“It’s safe. I’d never knowingly put you in danger. I promise. And while we’re back on the topic of Bishop, he isn’t a bodyguard. He’s more of a business partner. At times, he’s my driver. My confidant. My eyes and ears. He watches my back. But I also watch his.”
His words trigger subdued alarm bells. They should be louder. Deafening. But the fact that he sounds like my brother washes off my back without leaving residue.
“Your job sounds hazardous for someone who works in hospitality.” I shoot him a sideward glance.
“You’ve obviously never been on the receiving end of an influencer’s tirade when their dirty martini isn’t quite as dirty as they would’ve liked. Some of my staff expect danger money when certain people walk through the club doors.”
I smile and return my attention to the foursome who continue to laugh and chat as they pass. “So you own a club?”
He shrugs. “A couple.”
Yep. He’s sounding more and more like Cole. The only difference is restaurants to clubs.
The reasons to turn on my heels and escape are compounding, yet these shoes won’t pivot. My body refuses to walk anywhere apart from straight ahead.
“We’re almost there.” His thumb rubs gently over mine. “It’s just around this corner.”
I keep my hand in his, my palm tingling as we reach the end of the building.
“Here.” He tugs me around the corner into the open space where I’m sure a building once stood. Now the area is claimed by a food truck draped in white twinkling lights with park benches scattered on top of bright green fake grass.
Office skyscrapers loom around the oasis, with more strings of lights crisscrossing overhead. It’s humble. A hidden haven, just like he promised. With at least twenty people eating and drinking.
“What do you think?” Matthew stops to look at me, those confident eyes scrutinizing. “I found this place years ago. I swear nobody cooks quite like Reza.”
“What I think is that you’re doing a great job of keeping me on my toes. I never would’ve expected you to escort me from a Michelin-starred restaurant to a food truck. I’m not sure if I should be impressed or confused.”
He smirks, dropping my hand to slide his palms around my waist. “If you want to be impressed, you should’ve taken the invitation to my hotel room. It’s not too late to head there now.”
I burn. White hot. His touch sears me.
I’m almost tempted to sell my soul for a few minutes of suit-clad privacy. But I can’t. I won’t.
I don’t know this man, and even if I did—even if this was a regular date between people who didn’t have deceitful similarities—my baggage is full.
I have a daughter, a dead husband, and a family who don’t welcome outsiders. Ever.
“You’re dreaming if you think I’ll follow you to your room.” I chuckle to dissuade the lust.
“Let’s call it forecasting.”
“I won’t go back to your hotel, Matthew.” I attempt to hold his gaze, yet the draw of his mouth steals my attention. “Not tonight.”
“How could I change your mind?” He leans closer, the intoxicating scent of his smooth aftershave consuming my fractured breaths.
“You can’t,” I lie. “I barely know you.”
His stubbled jaw grazes my cheek as he inches closer to my ear. “That’s what I’m trying to resolve.” His attention lowers. His lips brush my neck with a torturous glide of connection. “I want to know everything about you, Layla.”
I shudder, my eyes closing of their own volition, my entire body enraptured by the rough resonance of his tone. “I don’t enjoy one-night stands.”
“One night would never be enough.”
Oh, God. I want to succumb.
With everything I am, I itch to grasp these stomach-tingling feelings and ride them for as long as possible. Just one taste of happiness even if it isn’t deserved.
“You live in D.C.,” I whisper.
“Yes.” He nuzzles the sensitive skin below my ear. “And you live where?”
“Somewhere farther away from you than Denver.” Much, much farther. So unbelievably far that this questionable attraction isn’t worth humoring. I pull back, stricken with unwanted reality, and retreat a step. “I don’t have casual sex. You’re wasting your time if that’s what you’re after.”
“Stop thinking so little of me.” He counters my withdrawal with a forward stride, his hand sliding behind my neck, the other tightening around my waist to haul me closer. “This might be about fucking, but that’s not all it’s about.”
I want to believe him. The rapidly building wildfire rushing through my veins makes it impossible not to.
His mouth descends on mine, the softness contrasting with the possessive grip around my neck.
For a second I’m dumbstruck, my purse strap precariously hanging on the edge of my shoulder as he consumes me.
I haven’t kissed in… forever. I also haven’t been held with such possession. And I’ve never, ever been so alive with choking jitters.
His lips move, coaxing mine to do the same. I can’t deny him. I’m enslaved to give him what he wants, conceding with the softest whimper. Our mouths dance as I claim his chest with my hands, my fingers tangling in the material of his silk shirt.
He parts my lips with a firm glide of his tongue and a low growl of appreciation, and I’m done for. My nerves awaken in response. Every pound of my pulse is deafening.
Then, all too soon, he breaks the connection, gradually leaning back to stare at me with hungry eyes.
“Waiting until you’re ready will kill me,” he murmurs. “But the torment will be worthwhile.”
He turns, reclaiming my hand to lead my mindless ass toward the food truck, acting as if he didn’t just sweep me off my feet with a decimating kiss. He seats me at an empty park bench and says something about ordering food. Then he’s gone, leaving me to stare at his fine form from a few yards away.
I honestly don’t know how I got here. How I could possibly have traveled halfway across the country with intentions of destruction that guided me to romance?
Minutes later, he slides a heaped plate of marinated chicken sticks into the middle of the bench and takes a seat opposite me. “I hope you like satay chicken. They may not be the least messy option, but they’re the best thing on the menu.”
“It looks delicious.” My gaze remains riveted on him as I suck my lower lip.
The subtle tweak to his mouth makes it obvious he knows I’m talking about him. God. I have to look away to curb the lust. I’m out of my element here. Entirely ensnared.
“Hey.” He slides his hand across the table and claims mine. “I feel the same way, okay?”
No, he doesn’t. He couldn’t. I’m caught up in feelings I’ve never felt. For a man I barely know. In a situation that is rife with danger and subterfuge.
“I don’t chase women,” he adds. “And I definitely don’t beg for their attention. I assure you, I’m equally caught off guard.”
I don’t look at him. His reciprocated emotions only make this seem all the more surreal. I’m in Denver for revenge. For destruction. Not indulgence.