“A man gave you these insecurities,” he answers for me.
I glance away, unsettled by his insight.
“It’s okay.” He kisses my knuckles again. “I’ll fix that for you. It won’t take long and you’ll realize the power you have over me with your body alone. I’d start a war for you.”
The blush creeps down my neck, heating my breasts.
A war is what it would take for my brother to let me be with an outsider.
“Tell me the problems with your family,” he adds. “Maybe I can fix that, too.”
“You are the problem… Well, the assumption you’re responsible for the bruising on my face, anyway. They think I’m shacking up with an abuser.”
His face falls. “Why would they think that?”
“My past preferences, for a start.”
“With one of the Costas? Did Remy or Salvatore hit you?”
I want to correct him. To set him straight once and for all and confirm that I had no sexual relationship with my enemies. But I can’t expose that much of myself.
“It’s a long story,” I hedge. “Suffice to say I didn’t appreciate their judgment, and they didn’t welcome my anger. So when I delivered Stella to the airport, I caught the first flight to the only place I wanted to be.”
“It’ll blow over.” He tugs me back into his chest, pressing his lips to my forehead, holding me close for long, silent moments. “I’m sure they’ll be crawling back before you know it.”
“Apologies aren’t their strong suit.” They can’t even accept ones they’re offered. “But you’re right. It will blow over.” Eventually.
I place my palms on his waist, running my fingers over his smooth skin. The quiet stretches, yet the emptiness is filled with comfort.
I lean into the ease of simply being with him. I breathe him in and close my eyes to enjoy his warmth. It isn’t until a yawn takes over that his arms slowly fall to his sides.
“Do you want me to arrange a driver?” he murmurs into my hair. “I won’t hold it against you if you leave.”
The struggle of right against wrong and should against shouldn’t whispers in my ears. But what I want is this. More moments like here and now. More me and him in our own little world, even if it’s temporary.
I forced myself to stop feeling guilty about my life with Benji. Why can’t I stop questioning every forward step with Matthew, too? Just for a little while. Only until he grows tired of my anonymity and starts searching for more. Then I could leave.
Why not dive deep until then?
“Lay?” His lips press to my temple. “Are you staying or going?”
I suck in a deep breath, hearing Cole’s warnings in my head, battling against a life where I’ve been force-fed the line that I shouldn’t get close to strangers.
I wrap my arms around him, sinking in to what feels right. What feels whole. “I’d like to stay.”
20
Layla
“You sure?” The devil enters his voice. “You’ll get more sleep at a hotel.”
I graze my nails along his flesh, awakening goose bumps. “Sleep can be overrated.”
He palms my chin. “It definitely will be tonight.” He kisses me, soft and sweet and slow. Then incrementally, the connection changes. Soft builds into firm. Sweet shifts to wicked. Slow transforms to rabid.
We’re back to being all hands and lips and gasps, and it feels like my decision to stay is paving a brighter future, not inching toward impending doom.
We’re together all night, our bodies either entwined in passion, or collapsed in exhaustion. And in each moment, he treasures me. With his words. His touch. His gaze.
I can’t take one breath without it catching in my chest, the air latching onto feelings that morph and build beyond my control.
When morning comes, I wake to his lips on my shoulder, his whispered words greeting me to a new day. But I drift back to sleep, cocooned in bliss between his sheets.
I don’t know what time it is when I finally wake, the subtle noise in the living area keeping me conscious this time. I left my cell silenced in the kitchen knowing Cole would blow up my inbox as soon as he realized I fled Portland, and there’s no bedside clock in this room.
Matthew is no longer beside me. I can’t see him or smell his intoxicating aftershave. The only thing kissing the air is the faint hint of coffee, which is enough to drag me to my feet.
I contemplate walking out to him in my birthday suit, hips swaying, seductive smile in place. But I’m not that woman yet. After the obsessive adoration paid to my body last night, I’m a few steps closer to sexual confidence. I can sense it within reach—I’m just not quite there.
I grab the black robe strewn on the floor and cover myself as I pad from the room, already eager to place my mouth on Matthew’s.
Too bad Matthew isn’t the one sitting at the dining table. It’s Bishop’s scowling blue gaze that peers over the cell in his hands to look me up and down.
“Morning,” he mutters.
“Morning.” I cinch the gaping lapels higher around my chest as I glance over the open living area, searching for my life preserver.
“He’s not here.” Bishop slaps his cell on the table. “He had to go to the coast for business and didn’t want to wake you.”
“And he asked you to stay with me?”
“Apparently, I’m here to make up for my bad first impression by offering my services. I don’t think he anticipated you sleeping away my entire day, though.”
I focus on the microwave in the kitchen, squinting at the tiny numbers.
“It’s almost twelve.” There’s a bitter growl to his tone. “And I’ve got more than your shit to take care of, so I’m going to need to know the name of your hotel.”
My gaze snaps back to his. “Why?”
“To retrieve your things. You’re staying here from now on, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper, raking a hand through my tangled hair. How the hell did I sleep until noon? “But you don’t need to get my things.” The contents of my suitcase are strewn across my suite—lingerie, toiletries. There’s also a whole heap of cash in the safe. “Could you give me a ride instead?”
He holds my gaze, those severe eyes doing absolutely nothing to retract his first impression. “As long as you’re not going to take up the other half of my day. Like I said, I’ve got shit to do.” He pushes from his chair with a jerk of his chin toward a garment bag on the end of the table. “He said that was for you.”
“My clothes.” Thank God.
“Can you be ready in ten?” He stalks for the kitchen, entirely intimidating with his bulky frame beneath his suit. “I’ll make you a coffee while I wait.”
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” I hustle for the table to grab the garment bag, then rush for Matthew’s bedroom to get changed.
I pull on my now clean underwear, then shimmy into the dress, ignoring how I’m about to do the walk of shame into a five-star hotel, with a bruised face and tangled hair. Not to mention all the fresh marks now clinging to my body from Matthew’s rough kisses and enticing, ruthless hold.