She blinks, her shoulders losing their rigidity, her expression falling. “Well, there goes a wasted flight.”
I disagree. I think her trip here is the best money she’s ever spent.
I’ve already discovered she lives far enough away to have to fly here.
It’s astounding, but seeing her again, after all those days fantasizing about her, it’s hard to believe she’s more alluring than my memories allowed. Her eyes more mesmerizing. Her lips more inviting.
She clears her throat and rests back into her chair, regaining confidence and composure. “If you knew they weren’t coming, why are you here?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” I rake my gaze along the parts of her I’ve missed during her absence—every single visible inch above the table. “I’m here for you.”
Her brows rise. The color in her cheeks does, too, as a timid smile curves her mouth. “That’s smooth. But I don’t buy it.”
“No?” I rest my elbows on the table and lean closer. “Do you mean to tell me this obsession isn’t mutual?”
She laughs and my dick takes notice of the hypnotic sound.
So pretty.
So real.
I know she’s here for underhanded reasons, that’s always been clear, but there’s a gentle innocence about her, too. A fucking purity that’s so subtle it makes me ache.
“Nice try,” she drawls. “Why are you really here?”
A waitress sidles up beside her, placing a glass of wine on the table. “Would you like a drink, sir?”
“Scotch. Thanks.”
The young woman nods and leaves us to our wicked games.
I swear the entire world ceases to exist for a few moments as Denver and I stare at each other with equal amounts of superiority and suspense. The air between us vibrates. The sexual tension crackles.
I narrow my attention to her mouth, her lower lip now slightly pulled between her teeth. Jesus. She’s a tease. “I apologize for scaring you when we first met.”
“You didn’t scare me.” She reaches for her wine with casual confidence, and I’m sure it’s to prove her point.
“Well, whatever I did to make you run, I apologize.”
She sips from her glass, eying me over the rim. There are no words between us for long moments, only a heated stare that bubbles my blood.
I don’t know who the fuck this woman is but she’s beyond temptation.
“Do you have a new lover since Remy or Salvatore? Is that why you took off?” I want the truth. Every last detail. If there’s another man in the picture, I need to know who to get rid of.
“No.” She takes another sip, her gaze still linked to mine. On the surface she appears unfazed and calm. It’s her thumb rubbing over her wedding finger that’s a tell.
I focus on her hand. On the lone digit.
There was no ring weeks ago. I made sure of it. I don’t usually waste time on taken women. Yet for her, I’d make all the exceptions in the world. I’ll break every one of my rules just for a taste.
She places the glass on the table and lowers her hands to her lap, deliberately out of sight.
“I have a husband.” Her murmured admission packs a punch.
Fuck. I don’t ruin marriages. Yet here I am, already planning the downfall of the relationship this woman has with her spouse.
“I thought you were a scorned lover?” I keep my disappointment in check. “So is it safe to assume you cheated on your husband with Remy? Or is Salvatore more your type?”
The heat building in my veins demands I find out who she was with—the younger, more emotional prick or the older, more conniving asshole. But I can’t push her either. My impatience won’t withstand another one of her disappearing acts.
The slightest narrowing of her eyes is her only response.
“Does he know you don’t wear your wedding ring? Or is that integral to your disguise?”
Her lips part, only to have the waitress return with my scotch. We’re silent through the interruption. Neither of us move or speak until Denver reaches for her wine to take another sip.
I don’t glance at her hand this time. I don’t dare to take my gaze from hers. I want to read every hint she gives. To see all the facets she doesn’t know are on display.
Once we’re left alone she tilts her chin as if preparing to announce war, but instead, she says, “My husband died two years ago.”
I straighten.
That explains a few things. Especially the subtle glimpses of pain I’ve witnessed a time or two.
I palm my glass. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No, you’re not.” She gives a derisive laugh. “You’ve been trying to sleep with me from the moment we met. I bet the death of my husband is welcomed news.”
I frown and clutch dramatically at my chest, pretending she’s not entirely on the mark. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”
“I haven’t thought enough about you to bother making an assessment.”
“Now who’s lying?” I smirk and clasp my scotch. “At least I’m honest enough to admit my infatuation. When you did the Cinderella routine weeks ago, I went crazy trying to find you. There wasn’t even a ruby slipper left behind for me to trace back to you. Not even a name.”
Her lips twitch. “First of all, the ruby slipper was in The Wizard of Oz, and second, I vaguely recall you mentioning you didn’t need my name.”
Touché.
“I assure you I paid a hefty price for that mistake. I almost lost my mind not knowing how to find you.”
Her lips kick even farther. Not quite a smile, yet enough to raise her cheeks and brighten her eyes.
“Well, don’t hold out on me, amore mio. Tell me your name.”
She contemplates me for a moment, probably wondering whether to lie while she takes another sip of alcohol.
“Layla,” she gently murmurs.
Victory consumes me, rushing hot and fast through my veins.
She’s telling the truth.
I’m not sure how I know, but I do.
“Do you have a surname, Layla?”
“Yes.” She answers simply, without elaboration.
Fuck me, she’s phenomenal. All sass and charm.
I can’t help but snicker, and it’s beyond rewarding when she follows suit, chuckling along with me.
“Okay, Layla. I don’t need anything more than your given name.”
She raises a taunting brow. “Good for you.”
“Don’t get me wrong, amore mio. I’m happy to delay the exchange of information, but you’re going to eventually give me a few more details. I need to know the history of the future mother to my children.”
More laughter tumbles from her lips. Whimsical, entrancing laughter. “You need to stop before I choke on your massive ego.”
I’d love to give her something else to choke on. I can already picture it. Feel it. But I need to be cautious of her boundaries. I won’t risk losing her again.
“Take off the wig.” I gentle the demand. “Let me look at who you really are.”
Her mirth tapers under seriousness. “Not here.”
“Then we’ll leave. I’ll take you somewhere more subdued.”
She pauses. Hesitates. “I haven’t had dinner.”