“Get dressed, amore mio.” Matthew walks into the bedroom from his private bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, his muscles glistening from the shower. “You’re coming to work with me today.”
I sit taller in his bed, the tray loaded with my empty breakfast plate rattling on my lap. “I am?”
“Yes. My commitments won’t take long.” He discards the towel and pulls on a fresh pair of boxer briefs from the chest of drawers. “Then we can do whatever you like afterward. I’ll arrange a hotel room for the night. You just need to pack a change of clothes and your toothbrush.”
I pull back the covers and glide to my feet, not showing a hint of curiosity at learning more about his life while trying to hide my fear of what he wants from me in return. “When are we leaving?”
“As soon as you’re dressed.”
“I guess that’s my cue to hustle.”
I shower quickly, brush my teeth, and paint on a subtle layer of makeup in record time. Then I shimmy into a long ruby sundress and fill the remaining space in the small suitcase Matthew left open for me on the bed.
“Ready?” He stands at the bedroom door, one shoulder cocked against the frame, a subtle smirk of appreciation tweaking his lips as he takes in the loose material dancing over my legs and the low neckline that cradles my breasts.
“Ready.” My heart beats a dull throb, my eyes eagerly eating up my view of him dressed head to toe in black—suit, shirt, tie.
He’s a dark prince, the stubble covering his jaw making him appear all the more devilish.
He pushes from the doorframe and prowls toward me, slow and sleek.
My body melts like it always does. My nerves flutter. I stand still, wondering if his predatory approach means we’re about to delay our departure.
He stops beside me, the grin continuing to linger as he leans around me to zip the suitcase closed and drag it to the carpet. “We don’t have time, amore mio.”
“Time for what?” I purr.
“For that look in your eye.”
He kisses my temple and takes my hand, leading me from the room, from the penthouse, then into the elevator, our mini suitcase trailing along at his side. When we reach the underground parking lot, Bishop is there to steal my buzz. He waits in his idling Lincoln, the window lowered, his arm resting on the frame.
“Morning.” He scowls at me.
“Morning.” I hold his gaze, refusing to cower under the intimidation.
“Get in.” Matthew releases my hand. “I’ll put the suitcase in the back.”
I nod, bathing in Bishop’s death glower with every step toward the rear door, then slide inside. I’ve been lucky not to have seen him since our confrontation almost a week ago. He hasn’t been to the penthouse. There’s been no talk of him at all.
Too bad it didn’t last.
“It’s so lovely to see you again,” I drawl. “What have you been up to?”
“Just the same ol’ same ol’—preparing for when my buddy’s latest conquest is going to blow shit up and make my life a living hell.”
I glare at him through the rearview mirror as Matthew opens the cargo space to store our suitcase. I wait until the trunk door is closed moments later before I say, “Well, if you’re the cleanup crew, I guess I should make sure it’s a worthwhile explosion.”
Matthew climbs in the opposite side of the Lincoln, and I’m not sure whether it’s his presence or my spite that keeps Bishop quiet. But that’s how things remain as the car exits the parking lot into the midmorning sunshine.
We drive through the city traffic, Matthew’s hand gliding over mine on the middle seat as we pass block after block, then head onto a freeway to take us toward the suburbs. I relax, expecting a long journey ahead when twenty minutes later, Bishop slows into the turn to send us to Dulles Airport.
We bypass the parking area, driving away from the main buildings and alongside the boundary fence, then come to a temporary stop before metal gates that are opened for us by a young man. Bishop inches the car into the airport yard, slowly passing one metal hangar, then another.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“It’s time for a change of transport.” Matthew caresses my fingers as Bishop breaks and shifts the car to park.
A whisper of something unwanted slips through me, the lifelong teaching of a paranoid and overly protective brother ringing in my ears.
You’re being careless. You’re putting us all in danger.
No. I know Matthew.
I might not have intimate knowledge of the events that make up his life, but I know him. I know his unwavering commitment. His building affection.
That’s why I didn’t ask how far we were travelling. Or who was coming with us.
I’ve learned to trust him—with my body, and now, also, my safety.
“I’ll get the luggage.” Bishop climbs from the driver’s seat, the engine idling as he lobs the fob at the young man who opened the gates.
All I can do is watch in silence while I force Cole’s voice from my mind.
“You’re nervous.” Matthew’s hand slides from mine. “Are you questioning my intentions again? You don’t have to accompany me, Layla. I can have you taken back to the penthouse.”
“I’m not questioning you.” My heart hurts at the disappointment in his features.
“You’re apprehensive.”
I could claim a fear of flying. Hell, it wouldn’t be difficult to make up any number of reasons to explain the devil on my shoulder.
Instead, I give him what he deserves. “I’ve told you my brother doesn’t appreciate my current secrecy. If he was aware I was about to jet set to places unknown with someone he’s unfamiliar with, he’d judge me harshly.”
Matthew’s jaw ticks. “It sounds like he judges you harshly regardless.”
I don’t deny it. I want him to understand that part of me. The part that may affect him the most. “He does.”
“He’s controlling,” he adds.
I don’t deny that either.
The trunk door opens and Bishop steals my focus as he removes not one but two suitcases from the cargo area. Of course the asshole is still coming with us.
“Do you want me to arrange a driver?” Matthew asks as the trunk door closes. “The last thing I want to do is—”
“No, I’m excited to go with you. I promise. I just hadn’t anticipated your meeting to be far enough away to require a plane.” I unclasp my belt and smile. “You’re not taking me to Paris, are you?”
He huffs a breath of lifeless laughter. “No. We’ll have to do that trip another day. And we’re not taking a plane either.”
I’m about to ask for clarification when he swings his door wide and escapes the car to round the hood.
I follow, climbing from the back seat as a loud mechanical whir fills the rustling fall breeze, the sound coming from the other side of the hangar to my left.
“We’re taking a helicopter?” I meet Matthew at the hood of the car but fall quiet, not wanting to interrupt the younger man who’s relaying departure and arrival details as the unmistakable whoop, whoop floods my ears, the rush of energy growing around us.
I bite my lip, struggling from the whiplash of flipping from apprehension to exhilaration.