It’s not a rejection. If anything, it’s an open door of opportunity.
I pull my wallet from the inside pocket of my suit jacket and place some bills on the table. “Come on.” I push from my seat and hold out a hand. “I’ll find us somewhere more appropriate to eat.”
9
Layla
Matthew leads me from the restaurant and into the chilled fall air, the sound of Denver’s nighttime traffic bustling around us.
I shouldn’t be doing this again. It’s stupid.
Problem is, this sizzling chemistry is potent enough to deafen the thoughts of caution.
“Your friend isn’t joining us tonight?” I shoot him a sideways glance as I take off my glasses and place them in my purse, my heart thudding harder when he looks my way.
“Bishop?” He returns his attention to the path ahead. “He’s always around.”
“He’s here?” I spin, scanning the sidewalk behind us as we continue walking.
The ogre isn’t visible. Not hiding in the entries to closed shopfronts. Not lingering in alleys.
“He has eyes on us from somewhere.”
Apprehension tickles my neck as I pivot back around, Matthew slowing until I catch up to his side.
“Want me to tell him to take the night off, amore mio?”
Yes, is my instinctual response. But I don’t want him too aware of my concern. He’s playing me for information and I need to do the same, even though my usually hibernating libido is under the impression I’m here for different reasons.
I’d been shocked at the first sight of him tonight. Panicked. Yet there’d been something more adamant that soon took over my emotions. Something that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way his sinful gaze devoured me.
“I’ll call him.” He stops and pulls out his cell.
“No, wait.” I reach for him, only to have him lock devilish eyes with me.
“It’s okay. He doesn’t need to hang around.” He tilts his head away, connects a call, and raises the cell to his ear. “Take the night off. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I don’t hear Bishop’s reply.
“Yes. Don’t let me find you tailing us.” He lowers the cell and disconnects. Simple as that. No farewell. No apology for the dismissal.
He’s smooth, his excessive level of charisma continuing to slip under my skin.
“You didn’t have to do that.” As long as we stay in public, I don’t have anything to worry about. I can hold my own, maybe not in strength, but definitely with the defensive goodies in my bag. And tonight isn’t going anywhere private. Racing pulse or not.
“Of course I did.” He pockets the device and grabs my hand. “If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll always be obliged to do something about it.”
My breathing hitches as he drags me into his side and continues our trek along the path. But it’s not just his vow of obligation that leaves me shook. It’s the possessive, comforting grip of his fingers. Both tag team to leave me speechless.
I’ve been deprived of male touch since Benji’s death. And before that, hand holding wasn’t a part of my life. Displays of affection didn’t exist. In public or private.
Now, I can barely think through the warmth of a stranger’s hold.
“It’s through here.” Matthew leads me to the mouth of an alley, the path subtly lit by a dubious string of twinkling lights attached between the towering buildings above.
I stop, my heels planted.
He continues forward, not noticing my hesitation until his arm is outstretched and I pull my hand away.
“What’s wrong?” He turns to ask. “You don’t trust me?”
I raise a brow, glancing from him to the darkened alley and back again. “Not in the slightest.”
“Beautiful and smart. How the hell did I get so lucky?” He steps forward, once, twice, his casual approach not stopping until we’re toe-to-toe, those deep dark eyes staring down at me as his palms take liberties by sliding over my hips. “What if I promise to remain respectful at all times? I’ll only bite if you want me to.”
“What if I tell you I have a gun in my purse,” I lie, “and I’m willing to use it?”
He grins. “That works, too. But let’s settle on going somewhere else. You decide the location.”
He keeps saying all the right things. Making all the smooth moves to bring me one step closer to his honeytrap. But it’s those eyes. The shades of rich earth and chocolate that make me contemplate stupid things… like following anywhere he leads.
“What’s down there?” I jerk my chin at the alley that’s far cleaner than any I’ve seen before. No garbage litters the asphalt. No graffiti. It’s all looming bricks with no windows in sight.
“An Indonesian food truck. It’s somewhat of a hidden treasure.” His fingers begin to move, kneading the flesh of my hips. “They’ve got an online presence. You can search them on the map. I promise I don’t plan to drag you into the shadows to have my wicked way with you.” His grin increases, a tiny dimple peeking out beneath the rich stubble. “That comes later, once I’ve gained permission.”
I shouldn’t be endeared. I shouldn’t be goddamn turned on either. And I definitely shouldn’t want to press my lips to his to assuage my curiosity over his taste.
But I do want.
I want and need and crave more than I can ever remember feeling with Benji. The thought is enough to leave me cold with guilt.
I step back, dragging my attention from penetrating eyes to the alley. Four people walk toward us. Smiling, laughing, the noise echoing off the walls. There’s nothing nefarious about them or their mood.
“Let’s keep moving.” Matthew reclaims my hand and continues along the sidewalk.
“No.” I tug him, making demands of my own. I want to see this hidden treasure. “Take me to the Indonesian food.”
“Are you sure?”
Nope. Not one little bit. But the hazardous impulse flowing through my veins makes me nod. “Yep.”
“Whatever you wish, amore mio.”
God, he kills me each time he uses the endearment. Even though it’s glib, it still affects me—how easily he can confess love when I’ve been denied those words my entire life.
My father rarely professed the sentiment. My brother never will. And although I assumed it from my husband, I rarely heard the admission from him. It came maybe three times in the nine years of marriage.
Matthew is similar to the men I’m used to in a lot of ways—his confidence, his authority. It’s the aspects that are shockingly unfamiliar that leave me hungered and achy.
He has soft undertones. A gentlemanly nature that lives in parallel with the sharp edge of wicked intent.
If only I wasn’t questioning whether every single part of him was some well-constructed act.
“You’re quiet.” He strolls beside me under the twinkling lights, taking me further into isolation. “Everything okay?”
“You’re guiding me down a darkened alley, without your bodyguard, while dressed in a designer suit. I think it’s normal to fall quiet from contemplating how many times we’re going to be mugged.”