though I want to.
And although we don’t kiss or claw at each other’s clothes again, he has me in a constant state of thrumming tingles with his attention, his gaze raking over me with slow deliberation.
By late afternoon, I have a full belly and a body that has succumbed to adrenaline detox. Yawns come every other minute until Matthew demands I rest my head on a cushion he places on his lap.
We continue learning surface-level details about each other, neither of us asking the finer questions because we both know everything else is off-limits.