Mia Found (Starting Fires Book 3)

by Makenzie Smith

Not ready to handle those thoughts, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I walked back past Fiona’s room, I heard their passionate reunion and barely contained my gag. Fontenot was manipulating her. He knew he didn’t want anything more serious and was still leading her on. “It’s none of my business,” I whispered.

  As I shut the door to my room, my phone lit up with a new message. Is everything okay? Paul asked. Just made it home.

  Instead of texting him, I called.

  He answered quickly. “You’re all right?” he asked full of concern. “Are they still fighting? Do I need to come back? I shouldn’t have left. God, I’m so sorry. I’m coming back over.”

  I chuckled. “Calm down,” I said. “It’s fine. They’re making up as we speak. Loudly.”

  He let out a relieved breath. “Good. But I still shouldn’t have left you there. I keep messing up with you. It’s just... It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone I cared about in my life. I’m not thinking straight.”

  He sounded distressed and I wanted to ease his mind. “I’m fine, Paul. It’s okay. I told you to leave. But…if you want…maybe you can make it up to me tomorrow.”

  I heard his soft laugh, and smiled. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  “All right,” he chuckled. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Classes until 11 and then nothing.”

  “Hmm…I’ll call you. Maybe I can get off work early.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, PAUL picked me up and we drove to Atlantis. Catherine took my paintings and displayed them on the wall. “They’ll sell wonderfully,” she said. “Keep up the good work. Sometimes the local galleries ask me to feature artists I’ve discovered. If people like them as much as I think they will, you’ll be at the top of my list.”

  While she and Paul caught up, I deduced that they knew each other on a personal level. Maybe that was why she purchased my paintings up front. Usually, artists were only allowed to use her space for a set amount of time. If their work didn’t sell, she gave the paintings back. Knowing this made her enthusiasm seem less genuine.

  “Thank you,” I said as we left the store.

  While Paul and I walked back to his car, I was quiet, thinking. I’d been so excited, believing someone truly admired my work. But now…she was only doing it as favor. Perhaps she was only being nice, afraid to hurt my feelings in front of her friend.

  “What’s wrong, Pretty?” Paul asked, pulling me into his side.

  “It’s nothing,” I said.

  “Tell me,” he pressed, placing a kiss to the side of my head.

  “I just…What if…” I took a breath and tried to calm my thoughts. “Are my paintings good? Did she really want them?”

  “What? Yes! They’re wonderful. Of course she wanted them.”

  “But she knows you. You’re friends. She’s only doing this as a favor.”

  He stopped walking and pulled me back to him. “She is NOT doing this as a favor. Catherine could care less about me. In truth, we barely know each other. When I brought you here, I took a big risk, not knowing what she would say about your work. But I was right. She loved them. And that’s because your paintings are beautiful.”

  He touched my face, something I realized he did often, mostly because I could never look at him when my vulnerability bled through. I felt too self-conscious. But Paul didn’t let me hide or shy away. He treated me with care, knowing just how to prove his devotion. Small touches. Genuine smiles. His eyes were honest, unable to lie to me. Their intense green bore into mine.

  Faith. Paul Macione had faith in me.

  “They’re perfect,” he said. “She’s being honest with you.”

  Still unsure, but trying to be positive, I nodded.

  After we left, Paul took me to the New Orleans Museum of Art. When we walked through the doors, he fell behind letting me lead. Everything was quiet and it was easy to lose myself in this place. My mind shut down and I took in the lighting, the placements, the attention to detail. Someone loved this museum greatly. I could do this, I thought. How much fulfillment would I have from running my own museum? But it was a big dream. Becoming the director of an Art Museum was no small feat.

  Paul followed me from room to room, but let me have my space. I’d find him reading a pamphlet or trying to analyze a sculpture. He looked sexy studying the bronze statues—the way his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his middle. My forehead landed on his back. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, turning and giving me his bashful smile. “Is this something you’d like to do? Work in a museum?”

  “Absolutely,” I said as we walked towards the exit. “That would be a dream. When I first chose this major, I’d looked all over the country, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Montana, anywhere, trying to find as many museums as I could. Hoping that when the time came one of them would be hiring.”

  “Which was your favorite?”

  I shrugged. “One in Washington and another in Oregon. They aren’t hiring though. I already checked.”

  “You’ll still get to live that dream.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I see it in your eyes. You aren’t going to settle. And I won’t let you.”

  Paul saw me. He actually saw me. Never before had I felt so validated. I threaded my arm through his and relished the kiss he gave the top of my head.

  After we left the museum we drove around in his car. The music was low, not interrupting our conversations. He told me about his job, what he loved about it, what he hated. He talked to me about his goals and what he hoped for the future. He told me all about his family. He only had one brother, but his extended family was large. Aunts, Uncles, cousins. They were many. His grandparents had immigrated from Italy, bringing most of their family with them. He spoke of them with pride, chuckling as he described their loud voices and over the top mannerisms. It was obvious they were close. Loving. I wondered if I’d ever get to meet them.

  I told him about my graduation plans. It was only a few weeks away, and now that it was here, I didn’t know what to do with my degree. My parents weren’t much help. Every time I mentioned it to them it was always, “Well, why didn’t you get a business degree like Lucas? Look at him. See how successful he is?” My brother wasn’t that successful. Happy and content, yes, but he wasn’t a high paid CEO.

  Paul understood my doubt, but assured me that following my heart was better than following the money. He’d gone where he could make money, and more often than not was stressed from the demands of his job.

  I took this as an opportunity to mention Florida again. He hadn’t brought it up, but I knew he’d at least been thinking about it.

  “What exactly are you doing in Florida?” I asked. “And do you, uh, do you know if you’ll be moving?”

  He worked his lip around, mulling my question over. “Right now, no. They haven’t offered me anything better than what I have. The work is more stressful. The responsibilities more demanding. I’d rather just help them out until they find someone qualified.”

  “When do you have to go back?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Do you wanna come with me when I do?”

  He’d just asked it. No uncertainty. No apprehension. That’s when I knew we actually were together. This wasn’t just a trial run. Paul saw a future with me. I reached across the middle console and gave his leg a squeeze. “Yes,” I said. “I’d love to.”

  “If you don’t get a job over the summer, we can probably stay for a week. The beaches are beautiful.”

  A week. On the beach. With Paul. Excitement brewed inside me, and I smiled.

  He took me to dinner again—a small Mexican restaurant not far from his house. I hadn’t even been to his home since the night he first kissed me, and wondered if tonight he’d take me back. After dinner was fi
nished, my question was answered as he pulled into his complex. The familiar townhouses made my stomach flip. I hadn’t brought extra clothes, but still hoped he’d let me stay the night. Waking up next to Paul would be a glorious sight.

  Ferdinand gave an excited bark when he saw me walk in the door. “Hey, boy!” I said, going down to my knees. He licked and nudged me, his tail wagging back and forth. “I missed you, too,” I said.

  Paul watched me with a sweet smile, and then pulled me to my feet. “You do spoil him,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  “Well, he deserves to be spoiled.”

  “I like that,” he said. “You care about him.”

  “I do. We really bonded while you were away.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he said to his dog. “She still likes me better.”

  Ferdinand barked, almost like he was challenging him.

  “I don’t know…” I teased. “He’s a pretty great dog.”

  Paul chuckled and kissed me on the cheek.

  All three of us cuddled together on the couch for the rest of the night. We watched a few episodes of a television show and leaning into Paul’s side, my eyes grew tired.

  “Do you need to go?” he asked when he noticed my drowsiness.

  “No,” I rushed out, but settled back into him. “I want to stay a little longer.”

  “Okay,” he said and started another episode. I barely made it through the title sequence before my eyes closed and I drifted off to sleep.

  “Mia,” Paul said, softly shaking me.

  I wrapped my arm around his middle and sighed. Sleeping on Paul’s chest was heaven.

  His soft laugh made my chest warm. “Come on, Pretty. Let’s get in bed.”

  Bed? As in his bed? Immediately, I wakened and followed him up the stairs.

  “I don’t have any clothes,” I said when we made it to his room.

  “I’ll find you something.”

  He gave me one of his t-shirts and I turned around to change, pulling my shorts down my legs. A mirror was on the wall, and the angle was perfect for me to barely see his face. While he unbuttoned his shirt, his curious eyes kept drifting to me. My shirt came next and he turned away, giving me privacy. I was disappointed.

  Wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties, I crawled under his covers. He put on a pair of lounge pants and pulled his undershirt over his head. My breath left me as his torso was finally exposed. As I suspected he was in shape. Nothing over the top, but maintained. A soft trail of hair ran down his belly. His muscles stretched and tensed as he ran a hand through his hair. Hidden under all the dress shirts and slacks was a tall, lean, sexy man.

  Please come over here and get on top of me.

  Instead of hearing my silent plea, he turned out all of the lights and casually nestled under the covers. His arm came up, asking me to settle into his side. Immediately, I went and rested my hand on top of his chest.

  Sleep had completely left me. Now all I could think about was Paul and his body lying next to mine. His breathing was deep, but slightly labored. The darkness brought me courage and I ran my hand down his stomach, brushing my fingers back and forth. A pleased sigh pushed out of his lips, and I went up to my elbow.

  My fingers went into his hair, giving his head a soft rub. When he didn’t protest, I brought my mouth to his cheek, softly kissing until I reached his chin.

  “It’s late, Mia,” he whispered, but I heard the yearning in his voice.

  “So,” I said and kissed him. Before long, his hands were on me, pushing under the shirt he let me wear. But he was still being cautious, unwilling to take things further.

  I went to my back and pulled him with me. He moved, not breaking our kiss, but wouldn’t lay on top of me. His hand squeezed me at the ribs, but I needed more.

  Bolder than I’d ever been, I took his hand and pulled it up to my breast. He hesitated at first, his mouth and hand not moving, but I didn’t stop. I continued to kiss him, urging him on with soft moans and gentle movements of my body.

  It finally broke him. He gave my breast a firm squeeze and then pulled my shirt up. When his mouth touched me, my inhale was sharp. No one had ever kissed me there or anywhere besides my mouth and the sensation was foreign and intense. My hands went to his head and I held him close as he licked and sucked.

  Already, something brewed inside me and a primal need to have him above me took over. I used my legs to hook around his and pull him to where I needed him. He did as I wanted, and abandoned my breast to kiss my ribs, my stomach, and then all the way back up to my neck.

  My hands went to his pajama pants and I pushed them inside, giving him a good squeeze. On impulse, his hands squeezed with mine, kneading my hip and breast. A deep sound—wanting, needy—echoed in my ear. He felt thick and long and my whole body liquefied imagining what he would feel like pushing inside me. Still taking charge, I pulled him out and held my panties away from me, giving him access.

  When his tip touched me, feeling how ready and willing I was for him, he tensed and then abruptly rolled onto his back.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Why are we stopping?”

  “Mia,” he breathed, not letting me roll on top of him. “We can’t.”

  “Why not?” I asked. I didn’t mind waiting if I knew the reason behind it.

  “Because…we just…why do we have to?” He rolled onto his side and cradled my face. “I don’t want that to complicate anything.”

  Why would that complicate things?

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “It’s just…before…with others…it makes things different. I’m not ready for that with you. And there’s…” He sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Mia, I do. Badly. It’s killing me not to.”

  This sucked. The first man I actually wanted to give myself to didn’t want me to. I was thankful for the darkness. It made it impossible for Paul to see how hurtful his rejection was. My eyes watered, but I held back the tears. Afraid that if I said anything, I’d break down into a blubbery mess, I rolled over, only letting my face fall when my back was to him.

  He didn’t say anything and we lay in silence for at least five minutes. My frustrated tears couldn’t be suppressed and a tiny, barely audible sob came from my mouth.

  Paul rolled over, putting his stomach flush with my back. All I felt was the hard length of him, pressing into my behind. “Do you feel that?” he asked, pushing it into me. “I do want you, Mia.”

  I pushed right back, moaning. Please. I need something. Anything.

  This time he responded, pushing a hand down the front of my panties. I was so wound up that the smallest touch from his fingers sent me into a heated frenzy. My hand went to his wrist, begging him to continue.

  His fingers moved so slowly—grazing, rolling. He was exploring me, his hips steadily pumping into my behind. If he wasn’t so stubborn, we could both be feeling this rush of ecstasy.

  “Please,” I whined. “Paul, please.”

  Hot breath bathed my neck, and he knew just what to do. His fingers pushed inside me, and his soft moans echoed in my ear, telling me how good I felt. Needing to touch him, my arm went behind me and curled around his head, pulling him in close. The heat of his lips against my neck was the final piece I needed. Hot liquid rushed through me, making my muscles feel tight. It was all becoming too much, until finally I felt it break. My legs tensed. My nails dug. My mouth moaned and begged.

  Paul kept moving, letting me ride it out. He was right there with me, his soft curses telling me how bad he wished it was more than just his fingers pushing in and out of me.

  When I finally came down, it took me a moment to catch my breath. Paul’s lips and hands were gentle as they helped me find myself again.

  I rolled over and kissed him, bringing my hands down to his dick, wanting to return the favor.

  “Mmmm…” A pleased groan, his neck going tight, but then he found his resistance, and pulled my hands away. “No, Pretty. That was for you
.”

  “But I want to,” I whispered, kissing his jaw.

  “Shh,” he said. “Let’s get some sleep. Another time.”

  I huffed, but he kissed me long and hard, taking my disappointment away. “I promise,” he said as he pulled back.

  He left me in his bed as he went to the bathroom. The faucet turned on, and I wondered if he was taking care of himself. After a few minutes passed, I knew he was and sighed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HAVING PAUL IN MY life was good for creativity. My inspiration for paintings flowed. Nearly every day I’d find a new drive or desire to have the brush in my hand.

  I was beginning to notice the difference in my work. Sometimes there wasn’t a woman in them at all, and if she was, a secret smile curled her lips. The colors and brush strokes oozed positivity instead of their usual loneliness.

  Catherine had sold two of my paintings and bought two more. It was a surreal experience. Somewhere, someone had my painting hanging on their wall.

  Paul and I were happy, stuck in this romantic puppy love. Even though we’d been seeing each other for weeks, I hadn’t had the opportunity to stay at his house again. Not because I didn’t want to, or because he didn’t want me to. There just wasn’t time.

  He was busy. I was busy. We made time for each other in the small hours here and there. It was never enough, but I knew in a few days it would change.

  My graduation was this weekend. After that, college wouldn’t impede on our time. My parents were throwing me a party and I’d invited Paul to come, but he was nervous. He didn’t say it, but I saw it in his eyes whenever I brought it up. Purposefully, I’d told him little about my parents. On paper they seemed intimidating and over the top, but in reality they weren’t. He didn’t need any more reason to feel anxious.

  Paul had just gotten off work and came straight to my house. We were sitting on my couch watching television, the volume low as we filled each other in on our day.

  “I have to go to Florida next weekend,” he told me.

  My heart raced with excitement wondering if I’d get to join him, but then I felt the stiffness in his limbs. “I can’t go with you?” I asked.