Honesty is tough. It always has been. From my childhood years, when I had to lie to myself about how my family made money, to my adulthood, when those lies had to be fed to everyone else.
“I could lose myself in you, Matthew,” I murmur with a sad smile. “I barely know you, yet I’m well aware I could fall head over heels and never recover. And that’s not what we’re here for.”
“Says who?”
My heart flutters. “I need to go.” I walk around the bench only to be stopped by his hand grasping my wrist.
“At least take my number.”
I want to take more than that. So much more it kills me to deny us both.
“I’m no threat to you, Layla. I have to go back to D.C. tomorrow morning.” He pushes to his feet to stand before me, not letting go of my wrist. “I don’t even know your full name. I don’t know where you live. But if I give you my number you can at least reach out if you change your mind.”
I hesitate. Having a lifeline to him isn’t something I need. It will only act as an opportunity to succumb in the future.
“It’s just a number.” He steps closer and reaches for my purse.
I don’t stop him from retrieving my burner phone. I even reluctantly enter the pin code when he holds the device in front of me.
He messes about with the screen. Tapping. Swiping.
When he hands it back, I notice he’s sent a text message, the sneaky bastard, not merely giving me his number, but taking mine in return.
“I want to see you again.” He reclaims the possessive grip around my neck. “And I know you want to see me, too.”
I do.
God, how I do.
I want to touch, and taste, and breathe in more of his phenomenal aftershave. To strip him naked and kiss every inch of his perfect skin. To learn all about him—who he is, where he’s from, what he stands for.
Unfortunately, I have a job to do and there’s no place for distractions.
“Goodbye, Matthew.” I place a kiss to his cheek.
“For now,” he growls, his hand falling to his side. “We’ll meet again, Layla.”
10
Layla
He messages me before I leave the alley—I’m in suite 1309 of the Delcato if you change your mind.
Fate is such a tempting bitch.
Of all the hotels in all of Denver, we have to share the same one. But I’m not going to give in. Instead, I catch the closest cab and make quick work of hiding in my hotel room before there’s another chance of us crossing paths.
I send sweet messages to Stella to distract myself. When that isn’t enough, I call my brother. I make up a lame story about enjoying an out-of-town shopping spree to keep him off my trail. Then I shower and spend the rest of the night staring at my suite door, trying to fight the instinct to go in search of a stranger’s bed.
I toss and turn for hours. I even reach for my phone twice, debating whether or not to cave.
Thankfully, I pass out before I can succumb. The sun peeking through the curtains announces I made it through the torture to the other side. Waking up alone doesn’t feel like a victory, though.
I order room service for breakfast, not willing to see Matthew in the restaurant before his flight. Then I head out to shop my blues away, knowing he would already be on his way home to D.C.
I purchase dress after dress. Shoes. Makeup. Books.
Thoughts of him follow me the entire time. I even fantasize that he watches me from a distance. Stalks. I imagine his attention fixated on my body, and my skin shivers everywhere his make-believe gaze strays.
But he isn’t here. I make sure of it by glancing over my shoulder like a paranoid bitch every few minutes.
When my cell vibrates with a call after lunch, so does my pulse, because his name is the one displayed on my screen.
“You messaged me straight away,” I say in greeting. “Then call me the next day. I thought men weren’t meant to show interest for weeks.”
He laughs, and I close my eyes briefly to enjoy the sound. “If so, I’ve severely messed up because I ditched my meeting this morning and stayed in Denver, hoping you might change your mind about spending time with me.”
My stomach free falls, giddy greed consuming me.
“Where are you?” he asks.
Anticipation swirls beneath my sternum, my heart thundering like a drum.
“Layla?” His voice drops to a purr. “Don’t deny you spent all night thinking about me, because you already know I did the same damn thing.”
The reciprocation kills me. It eats away at my caution and makes me want to run to him. Just for a taste. Just one more kiss.
“I’m shopping. The mall is about a ten-minute drive from the hotel.” My pulse thrums with the admission.
“Mine or yours?”
“Ours. We stayed at the same place.”
There’s a beat of silence. I swear, I feel his disappointment roll through the connection. It hits me right in the throat, stilting my breath.
“Tell me where you are,” he says. “I’ll come find you.”
If I give him my location I’m done for. There will be no more restraint. No more talking myself out of this. I’ll give in to temptation despite the risks.
But this could be my last taste of happiness. The one quick gulp before I return to judgment and resentment.
“I’m at the Cherry Creek Shopping Center.” My blood surges. My pulse, too.
“Give me an hour.”
He disconnects, leaving me to second guess if this is the most stupid decision of my life. And I’ve made some pretty wretched ones in the past.
I have to force myself to continue shopping as a distraction, but all I do is walk aimlessly from store to store, not taking note of the clothes or shoes or sales because all I can think about is him. He’s all I see.
Within ten minutes, I’m outside, needing fresh air to dilute the suffocating apprehension. The traffic makes things worse. All the hustle and bustle increases the noise inside my head.
This can’t be a thing—me and him.
Catching up is only to feed my curiosity. To answer the myriad of unspoken questions.
I pass unseen people and shopfronts, trekking in circles, getting lost. It isn’t until I’m standing at the mouth of an alley that I stop, my shopping bags limp at my sides as the looming walls remind me of the night before. How Matthew had shown me a slice of Denver I never knew existed. How his kiss made my soul ache.
This alley isn’t the same, though. Garbage bags are piled against the building walls. There are no hanging lights or laughing friends to lull me further into daydreams. The contrast to last night’s environment only acts as an added warning that maybe things won’t be as sparkling and shiny with Matthew in the light of day. That maybe catching up with him again is a mistake.
I continue into the isolation, seeking clarity, and the farther I trek, the more conflicted I become.
Matthew is an indulgence I’m not allowed.
Not after I spied on Cole for my father. Not when I contributed to Benji’s downfall and Stella’s abduction. And especially not with all the things I did in an attempt to keep my transgressions secret.
Happiness isn’t a part of my all-inclusive life package. Mine revolves around heartache, guilt, and regret. There are some bonus pride-filled moments that revolve around my daughter, but I don’t get to upgrade until I make amends.