Page 25 of Seeking Vengeance

“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.”

“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.

---