Page 29 of Seeking Vengeance

“Why?” The question is growled with delicious determination. “At least give me the respect of telling me an honest answer.”

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 messagesme 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.

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