Page 35 of Seeking Vengeance

“Stay.” His voice drops in a gentle warning as he pauses at the threshold. “You need to rest. Let me look after you. I’ll be back soon.”

I fight another protest, the isolation hitting hard as soon as he’s gone. The minutes spent alone only give me time to relive what happened. The demand for my purse. The harsh shove. The painful collision with the wall. Then the panicked aftermath.

I kick off my shoes and wither into the pillows, trying to think what Cole would do in my situation.

The cyanide is a big deal.

I could easily say it was planted in my bag, but that’s not what I’m worried about. My panic revolves around the potential of an innocent victim. Then again, in my brother’s case, I’m sure he wouldn’t spare a stranger’s death a second thought.

He wouldn’t care.

If only I were that heartless.

I roll to my side, pull out my cell, and do a mental catalogue of the personal items I lost. My identification was definitely in there—photo ID for the airport who sometimes need more than the digital license stored on my phone. Then maybe one bank card. An AMEX. The rest were loaded to my cell months ago.

Realistically, I could get away with putting a hold on one account. But Cole would still find out.

I groan and navigate to my bank’s website, connecting a call to the correct department before I can talk myself out of it.

After providing every speck of personal detail known to man, I cancel the card and disconnect. The reordering of my license will have to wait for a time when I don’t feel as though I’ve run a marathon.

Even the allure of nearby running bathwater doesn’t ease my pulse. I’m still shaking, my limbs heavy.

I stare at the ceiling, fighting against the inner voices telling me how much trouble I’m going to face once I get home.

“You doing okay?” Matthew appears in the doorway, a scotch glass in his hand.

I am now. The mere sight of him brings overwhelming relief.

It has to be his commanding presence. The strong way he holds his shoulders. The chiseled angle of his jaw. And those eyes.My God. The intense way he looks at me makes me shiver.

“Layla?” He raises a brow.

He has to know the effect he has on me. It’s obvious. He walks into a room and the chemical shift is unsettling.

He’s always lured me in with the tease of escapism. And for once, I want to grasp the offering in both hands and leave the darkness of my world behind. If only for a few hours.

“I’m good.” I drop my cell to the mattress and push from the bed. “Thanks for taking care of me.” I walk toward him, my heartbeat excited although I’m still filled with hesitance.

He watches my approach with hungry eyes, the drink hanging limp in his hand, his arms strong and sure at his sides. “The bath is ready. It’ll help calm the nerves.”

“My nerves are calm.” I don’t stop until my toes brush the leather of his shoes.

I need to get lost in him. To lose sight not only of my failures but of myself. I don’t want to be this person anymore. I want to be free.

“If anything, this morning’s events have made me emboldened.” I lean up on the pads of my feet, place my palms on his hard chest, and inch toward his mouth.

My tongue tingles as I get within a mere breath of his lips only to have him turn his cheek, rejecting my advance.

“Layla,” he warns. “This is the adrenaline.”

I stiffen in horror, mortified.

All the air leaves my lungs on a rapid vacuum of humiliation, the scent of his exquisitely perfect aftershave only increasing my suffering when I have to draw in my next breath.

I drop back to the soles of my feet and retreat with heated cheeks.

“Wait.” He wraps an arm around my waist, holding me captive. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I—”

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