His eyes don’t meet mine again until he’s a breath from the few steps in front of me, his confident stride jumping them in one fell swoop to stop before me.
There are no words. No niceties.
He wraps a hand around my neck and hauls me in to steal my mouth with his.
I gasp against his lips. My doubts vanish. Self-control disappears.
I’m breathless, my mind spinning as he awakens my body with his kiss. Then, just as fast, he pulls away and instructs me to follow him.
He grabs my hand, leading me back to where he came from. Through the crowd, up the metal stairs, to the glass-encased room.
My palm is at home in his. The tight hold. The possession consuming.
He escorts me inside the soundproof area, the noise still loud but from chatting people this time, and takes me to the bar, the counter illuminated by a dark blue glow. Then he kisses me again, one hand clutching mine, the other tangling in the hair at my nape.
I lose myself in him. The concerns disappear, too.
Despite the crowd around us, it’s only me and him. The two of us in our own little world.
“This is a nice surprise,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Not as much of a surprise as I wanted.” I keep my eyes closed, our noses touching. “Did Bishop see me arrive?”
“You’re hard to miss. Especially in that phenomenal dress. How the hell do you keep knocking me off my feet?”
I meet his hungry gaze and fight a needy whimper.
He evokes so much animalistic ferocity it’s agonizing. I’d give anything to be alone with him. One-on-one. Naked.
“You have the same effect,” I admit, raising my hand to trail my fingers over the red mark on his left cheek. “Who was that woman?”
His expression doesn’t falter. I don’t catch the slightest glimpse of guilt. “Do you really want to know?”
Yes. No.
I sigh. “Unfortunately, I can’t unsee what happened and my imagination isn’t kind.”
He straightens his shoulders. “Let me get you a drink first.”
Shit. Is it that bad?
“Wine?” He raises a brow and steps away to walk around the bar. “Vodka? Maybe a cocktail?”
“Surprise me.”
He smiles as if appreciating my trust, and begins making my concoction, swirling bottles, deftly adding shots while the bartenders ignore his liberties.
He needs to quit impressing me, otherwise I’ll never return home.
Never ever.
He snatches a bottle of gin and pours the liquid into a tall glass, his gaze downcast. His confidence bolsters mine. I don’t get it. In a new city, in an unknown club, I should be cautious and concerned. Instead, his presence empowers me, turning me into a wildcat, my claws barely hidden below the surface.
The only thing decreasing my self-assurance is that other woman. I’m not sure I want to hold his gaze while he tells me about her. I’ll be a slave to my emotions. How I feel will be written all over my face. Then he’ll know exactly how much power he has over me.
“Who was she?” I take the opportunity to have the unwanted discussion while he’s occupied.
He grabs for the vodka, adding a nip of alcohol to the glass. “Obviously someone who doesn’t appreciate my charm.”
I swallow the dryness building in my throat. “Is that all you’re going to give me?”
He looks up at me, stray strands of hair shading one eye. “She’s someone I almost slept with.” He holds my gaze for a beat, then returns his attention to the drink, adding juice, before stirring with a plastic swizzle.
I don’t want to ask. It makes me nauseous thinking about it, but the question slips free. “Almost?”
“Yeah.” He pours himself a scotch, then rounds the bar, placing my drink in front of me before raising his own to his lips. He holds my attention over the rim, his focus intense in its honesty. “Things got heated. But I didn’t follow through.”
Jealousy eats me from the inside out, the sharp teeth burrowing deep. “When?”
“A few weeks ago,” he admits.
A few weeks?
After we’d met, but before we’d kissed.
“What else do you want to know?” His question isn’t angered, or a taunt. He’s offering genuine transparency and I’m no longer sure I want it.
“Do you like her?”
His mouth kicks up as he takes another sip. “Did it look like I like her?”
“It looked like she liked you up until the second before her hand slapped across your face.”
He shrugs. “She wanted to finish what we started. I didn’t.”
His candor grates me. Will I be the next woman who wants more when he doesn’t? Is my heart his next victim?
“You’re judging me again,” he drawls. “I thought we were past this.”
I thought so, too. I really did. Now I’m not sure.
“Fine.” He sighs, his brows pinching. “I guess you want the full story?”
I don’t know. Part of me needs to understand how he could be unabashedly cruel. The other doesn’t want any more knowledge of him with another woman.
He leans in, dominating my personal space and grazing the stubble of his cheek along my jaw, his lips near my ear. “The truth is, I got back to Washington after meeting you for the first time and I couldn’t get your fucking phenomenal body out of my goddamn head.”
I shudder. Hold my breath.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he continues in a seductive murmur. “Couldn’t think straight. So I found someone to replace you. A woman with the same hair. A similar figure. A pretty face.”
My skin erupts in goose bumps, my nipples beading for reasons unknown.
His nose nuzzles the sensitive skin below my ear as he says, “I wanted to fuck her while pretending it was you. But no fantasy could live up to the hype.”
I shiver, every inch of me tingling.
“Less than an hour spent with you, Layla, and I was obsessed.” His lips brush my neck, the graze of his stubble providing the most deliciously contrasting friction. “Seeing you again only heightened the infatuation.”
My breathing labors. My core tightens. “But you didn’t sleep with her?”
“No.” His response is instant.
“Have you slept with anyone else since we met?” The need for answers is pathetic. I can’t help it.
“No.” He tastes my skin with a minuscule slide of his tongue. “And I won’t.”
I believe him.
I believe his words. His vibe. The hunger in his mouth as it delicately devours my neck.
Lust bubbles in my belly, seeping out through every nerve.
I don’t understand this yearning. This desire. It’s all-consuming. Mind-numbing.
I slide a hand around his neck, grazing my nails along his scalp to hold him close. “How long until we can get out of here?”
He snickers, the sound devilish enough to make my pussy clench. “As soon as you’d like.”
17
Layla
He leads me back downstairs, my hand in his, then through a staff door, along a shadowed hall, and out into a gated parking lot.
Matthew directs me to a black Roadster nestled between a line of sedans and compact vehicles, and opens the passenger-side door.