The Marriage Mistake mtab-3

by Jennifer Probst

  His throat tightened. Blood was blood, and he didn’t have it. No matter he worked his ass off and made the company a success. He may be welcomed as family, but would never be called family, even though he married Carina. If Michael didn’t want him to take the helm, it was time he looked elsewhere. Built something of his own. But damned if he’d let his friend mess with his wife.

  His voice nipped as frosty as a chilled bottle of Moretti. “Get over it, Michael. She doesn’t want to work for the bakery, and she’s not going to.”

  Michael waved his hand in the air, used to getting what he wanted. “You can help me convince her.”

  “No.”

  Michael stared. “What?”

  He uncurled himself from the chair and closed the distance. “I said no. She’s happy painting. And guess what? She’s amazing. Carina has talent and passion and she’s been told too many times it’s just a hobby by all of us. She’s finding out who she is and I love watching her. And if I’m not good enough for you because I don’t have your precious blood running through my veins, it’s time I moved on.”

  Michael jerked as if hit. “Scusi? What are you talking about?”

  “Give your precious bakery to Maggie, or to your children. I’m done hoping I’ll be enough.” A crazy laugh escaped his lips. “Funny, I think I finally see how Carina has felt all these years. Trying to measure up but just missing the mark. Leave her alone. Let her be who she wants, without us telling her what we want.”

  Michael placed his glass on the coaster and stared. “I never knew you felt like this. Why haven’t you said anything?”

  “I wanted to be enough without relying on our friendship.”

  His friend threw out a tirade of colorful curses. “All this time I counted on you to be there and never questioned your role. Because you are family, Maximus. My brother, my friend, my right-hand man. You being involved in the business was never in question. I just never thought to put it in writing. Mi dispiace. I will correct this.”

  The simplicity of his acceptance stunned him. All this time, and it had nothing to do with not being good enough. Just the common male trait of barreling forward and forgetting to make his feelings known. The dream of everything he worked so hard for shimmered in front of him. All he needed to do was reach out and take it.

  Time to put everything on the table.

  “I slept with your sister in Vegas.”

  The words rang out like a tire blowout in the middle of church.

  Michael cocked his head. A sharp birdcall rang through the open window. “What do you mean? You were married in Vegas.”

  Max shoved his hands in his pockets and faced the man he loved like blood. “Before we were married. We had a one-night stand.”

  Michael unfurled himself from the leather chair and crossed the burgundy oriental carpet. His dark features remained smooth, but a cold fury gleamed from his eyes. “You slept with her before you were married? On a business trip I sent you on?”

  “Correct.”

  “But you loved her enough to get married?”

  “No. Your mother found us the next morning and convinced us to marry.”

  His breath hissed from his teeth. “You never even loved my sister? Treated her like one of your cheap lovers when I trusted you?” Michael’s voice dropped with warning. “I want all the details.”

  “No.”

  He jerked back. “What did you say to me?”

  Max held his ground. “It’s no longer your concern. What happens between Carina and me moving forward is our business. I owed you the truth, but I’m not helping you change my wife’s mind about the company. She needs to find her own path, and I’m backing her all the way.”

  The betrayal in his friend’s eyes cut deeper than any knife wound. “How dare you speak to me like this? I trusted you to protect my sister, and you used her. You married her without love and mocked our friendship.” His hand shook as Michael stabbed a finger through the air. “You broke my heart.”

  The scene from The Godfather flashed before his eyes, and suddenly Max knew what Fredo felt like. Merda, what a mess. He looked his friend dead in the eye and took the heat. He had no choice. He realized his core need to protect Carina from harm and finally stand up for her. “I’m sorry, Michael. I never meant to hurt you. But this is our business, not yours.”

  “I was ready to give you a permanent part of the company! Make you partner. This is how you show your loyalty and respect for my family?”

  Max shoved down his temper and tried to remain calm. “It’s my family, too. Carina is now my wife.”

  “I do not know if we can work together any longer, Maximus. Not like this. And not without trust.”

  The dream of partnership exploded like fireworks, and broken pieces flew around him like charred paper. Maybe if he explained more of the situation Michael would finally understand. They could talk together about options and—

  No.

  Just last night he’d thrust between those silky thighs and held her through the night. She’d pushed him toward anger, passion, laughter, and comforted him when he spoke about his father. She made him feel alive and whole. He loved eating long dinners, talking about work, and watching her with his dog. Damned if he’d betray what fragile trust they had by selling her out for a contract. Her brother no longer owned rights to her life.

  Or his.

  Max let out a humorless laugh. The realization he didn’t care about the partnership anymore rattled his composure. “I don’t care.”

  “Scusi?”

  “If you can no longer work with me, I understand. Carina means more.”

  Michael narrowed his gaze. “What are you saying?”

  “Don’t give me the partnership. Fire me. Doesn’t matter. But make sure you stay out of Carina’s life and let her make her own decisions—including what happens with our marriage.”

  He left the room and his harsh words without a backward glance. The hell with it. He was tired of lying and making excuses for his crappy behavior.

  He’d done enough of that to last his whole life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She’d slept with Max.

  Again.

  Carina drove home from her shift at BookCrazy, tapping her fingers absently on the steering wheel while she tried to make sense of the situation. She resented his false, half-assed proposal under pressure from her mother. But the arousal in his eyes caused her brain to ooze from her head until there was nothing left but surrender. His body never lied. Why shouldn’t she enjoy that aspect of their relationship? They were married, for God’s sake.

  The inner whisper screamed the truth.

  Because she was still in love with him.

  Always had been. Always would be. Like a cross heavy on her back, she never got over her feelings for Max. Bringing in sex complicated things. She’d be less able to keep her barriers up and be the strong, controlled woman she so desperately needed to be.

  Curiously, in all other aspects of her life she felt . . . different. Stronger. Leaving La Dolce Maggie had been difficult. She bet Michael still believed he could encourage her to return, and Julietta placed an urgent call trying to change her mind. The conversations only confirmed she’d made the right decision. Her painting grew by leaps and bounds, and her class finally confirmed she needed to break through her barriers and paint what her soul screamed for. The erotic photos on Sawyer’s wall had called out to her, and the images being coaxed from her brush made her squirm with both embarrassment and pride. Who would’ve thought she’d been a woman to burn for a dominant lover, and an artist who loved erotica?

  Even her job at the bookstore soothed something within her. She finally found a perfect blend of business and creativity by working around books, and enjoyed using her accounting skills to help Alexa.

  If only her marriage hadn’t started under false pretenses, everything would’ve been perfect.

  Was she crazy to stay? Why didn’t she just pack her bags and move out? The slow torture of
being around him and not getting what she needed was brutal. The hell with it. She was leaving. Moving on. She’d play lots of angry-woman music and go a bit nutty and clear her past with one huge leap into the beyond.

  Liar.

  The inner voice cackled with merriment. She wasn’t ready yet. A tiny glimmer of hope kept her rooted to the house and his life. Wasn’t that what she heard kept torture victims alive for years? The hope of escape and rescue. Yeah, her own beaten soul wasn’t ready to give up the dream of the man she loved. The thought of never seeing his beloved face again made the action impossible.

  At least, for now.

  Carina sighed and pulled up to the house. She parked the car in the circular drive and made her way down the paved walkway. Lush rosebushes and spiky pine trees created a mystical landscape around Max’s mansion. Mini water fountains lined the path toward the gardens, and the sound of water trickling soothed her nerves. She loved to drag her canvas out by the pool and paint. Mentally juggling her schedule, she calculated she may have time for an hour of sketching before going to the store for her second shift.

  She yanked her keys from her purse.

  The dove dropped in front of her.

  Carina jerked back in horror as the snowy white bird fell from the sky and crashed on the sidewalk. His leg twisted and he lifted his tiny head, then slid back to the pavement and remained still.

  “Oh, my God.” Dropping her stuff, she knelt on the ground. Definitely breathing. Still alive. The tag on his foot held a number and with trembling fingers, she began to carefully examine him. The wing lay at a crooked angle, broken. Legs and feet seemed solid. She couldn’t seem to find any blood on the ground, but its eyes were closed.

  She gently picked the bird up, cradled him in her arms, and brought him inside. Immediately, she found an old soft towel and placed him in the middle. Blinking back tears, she called the vet, then did a quick search on the Internet for confirmation and instructions.

  Carina grabbed the phone and dialed.

  “Max, I need you to come home. I need help.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  She clicked the button and waited.

  * * *

  “What do you think?”

  Carina gazed at the bird now placed in a large fish tank, his wing securely wrapped in tape. His eyes were open but a bit glazed, as if still not sure what had happened. Max examined the number on the tag and wrote it down on a piece of paper. “I think we’re doing everything possible. The vet said there seem to be no internal injuries, so the wing should heal and we can send him back. I’m going to do a search for the number and see if I can contact the owner.”

  She wrung her hands and watched the dove breathe. Max pulled her in his arms and she leaned into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. “It’s going to be okay. You’re not called the animal whisperer for nothing. If he has a shot, it’s because of you.”

  She smiled at the familiar title her family crowned her with for her talent and connection with animals. For one moment, she relaxed into his heat and protection. “I’m sorry I made you leave work.”

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.”I’m glad you called me,” he murmured.

  Comfort twisted into heat. His erection pressed against her thigh. Carina stiffened and the air grew thick with sexual tension. God, she wanted him. Wanted to strip off his sexy red tie and pin-striped suit, climb on his lap, and ride him until she forgot. Forgot he never wanted to marry her and didn’t love her the way she needed him to. The memory of him sucking chocolate off her nipples and between her thighs burned behind her lids. The way he held her with tenderness throughout the night, as if he sensed she needed something more. She sucked in a breath and pushed him away.

  “No.”

  He clenched his fists and looked away. His muscles stiffened and she waited him out. “I’m sorry. I can wait until you’re ready. I just—miss you.”

  Her heart stuttered. Damn him. She shook with temper. “Bullshit. You miss being in charge of this whole relationship. You miss me panting after you like a dog in heat, with you calling all the shots. Don’t patronize me and pretend it was more than that.”

  His brows slammed together. “I refuse to let you talk about yourself like that,” he stated coldly. “You have every right to be pissed off, but don’t demean both of us. Things have changed.”

  Carina shook her head in disbelief. “Nothing’s changed. The only thing different between us is the sex. The rest is just a big fat lie.”

  He stiffened. A shadow fell over his face. “We’re married now. Can’t we move forward? It’s not as if we’re strangers and have nothing between us.”

  The last fragile thread of her temper broke. “Where the fuck is my happily-ever-after, Max? I dreamed of a real proposal, with a man on bent knee and vows he actually meant. You know what I got? Good intentions, responsibility, and a few orgasms.” She practically spit out her next words. “You want sex that bad? What is my mother blackmailing you with now? Or do you just want to have sex with me to get me knocked up and secure you an heir?”

  Furious blue eyes met and shredded her with a ruthlessness that made her shudder. “I’ll forgive you for that comment. Once. I’ll also leave you alone, but be warned. When I think you’ve had enough time, I’m coming after you.” He smiled cruelly. “And I promise you’ll beg for more.”

  The door slammed behind him.

  * * *

  He was such a dick.

  Max glanced up the staircase and listened to the strains of Rihanna vibrating in the air. Two days had passed since their fight. She’d kept her distance and treated him with an icy politeness that drove him nuts. She worked long shifts at BookCrazy, holed up in the art room, and avoided dinner.

  A loneliness he’d never noticed before permeated the air of his home. Her energy pulsed through the rooms but he craved direct contact, a real conversation. He missed her laughter and enthusiasm and wit. He missed everything about her. Rocky got more time with her than he did.

  He never should have pushed. When she’d come so naturally into his arms, her scent wrapped around him and he’d been drugged. The softness of her curves pressed against his chest. The silky brush of her curls. He had ached to pull her into the bedroom and claim her all over again. Now, he realized it was the epitome of bad timing.

  Max groaned. So stupid. Instead of being rational and giving her the time she needed, he had threatened her. Yeah, the blood had definitely gone to his other head, and he had no excuse. Her heartfelt statement about her own happily-ever-after seared into his brain and broke his heart. Was that what he’d done to her? Ripped away her illusions and dreams?

  He always worried he’d break her heart one day. Sure, he was forced into marrying her, but why didn’t it feel like such a chore? Why did he look forward to coming home and catching a glimpse? She deserved so much more. Instead, she got him.

  Depression settled over him. The hell with it. He’d cook dinner and force her to interact. Max headed toward the bedroom, stripped off his suit, and changed into jeans and a black T-shirt. He poured two glasses of Merlot and settled on a chicken salsa dish she’d like. The meditative motions of preparing a meal soothed him. The culinary kitchen had been custom-built, with cream granite countertops, a Sub-Zero fridge, a brick oven for pizza, and a Viking stove. The island cut through the main area with a sink and separate work area, a breakfast bar, and cushioned leather stools. He grabbed a few copper pots, drizzled in the olive oil, and began chopping tomatoes and onions. Ten minutes later, she clattered down the stairs and stood framed in the kitchen. “I’m going. Don’t wait up.”

  He threw down the knife and leaned one hip against the counter. “I’m cooking dinner. Where are you going?”

  “Bookstore.”

  “Stay for a bite. You need food before your long shift.”

  She shifted on her feet, obviously tempted. “Can’t. I’ll grab something at the café.”

  “They only have snacks, you need pro
tein. For God’s sake, I promise you don’t have to stay long in my company. Sit.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Sit.”

  She pulled out a chair and sat. Her immediate response reminded him of her obedience in the bedroom and gave him an instant hard-on. He slid the chicken onto a plate, topped it with salsa, and plopped it on the counter with a fork. She dove in with her usual relish, making those yummy sounds of pleasure. He shifted with discomfort and tried to adjust. “Did you find anything out about our dove?”

  “Yes. I tracked the tag to an owner about fifty miles from here. She’s a homing pigeon, known as a rock dove. Name’s Gabby. She’s not a regular racer, but he sends her out on occasional missions to keep her sharp. A few of his friends belong to a club, and I guess all their doves returned except Gabby. He’s been frantic.”

  Max filled his own plate and slid into the stool across from her. “I didn’t realize racing pigeons even existed. Is he coming to pick her up?”

  She took a sip of her wine. “No, I explained what we did and the damage to Gabby’s wing, and he agreed to let me take care of her here until she’s healed. Then I can let her fly home. If there are any problems with her recovery, he’ll drive over to pick her up, but I think she’s doing better already. She’s alert and seems to know what’s going on.”

  “How long before she can be released?”

  “Two to three weeks, depending.” A smile broke over her face. “The owner said she was used to carry letters back and forth between separated couples. Isn’t that cool?”

  He smiled back. “Extremely. Just be careful, sweetheart. You always get attached.”

  Her nose scrunched up. “I know. She’s only a bird, so I should be okay.”

  “Oh, yeah. What about the chipmunk?”

  A laugh escaped her lips. “I forgot about that! But I was young.”