But this time it didn’t feel like sex.
It was something different. Something that started off voracious and passionate, then petered into a slower connection that was far more intense. He lavished me in slow kisses, one hand cradling my chin, the other between my thighs. He murmured his dreamy Italian promises between strokes of tongue and grinds of hips.
He made love to me, and it made me realize I’d been a virgin to the experience up until this point.
By the time I dried, dressed, then redid my makeup, it was after eight.
He held my hand as we walked into the rooftop restaurant, letting everyone know I was his and he was mine. The waitstaff greeted him by name, with smiles and enthusiasm, before escorting us to a table in the corner with an unfettered view of the Washington Monument alight in the clear night sky. And the whole time, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
“Is that happiness ebbing from you, amore mio?” He eyes me with contentment across the table. “You seem in good spirits.”
I sip my wine, willing my rampant heartbeat under control. “I am, despite being locked in your penthouse all day.”
He frowns. “Why? Didn’t Bishop tell you about the spare key?”
To hell with Bishop.
“No.” I return my gaze out the window. “That must have slipped his mind.”
That asshole deliberately kept me caged. He wanted to have the last word, and it came in the form of my isolation.
I continue to feel Matthew’s stare from my periphery, the slight gleam of white announcing a building grin.
“What?” I ask. “Do you like knowing I was trapped in your penthouse like a damsel in distress?”
“No, but I’m beginning to understand why you were so excited to see me when I returned home.” The grin lessens, the subtle lift falling flat. “Bishop told me the two of you had an intense conversation this afternoon.”
“Intense is one word for it.”
His brows knit with curiosity. “How would you describe it?”
An ambush.
An assault.
I shrug. “I guess intense is accurate enough. I’m surprised he told you, though.”
“It’s the bonus that comes from working with someone who always thinks they’re right. They never have anything to hide.” He relaxes into his chair. “But just to be clear, I didn’t appreciate what he said.”
I take another sip of wine, biting back how much I didn’t appreciate it either.
“Why didn’t you call me to tell me what he’d done?” he asks. “Or tell me once I got home?”
“For the exact reason I argued with him in the first place. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“Bishop being a prick isn’t you causing trouble.”
I hold his gaze, wanting him to understand my sincerity as I say, “He’s one of the few people you have in your life, so even if he’s an absolute asshole—which he most definitely is—” I smirk. “—I’m not going to bring that up with you. I can understand him being protective.”
Matthew raises a brow and inclines his head, his mouth set in an understated smile as he falls silent.
It’s unnerving. The way he admires me with quiet fascination. It’s energizing, too.
“What?” My cheeks heat the longer he looks at me.
“I’m just adding more attributes to the list of what I find entirely endearing about you.” His voice is a murmur of underlying seduction. “Along with picturing how many times, and in what positions, I can have you once we finish dinner.”
My cheeks flame hotter, the inferno creeping down my neck.
I’ve been picturing that, too.
I can’t stop.
His touch haunts my skin, the possessive grip of desire keeping me chained to memory. Problem is, it’s also distracting me from the other important motivation for flying across the country.
“We should really discuss the Costas before we become sidetracked again.” I lick the dryness from my lips. “I’m not going to lie. Our common interest in them is another reason why I’m here.”
“I figured as much.” He leans back in his chair, the confident seduction leaving his expression. “But they’re not going anywhere. Why not enjoy getting to know each other first?”
Why not? Because I don’t deserve the pleasure.
Because I need to focus on my mistakes.
His lips curve, the wickedness returning to his eyes. “Let’s make a deal—once you think the chemistry between us is fading, we can divert our focus to scheming.”
“Once I think…? What about you?”
He grins, sly and handsome. “It won’t fade for me.”
That has to be a lie.
Before I can question him on it, a muffled beep sounds from his suit jacket.
He drags in a long breath and retrieves his cell. “I need to take this call.” His brows pinch in apology. “I won’t be long.”
I nod and grab for my own device on the table, reluctantly turning it over to read the screen as Matthew walks away.
Five missed calls.
Two texts.
My chest tightens. Every notification will be from my family. More regrettably, my brother.
I open my inbox, the preview of the most recent message hitting my eyes.
Answer your fucking…
I shouldn’t open it. The time away from them has been a wonder drug of positivity. Unfortunately, curiosity gets the better of me.
Answer your fucking phone and help sort this out like a fucking adult. The least you can do is let us know you’re all right. Your sister is worried sick.
My sister… but not him.
Do you think this is a joke, Layla? We still have enemies. You still need to tell me where the fuck you are so I can make sure you’re safe.
He doesn’t care about my safety. His concerns lie with the chess pieces that will topple if anyone successfully targets me. It would make him look bad. Weak.
But he’s right about Keira. I don’t want her to worry.
I dial my sister’s number, my ribs tightening with the dial tone, my breath halting when she answers.
“Layla?” There’s panic in her voice. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just need some space.”
“Where are you? Hunter found your car at the airport.”
Of course he did.
“It doesn’t matter.” I reach for my wine, needing the alcoholic calm. “I’m safe. That’s all you need to know.”
“Lay, please, you’re freaking me out. Why are you acting this way? I know it’s been hard on you since Stella moved away, but it doesn’t mean you’re alone. I’m here for—”
“Don’t say you’re here for me, Keira.” I cut her off. “We both know that’s not true.”
“W-what do you mean? You’re my sister. I’m always here if you need me.”
I shake my head, pained by the lies. “I haven’t been your sister since the night Benji died and you know it.”
She gasps. “Is that how you really feel?”
“It’s two years later and you can barely look at me after what I did.”
“No,” she pleads. “I’m sorry if you think I haven’t forgiven you—”