I lower my gaze to his chest, attempting to relive every moment we’ve had together in the hopes of understanding. Not only the implication, but what this all means for me and my plans.
“What are you thinking?” The alcohol on his breath brushes my lips, filling my lungs, intoxicating me. “What did I say this time?”
Is it wrong to still be here? To still want to make this work despite the strangling complications?
God.
My head screams with indecision. My heart yearns to salvage the unsalvageable.
“Layla?” He drops the second bottle to the tiles, his fingers finding the sensitive skin below my chin to gently lift my face to his. “Talk.”
“Explain how this all started,” I whisper. “How we met. What was going through your head. Were you trying to manage the threat I posed toward the Costas? Have you kept me close because I can achieve the things you can’t? Or because you’ve needed to distract me from my plans?”
Because I’ve been distracted.
Entirely.
Completely.
I inch back, needing space, only to be fastened in place against his lap by strong hands clutching my waist. “Are you with me for a purpose?”
“Would you consider greed a purpose? Indulgence? I’m with you for no other reason than my own selfish desire.” He stares at me, unblinking. “You intrigued me from the first night we met. You became my distraction. Then an obsession. And even after I found out you were a complication, and a potential threat, I still wanted more.”
He leans closer, the heat of his mouth breaching my own as he reclaims my cheeks with his palms. “I haven’t fallen for anyone since Grace, Layla. I’ve fucked, but never fallen. Not even close, until you.”
His spiel sinks under my skin, the tendrils of hunger and longing infusing me with more delicious hope.
“I want you,” he murmurs, harsh and low. “I need you.”
He speaks to my weaknesses. My insecurities.
I’ve never been wanted. Not by lovers. Not even my late husband.
Being needed is just as foreign. My daughter doesn’t require her mother anymore. She moved on effortlessly, already growing independent at such a young age.
There’s only Matthew.
Only the man I shouldn’t desire, but do with a level of force that’s beyond my control.
“I had to agree Emmanuel would remain untouched if I wanted to leave my previous life behind. The same goes for his wife and children.” He adds pressure to my waist, slowly dragging me closer into him. “Those rules will always remain in place, hanging like a noose if I break them.”
“What happens if you defy the rules?”
“Then I’d owe Lorenzo a debt. I’d be his again. With no way out this time.”
“And if I break the rules while we’re together?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.” He holds my gaze, unblinking. “It’s a grey area. Especially when I don’t understand your connection to the Costas.”
I’m not willing to give him that insight.
Not yet.
“You should’ve left me alone, Matthew. I would’ve done your dirty work for you. We both could’ve got what we wanted.”
“I have what I want,” he growls. “Don’t you?”
He can’t ask me that.
He can’t possibly understand what it would mean to choose him, not only forsaking revenge, but my family, too.
I lower my attention to his shirt buttons, itching to unfasten them and press my skin to his. I’ve grown tired of words. I need more. Something to tether this wildness inside me. Something to dissolve the doubt.
“Do you really want them dead?” he murmurs. “Was that the plan?”
I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything.
The loss of Grace should cement my bloodlust. Instead, I’m fearful of the cost my actions might inflict upon the man I’m growing to admire.
A sinner with the control of a saint.
“Which one of them hurt you?” He runs his thumbs along my hips, gently coaxing. “What did they do?”
“You didn’t dig that deep into my life?”
“Bishop tried. He couldn’t find a connection.”
He uncovered my name. My reputation. My family’s sins, but not the circumstances surrounding my husband’s death or my child’s abduction. Good. That means Cole’s cover-up is tight. Not that I ever had any doubts.
I slide a fingertip over his top button, my gaze trekking the movement. “I’m not ready to share.”
But I have to make a choice.
I’ve reached the peak of this mountain. There are only two courses of action to take. I can return to the protection of where I came from, living a life where I’m judged and loathed. Or I can take the last step off the cliff, plunging myself into an abyss of recklessness and potential bliss.
Safety and sadness.
Or risk and the possibility of emotional reward.
“I need to think first.” My heart thunders a frantic beat.
I have to decide if I’m going to choose Matthew over my family.
To pick him instead of revenge. Can I choose this gloriously secretive man, with his adamance and determination, in place of everything I’ve ever known and relied on? Can I step toward something that scares the absolute hell out of me?
I glance up at him, desperate to read his thoughts as those dark eyes hold mine.
He drags me closer, forcing my knees to spread around his waist, the material of my dress hitching to the top of my thighs. “We need to discuss it, amore mio.”
“I know.”
“Soon.”
I nod. “But not now.”
His palms add pressure, pressing my crotch into the hard length hidden beneath his zipper. I gasp at the contact, hypersensitive and hungry.
Things are different now. Cautious. Intense.
Yet the underlying energy between us is stronger. The attraction more fierce.
Every inch of me vibrates for him. It hurts to breathe. To refrain from all the luscious thoughts that shouldn’t fester at a time like this.
It’s as if one spark against the kindling of our magnetism will ignite an inferno I’ll never control. A passionate explosion of lips and hands and spirit.
Flames flicker in his eyes, the hellish severity enough to cause arrhythmia.
“You’ll learn to trust me, Layla.” He grinds into me, the friction grazing my clit. “Give it time.” He leans closer, his stubble brushing my cheek as he speaks near my ear. “Until then, let me atone for the secrecy.” A hand slides to my thigh, his calloused palm delving beneath the pool of material at my crotch. “Let me show you how much I need you.”
There he goes again with the need.
The want.
The necessity.
I may willingly succumb to him, but his yearning for me makes me soar. Fly. Free fall.
He slides his fingers beneath the elastic of my panties, skimming my clit before moving farther to part my folds.
“I won’t lose you,” he grates into my hair. “Not over issues that are out of our control.” His lips find my neck. “There are too many things I want to do to you.”
“Then do them.”
“My pleasure.” In a jerk of movement, his hand leaves my flesh. He shoves off the tiles, holding me in his arms to take me with him.