Page 48 of Seeking Vengeance

Maybe he’s right. Maybe the fixation gnawing at my insides is only due to the scare I received. But even if it is, what does it matter? There’s no future between us. There’s only now, and I want to take advantage of our limited time.

“In answer to your question, no, the issues keeping me from being able to see you again haven’t changed.” I take a sip from the glass, not realizing how much I needed water until my throat throbs with the cool relief. “This is all we have. And I’m willing to take advantage of every minute if you are.”

He moves to the armchair opposite me—the farthest seat in the living room—and sinks into the cream leather. “Minutes aren’t what I’m after. A seized night every other Wednesday whenever I’m lucky to catch you at Perfezione won’t be enough. I want more from you. Everything else is merely a provocation that won’t satisfy.”

I school my expression, not having anticipated the rejection. “Does that mean you want me to go back to my own room?”

“No.” He scowls. “What I’m saying is that touching you—tasting you—only works as a taunt when I know I can’t have everything. And I’m too old to torment myself that way.”

Everything he says is a compliment.

I’m not sure if he’s even aware of what he’s doing. But his words act as a confidence booster. He tells me all the things I’ve dreamed of hearing. One after another, each perfectly constructed sentence making me crave him all the more.

“How old are you?” I ask, fighting the need to bite the inside of my mouth.

“Thirty-three. Old enough to no longer be satisfied with casual sex.” He kicks his ankle back over his knee. Suave. Sophisticated. “What I want is a wife,amore mio. And children. Both of which I can easily picture with you.”

“Excuse me?” I sputter, needing another sip of water to stop myself from choking.

“You heard me.” He grins. “But my point is that fucking you isn’t my only aim. Getting to know you is.”

I swallow. Clear my throat. Swallow again.

Even if this didn’t have to be temporary, I can’t give him what he wants.

Dragging him into my world isn’t an option. I already forced one man into the darkness that consumes my family. I refuse to do it again.

“Come back to D.C. with me tonight.” He remains composed through the gentle demand. “Let us get to know one another. You’ll have access to my jet to return home whenever you like. You’ll be safe at all times.”

My pulse increases as a lifetime of emotions batter down on me.

I can’t withstand the yearning. The hope. There’s happiness, and excitement, too. But they’re all washed away with the tidal wave of guilt, heartache, and longing.

I’m not meant for happy things.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” I place my water on the table, using the movement as an excuse to drag my gaze from his.

“Why?”

It’s a simple question. If only the answer wasn’t entirely complex and multi-layered.

There’s my family. My lifestyle. The dangers and threats. Not to mention why I’m in Denver in the first place. But I can’t tell him any of that. He can’t know who I am.

“Why, Layla? Can’t you give me that much? Is it your job? Do you have responsibilities to get back to?”

I wince, not wanting to lie to him. “It’s a lot of things I can’t explain.”

“Can’t or won’t?” He sits forward, returning to his elbows-on-knees position, his attention bearing down on me. “I already know you’re spying on the Costas. What else do you need to hide?”

If the question is a provocation to get me to look at him, it works. I meet his gaze, my pulse hammering in my throat, my heart squeezing with each rampant beat.

I want him to know me.Trulyknow me. But the knowledge wouldn’t work in my favor.

“Talk to me,” he demands. “You don’t get to share your body then simply walk away.”

If I don’t simply walk away, you wind up dead.

I don’t tell him that, though. I don’t give him the truth that would stop this inquisition in its tracks.

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