Page 46 of Seeking Vengeance

This modest kitten is far more detrimental to my composure.

“You’re the devil.” She holds my gaze, the bubbles licking over the tops of her breasts. “But do you know what?”

“What?”

Her face flushes as she whispers, “I’m starting to think I might really like you.”

I snicker and push to my feet. Water and bubbles rush down my abdomen and thighs as she quickly glances away from my exposed dick. “Well, welcome to the party,amore mio. You arrived late, but I guess it’s better than nothing.”

14

Layla

I keepmy gaze averted as he dries himself, my hands clinging to the rim of the tub, my heart wildly fluttering.

He likes me.

He actually likes me.

It’s pathetic, but after a childhood when I was constantly watched by overbearing males who didn’t allow boys near, then being forced to spend years with a man who found it hard to love me, all while being the daughter to a monster who used me for his devious games, the confounding exhilaration of someone actually liking me—me, Layla Hart—is such an incredible relief.

“You okay?” Matthew pulls on his suit pants in my periphery, then yanks at the zipper.

“I’m better than okay.” I meet his gaze and the collision has his face falling.

“No, you’re not.” He frowns. “Something has upset you.”

I shake my head and smile. It’s a forced expression, but only due to the overwhelming whirlwind of sensation taking over my insides. “I’m perfect.”

I really am.

For the first time in more than a decade something other than my daughter has brought joy to my life, and it’s come in the form of a muscle-etched, stubble-ridden, gorgeous human whose eyes are currently scrutinizing mine.

“I’m going to give you space to clear your head.” He snatches his shirt from the floor and slides his arms into the light material. “Have a glass of champagne. Call out if you need me.”

“You don’t want to stay?”

His grin returns. “I don’t want to leave, but you need a moment to breathe. I’ll come check on you soon.”

He grabs his jacket and belt from the tile, and walks toward me, grabbing the ice bucket to place it closer. “Are you hungry? Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Just you.

Only you.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” The sound of my own fragility tightens my throat. I’m not going to be this woman—this needy, pathetic excuse for a full-blooded Torian. “Ignore me.” I cringe. “I’ll be out soon.”

He leans down and kisses the top of my head, his fingers trailing along my shoulder in the briefest tease of contact. “I’ll be waiting in the living room whenever you’re ready.”

He straightens and I feel the loss immediately. His steps toward the hall are torture. The isolation once he closes the door behind him is hell.

It takes all my self-control not to chase after him and finish what we started.

He didn’t get a release.

He didn’t ask for one, either.

Benji would never have let that happen. He didn’t do selfless acts. Not in the bedroom. And—shit. I need to stop this. I have to quit comparing Matthew to my late husband because it always ends in guilt.

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