Page 39 of Seeking Vengeance

“Thank you.” I tilt my head to the side when he remains in place. “Do I have to wait until I get out for you to give it to me?”

“That’s probably for the best.” His attention lowers to the bubbles. “It’s not a good idea for me to get any closer.”

I press my lips tight, holding in a smile.

God, I love the predatory lust in his gaze.

“Where’s Bishop?” I raise my arm from beneath the water, slicing open a path of bubbles to guide a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“Out.”

“Out?” I hold in my delight at his gruff response.

“He’s busy rescheduling my flights.Again.”

My heart pangs at the reminder of our limited time. “When do you leave?”

“Tonight.”

I play with the bubbles, raking my fingers through them, spreading them one way, then back the other, attempting to tease him with the possibility of exposing what the thick cloud hides.

“That doesn’t give us a lot of time.” I keep swirling, decimating the foam further and further with each swipe.

“No,” he murmurs. “It doesn’t.”

When he falls quiet, refusing to continue the conversation, my thoughts become more daring, my curiosity growing wings.

I raise my leg onto the side of the tub and shiver when his nostrils flare.

“Are you deliberately torturing me?” he growls.

My heart kicks. Wild and unrhythmic. “Torture you?”

He raises the scotch, downing the contents in one fell swoop before returning the glass to his side. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

There’s a warning in his voice. A delicious subtle threat.

My throat tightens. My chest, too. Everything is so painfully, invigoratingly restricted that I have to fight hard to maintain level breathing.

I raise my other leg, crossing both at the ankles against the rim of the tub. I shouldn’t be doing this. Warning bells ring in the farthest recesses of my mind. If only they were loud enough to put a stop to the craziness. “Join me.”

His jaw ticks. That’s his only response. No movement. No words.

“Matthew?”

His features tighten, almost setting in a glower as he grates, “Be sure about this, Layla.”

“I think I am,” I lie. I’m not even partially certain. I’m running on instinct alone. No, not instinct—infatuation.

“Then I’m staying where I am.” He crosses his arms over his chest, the glass moving to rest in the crook of his arm.

“Why is this—”

“I’m on the precipice here. I can only pretend to be a stand-up guy for so long, then I’m going to start pushing my own agenda. So don’t play with me,amore mio.”

My cheeks blaze as I retract my legs from the rim of the tub to sit up straight. “I wasn’t…” I shake my head. “I’m not…” I don’t know what to say.

“What?” he asks. “You’re not what?”

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