by Melody Anne
The rest of the team arrives and we walk through the casino to a beautiful Italian restaurant. We’re seated at a large table and have two servers. Wine is chosen, along with a slew of appetizers and our entrées. I have a feeling we’re all going to waddle from the place.
It ends up being the most entertaining dinner of my life. This truly is a good group of people. They’ve been with the company for quite some time, and it’s obvious. They joke with each other, know about one another’s lives, and are comfortable with Kaden. They also include me. I’m part of them now.
I realize what a fool I’ll be if I fall into a torrid affair with Kaden. I’ll lose my job, lose this sense of belonging, lose myself. I don’t want that to happen, especially since I have no idea where my relationship with my husband is going. I don’t want to end up alone.
The dinner lasts a little over two hours, then Kaden rushes us from the casino so we can make it to our show on time. We catch a ride to the Mandalay Bay Resort and are led into the VIP section for the show.
Once again I end up next to Kaden. I’m not sure if he’s doing this on purpose, but the longer this night goes on, the more my resistance to the man comes to an all-time low.
The lights flash as we sip drinks and continue to talk until the show begins. I’m utterly mesmerized. Even being incredibly aware of Kaden right next to me, the show is magnificent. It’s the first big production I’ve been to, and being such a Michael Jackson fan, the experience is indescribable. It seems like Michael himself is up there dancing. All the performers do well; it’s so much better than I could’ve imagined. I’m not ready for it to end when it does.
I’m in a trance as we walk from the theatre. I drank far too much, and I’m feeling good. I lean on Kaden as we leave the building. Since the rest of the team hold each other up, no one seems to notice.
“How are you feeling?” he asks as we walk to the waiting car.
“Great! Thank you for taking us. I’ve never experienced anything like it,” I say.
He looks over me for several moments, disappointment appearing in his eyes. I don’t know what he’s upset about. I told him it was a great show.
The laughter continues on the ride back to our resort. It seems I’m the only one feeling the effects of drinking.
“Who’s up for some gambling?” Dell asks with enthusiasm.
A couple of the team members readily agree, but most say they need a good night’s rest.
“I ate way too much food and drank about a gallon of wine,” Jenny says. “I’m going to bed where I can moan and groan on my own.”
Dell laughs. “I’m just getting started.”
“Make sure you aren’t mega hungover tomorrow. It’s a busy day,” Jenny warns.
“I don’t get hangovers,” he assures her. “The trick is Advil and water.” The gamblers take off, and the rest of us move slowly toward the elevators.
I’m very aware of Kaden moving to the same tower elevator I use.
Four of us get into the elevator, but the other two team members get off on the tenth floor. Now it’s just Kaden and me. My heart thunders as I keep my face down, refusing to look at him. I can’t help but think of what happened last time we were alone in an elevator, how hard it was not to jump on him. I have to clench my fists together to keep from attacking the man. I’m being foolish.
The doors ding and I gratefully see my floor number appear. Kaden steps off with me.
“Are you on this floor?” I ask.
He smiles at me, heat and resignation in his eyes.
“Yes.” There isn’t a lot of enthusiasm in his one word answer.
I stop at my door and fumble through my purse, trying to find my key. It seems an impossible task. My hand shakes and I realize I’m a bit more drunk than I thought.
“Allow me,” Kaden says. I finally look at him.
“You really are a beautiful man,” I blurt. His fingers still as he pulls them from my purse, my key in his hand. I see desire flare in his eyes, but I see something else, too.
“As much as I want to take you into this room and give us both the pleasure we’ve been denying ourselves, I refuse to let that happen when you’re drunk,” he says. Should I be offended? I wave my hand at him as he sweeps the key over my lock and my door opens.
He walks inside with me, and I sway toward him. Will I make a big mistake tonight? What is it Dell’s shirt says? Whatever happens in Vegas stays here? It’s something like that.
“Are you going to kiss me again?” I ask. I want him. There’s no doubt, and my defenses are at an all-time low.
“Dammit, Miranda,” he says in a low growl. He grabs hold of me, his arms powerful as they pull me against him. He doesn’t say anything as he smashes his mouth to mine.
It’s a punishing kiss, a frustrated kiss, a fantastic kiss. I push against him, desire flaring inside me. It’s exactly what I want and need — beautiful and sexy. I’m tired of fighting myself. One of his hands clings to my lower back, the other to my hip. His fingers squeeze as his mouth caresses mine. After a moment, the kiss softens. I sigh against his lips as I wiggle against him.
He moves, pulling back from me, and I whimper. I’m pulled into his arms again, cradled against his chest. Maybe he’s taking me to the bedroom. I have a beautiful little suite with a small living room and a bedroom with a door. It’s perfect for a conference attendee who wants to entertain without people seeing where you sleep.
But he doesn’t head straight to the bed. Instead he moves to the couch and unceremoniously dumps me on it. I flop down, nearly falling over. When I’m sitting straight again I glare at him. He glares right back.
“You don’t want me.” I fight how much this hurts.
He leans down, his hands resting on the back of the couch, fury in his eyes. I try to look away, but the power of his gaze makes it impossible. I have to fight tears. My husband doesn’t want me, and now the man who told me he wants me, doesn’t either. There has to be something wrong with me.
“I want you so bad I’m burning up inside. My cock is so fucking hard I’m surprised it isn’t snapping in two,” he growls. My shock at his words has to show in my eyes. I can’t lean away from him. I don’t want to.
“Why then?” I ask, hating how vulnerable I sound.
“I don’t take advantage of women. Just as I don’t coerce them. You are far too drunk to make this decision. When we make love for the first time, I refuse to allow you to blame it on alcohol.”
“I’m not that drunk,” I mutter. That’s a lie. I see two of him.
He leans back, anger seeming to drain away as quickly as it came. He walks away from me and I want to call out to him. Is he going to leave just like that?
But he doesn’t leave. He comes back a couple of minutes later with a bottle of water, a cup of coffee, and two Advil. “Take the pills, drink the entire bottle of water, and the whole cup of coffee,” he says. Well, he demands it actually.
“I’m not thirsty.” I sound like a pouting child.
“I don’t care. Do it.”
He leaves after I swallow the pills and I wonder if he went to his own room. But I hear him behind me. He comes back, his own cup of coffee in hand. He sits down and picks up the phone. It takes a moment for me to realize he’s ordering pancakes and eggs. He’s really confusing me.
“Are you trying to sober me up?” I hate the hope in my voice. Have I decided to sleep with him? I don’t remember when or if I made that decision. But if I’m waiting to sober up maybe I have decided.
“Yes,” he answers. I look at him, knowing there’s desire in my eyes. I hate it. I hate that he sees me this damn weak.
“I’m not sleeping with you tonight. Tomorrow don’t drink,” he warns. It’s definitely a command. I wonder if we’re sleeping together tomorrow. Is that what I want?
The food arrives and I nibble on some whil
e I drink my coffee and water. I’m feeling much better, grateful he insisted on this. The times I went to sleep after drinking as much as I drank this night have led to some pretty miserable mornings.
I grow tired as the food is cleared from the room. Kaden sits with me. We don’t speak and soon I find I can’t hold my eyes open. I fall asleep, feeling safe with Kaden taking care of me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Then
Mason’s mother was amazing the first time I met her. She was stunningly beautiful, sweet, and understanding. Even though she came from money and had more of it than most people, she didn’t treat me as if I were too trashy to be a part of Mason’s life . . . or hers.
She welcomed me into her home. I loved going to their place. It was so inviting with large picturesque windows, huge exotic plants, and furniture so beautiful I was afraid to use it, afraid I’d somehow damage it.
But Mason acted as if it was any other home. He plopped down on the sofa and put his feet up on the glass coffee table. His mother never seemed to mind anything he did. I didn’t dare act that way though. She’d look at me as if I were a germ that must be thrown from her house if I did.
We went to the coast for a visit at least twice a year. The longer Mason and I were together, the more I hated the visits with Cynthia. The positive to it all was my dad still resided in the small coastal town so I got to see him. I didn’t make it around nearly as much as I should have. I felt guilty over that.
My dad was no longer in the crappy trailer I grew up in. His mom died a few years earlier and he received a decent inheritance, which seemed like a million dollars to him, so he bought a nice little cabin in the hills surrounding the town. It was perfect for him.
There wasn’t room for guests to stay over, but my dad was a simple man. Money couldn’t change that. I loved his cabin, loved sitting on the back deck drinking a cup of coffee and catching up on our lives.
Dad liked to pick mushrooms. He’d done it for as long as I could remember and though it didn’t pay as much as it used to, he didn’t care about the money. He loved being out in the woods with no one around, loved finding hidden gems beneath the dirt. He was good at it.
I put up with Cynthia so I can spend time with my father. I tell myself that every time we go to the coast. Luckily Mason doesn’t mind if I’m gone all day. Cynthia seems offended by it. Why would I want to go off to my dad’s little place when she has such a beautiful home?
I realize as I’m older it isn’t the size of the house, or even what’s in it. What makes a house a home is the love, the hope, the dreams that are made inside the four walls. I’ll take a rundown trailer any day of the week over a mansion that’s as cold on the inside as the outside.
We arrived in Newport as the sun was setting. I enjoyed a beautiful coastal sunset with the gorgeous colors you never saw in the city. Sure, there were sunsets, but none compared to the ones at the beach. Cynthia’s place had a spectacular view of the ocean. When she became too domineering, I walked outside, taking an extra long stroll. It gave me peace.
Mason carried our bags and walked in the front door, Cynthia beaming at him. They hugged for a full minute as if they hadn’t seen each other in years instead of a couple months.
I pushed those thoughts out of my mind because they were petty, and uncalled for. I didn’t know why I felt this way. Maybe because I wasn’t a mother yet, maybe because I didn’t understand the mother-child bond, or maybe because I didn’t feel as secure about my relationship with Mason any more.
“Hello, Miranda.” Cynthia finally let go of Mason, who seemed happier than I’d seen him in quite some time. She walked over and gave me a two-second hug, then turned her attention back to Mason.
“I made your favorite cake, and we’re having Italian Parmesan for dinner,” she said.
“There’s still not a better cook than you, Mom,” he assured her. “And we live in the city where there’s some pretty top-rated chefs.”
She grinned. “Oh, you’re so sweet to say that.” She didn’t do demure very well. I was slightly offended, considering I cooked for him all the time and had never gotten a compliment like that.
I might not spend six hours preparing a meal because I had a job outside the home, but I took time to look up good recipes and watch cooking videos. My dad wasn’t exactly a gourmet chef so I’d learned on my own. I did pretty dang well, considering.
“Just stating a fact,” Mason said.
He left our bags by the front door, and we made our way to the kitchen. A German chocolate cake sat on a crystal cake holder on the counter, perfectly frosted. Cynthia went to her over-the-top espresso machine and made Mason a cup to go with his cake, steamed milk included.
I sat next to him at the kitchen island and accepted a piece of cake. It certainly wasn’t my favorite, but I wasn’t sure if Cynthia and I had ever had a conversation about what I liked and didn’t like.
One of the things I was excited about when Mason and I became serious was getting a mother-in-law. I didn’t have a mom, and I wanted one. I had a great father, but every girl needed a mother, or at least a mother substitute. I quickly learned Cynthia wasn’t going to be that person for me.
I thought too many mean thoughts. I shouldn’t because Cynthia had done some wonderful things for me. She planned my wedding, and she remembered my birthday. She even took me shopping in real stores, not just outlets. She never had a problem spending money. I should be more appreciative of her. Maybe she’d try harder if I did. It was a novel concept that might be a good idea to put into action. I decided to try right then.
“The house smells wonderful, Cynthia. I love the fresh cut flowers,” I said. There was a large bouquet of a variety of spring flowers sitting on the white kitchen table.
“Thank you, Miranda. They were a gift from a friend of mine. I wasn’t feeling well after my surgery,” she said, looking at Mason for sympathy.
“I’m sorry, Mom. That’s the first thing I should’ve asked you about,” he said in a horrified voice. I felt vomit rise in my throat.
“I’ll be okay,” she said with a note in her voice that told us she didn’t think that at all, but she was acting like a martyr because that’s what a mother needed to do. I was about ten seconds into my decision to be kinder, and I already wanted to find the nearest kitchen knife and stab the woman in the foot.
That’s where her surgery had occurred. Two of her toes were connected about half an inch by extra skin. I thought it was actually pretty cool and unique. Apparently it was a sin to have an imperfection. I had no idea why she didn’t fix it a long time ago if she had a problem with it. But apparently she kicked her bedpost and cut it, therefore she had to undergo “surgery” to fix it. Since she was fixing it, she decided to have the extra skin removed.
I looked at her foot and noticed the huge sock on it. I didn’t noticed her limping when we first came in, but as she moved from the espresso machine to set Mason’s cup in front of him, she was sporting a limp. It took everything within me not to roll my eyes. He jumped from his seat and placed an arm around her, leading her to the seat beside him.
“You shouldn’t be making me coffee, desserts, and a complicated dinner. You should be resting,” he said. I really wanted to ask him if this was all an act or if he really meant what he was saying. It was just a little extra skin. I screamed that in my head, but I kept a sympathetic smile on my lips as I got up and moved to the coffee machine. It looked like I was going to be making my own. I didn’t mind but she did have a really complicated machine. What was wrong with a Keurig?
“Be careful, Miranda. That machine is touchy,” Cynthia said. I could see she didn’t want me to use it, but at the same time she was eating up the sympathy she was receiving from her son and didn’t want him to know it was no problem for her to be on her feet.
“I’ve used it before. I think I can do it,” I said, not daring to look at her.
I’d roll my eyes for sure and have both of them gasping in horror at the rude gesture.
“Need help, Hun?” Mason asked. I was about to tell him no when Cynthia answered for me.
“That’s a good idea, Sweetie. You know how to use it. I’m sorry your coffee will cool down,” she said as if I was being rude to want my own cup.
I had a vision in my mind of filling my cup to the brim with the hot liquid and accidentally tripping as I made my way back to the island, splashing it all in Cynthia’s perfect face.
When had I become that person? When had I begun to have thoughts like that, to act that way toward another human being? I really needed to cut it out. My dad would be so disappointed in me. He’d tell me he raised me better than that. He’d say our thoughts lead to actions, and if we wanted to be a good person we needed to give others the benefit of the doubt. I wanted to vomit again, thinking of that.
I needed to be more positive, but there were some people in this world who were impossible to like. Maybe some people liked them because they were just as evil. And maybe a person wasn’t really a bad person, maybe they just didn’t click with you. Who knew? I desperately wanted to like Cynthia from the moment I met her. I was in awe of her. But she wasn’t someone I was able to bond with.
Mason took over the coffee making, and I put an arm around him and rested my head against his shoulder. I inhaled a few cleansing breaths, loving how familiar his spicy scent was to me. It actually helped calm me.
“Sweetie, if you don’t mind too terribly, can you brew me a cup? I was going to do one for myself next,” Cynthia said just as my cup finished. Mason pulled away from me and took the perfectly brewed cup to his mom, then grabbed the cream from the fridge. She didn’t like steamed milk. She liked a dash of whipping cream and nothing else in her coffee.
“Take this one,” he said.
I counted to ten. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal. I cleaned out the coffee press and prepared to make another cup. Mason forgot he was helping me and sat by his mom, taking a bite of his cake and a sipping his coffee.
