Page 70 of Seeking Vengeance

Then he has me bent over the chest of drawers. Or my naked breasts pressed to the glass doors leading to the balcony as he takes me from behind.

I need help.

I sidestep past the walk-in closet and move into the bathroom where I use the facilities and shower quickly. I should get back to my hotel. For anonymity’s sake. To make sure I don’t push the already fragile boundaries of my stupidity.

I dry myself with fast strokes of a clean, plush towel, discovering that some parts of me are already deliciously sore from his attention. Then I shuffle from the bathroom with the thick material wrapped around my chest.

Matthew sits waiting for me on the side of the bed, his feet on the floor, his elbows on knees. He glances up from under dark lashes, his chocolate eyes meeting mine with an expression I can’t quite read.

“Feel like you’ve been catfished?” I ask, suddenly aware that this is the first time he’s seen me without a mask of makeup.

He reaches out a hand, wordlessly beckoning me forward. My feet comply without my consent, bringing me right before him.

“You floor me with every new layer you expose.” His fingers glide around my wrist, leading me between his open knees. “I’m not worthy of your attention.”

I wither inside, my strategy for space disintegrating. I want to climb onto him and cuddle in his lap. To be his very own purring little kitten.

“Your cheek is still swollen.” He reaches for my face, gently cupping my jaw, his thumb sweeping over the healing skin. “Does it hurt?”

What hurts is the destruction it caused.

The drama.

Then again, I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t been mugged. I would’ve walked away from Matthew, possibly never seeing him again.

“I don’t notice it most of the time.”Especially not when your hands are on me.

He nods, continuing to stroke the bruising, stoking my sensuality with each pass. He drugs me with his touch, building an addiction that will require a multi-step program to achieve recovery.

“Tell me why you’re really here,” he murmurs.

I tense before I can stop myself.

“Don’t lie to me,amore mio.”

I step back, fearful of his scrutiny while something inside me yearns for transparency.

His touch falls away with my retreat, but those eyes slay me with their questioning.

“You didn’t come all this way to sleep with me,” he continues. “Do you need information on the Costas? Did you decide to take my help?”

I wince for so many reasons.

For starters, he’s wrong. Ididcome all this way to sleep with him, no matter how desperate and dysfunctional that sounds. It’s deeper than that, though. Painfully deeper.

“No.” I swallow and straighten my shoulders. “I didn’t come here for information. This has nothing to do with them.”

“Then why?” The question barely breaches my ears, the gentleness painfully coaxing.

Because I’m alone.

Because I had nobody else.

Because my family hate to love me, and love to hate me in equal measure.

I turn away, starting for the door. “I need to get my clothes.”

“Your clothes are gone, Layla.”

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