by Alexis James
“You’re welcome.”
Her uneasiness is apparent, coming off in her body in waves. Our eyes meet briefly, and when they do she flushes again and looks away. Her embarrassment is refreshing, though fully unwarranted, and I want to try to ease it in any way I can. “Did you eat something?”
She nods. “I ate when you were sleeping.” Her cheeks blaze red again, and she takes another large gulp of water.
I finish eating in silence then take my empty plate and water bottle into the kitchen. I can hear her moving around behind me while I rinse the plate and stow the bottle in the recycle bin: the tinkle of keys in her hand, her footsteps across the tiled floor.
Christ, I have no idea what to do. Sure, I could pull her into my arms and reassure her that everything will work out. I think we both know it would be a lie. Short of getting through the next few hours, I don’t have the luxury of imagining what life is going to be like in a few days, or a month even. I can’t make her any promises, and I’m not sure I even want to. As attracted to her as I am, I simply don’t feel strong enough to do this all again. Mia is not someone you screw a few times and forget. She’s a forever girl, like Dani was. She deserves firm hugs, soft kisses, and numerous orgasms each night. She deserves a man who will worship her, body and soul, not a man like me who only takes what he wants and leaves nothing in his wake.
“Cruz? You ready to go?”
Swallowing back the urge to pull her into my arms, I nod. “Yeah.”
“Hello, Papa,” I say softly, settling into the chair next to his bed. He has more color in his face than when I was here the last time, and as his eyes drift open I see a strength there that had been missing before. “You look better.”
He shrugs. “Getting there.” His hand reaches for mine, gripping it firmly. “Did you get some rest?”
“I did.”
“Your mama tells me that Mia has been a godsend to the family.”
His curious expression and the slight twinkle in his eyes makes me chuckle.
“Yes, Mia has been great.”
He reaches for the side rail, pushing the button to ease him into a better semi-upright position. “So, you like her do you?”
I resist rolling my eyes. “Mia is a hard worker and a good person.” Good one, Moran, way to avoid.
My father grins tiredly. “She’s good for you.”
Yeah, I think to myself, she really is, although it changes nothing. Not really. Mia is good for me, she keeps me in line, challenges me when it’s needed most, and always … always … allows her innate kindness to prevail in everything she does.
“Do you love her, Cruz?”
A shard of white-hot pain centers in the area of my heart. “No, Papa. I don’t love her.” Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Mia is far too good for me.
He gives me the same hard, fatherly stare that used to drop me to my knees as a child. It’s a look of expectation mixed with disappointment and a small dash of hope. “Son, you need to love again.” Our eyes meet and he gives my hand another squeeze. “Daniella would not have wanted you to be alone and unhappy all your life. You know that as well as I do.”
I suppose he’s right, and a part of me longs to say to hell with my past and simply embrace my future. But what he doesn’t know is that there’s more to the story of me and Dani, more than I’ve ever told another person—even my mother. He doesn’t know how I let her down, how I could have helped her if I’d tried just a little bit harder. He doesn’t know that while I sat there in that car waiting for the firemen to pull me out, I had to say goodbye to the love of my life as well as my unborn child.
Shaking my head to ward off the dark thoughts, I state, “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“You’re a stubborn coot, you know that?”
I force a smile. “Yeah, well, I’ve learned from the best.”
He’s quick on the mark, especially for someone hopped up on pain medication, stating, “I know. Your mama is a stubborn thing, isn’t she?”
Chuckling, I reply, “She most certainly is.”
We chat for another few minutes and as usual he asks some questions about the business, but when his energy starts to fade I take my leave, kissing him on the forehead and telling him softly that I love him. I made a vow many years ago to never take my parents’ or my siblings’ love for granted. Life changes in an instant, as I learned all too well.
Mia is sitting with Mama and Sophia, talking softly, while my other siblings tap away on their devices. Her eyes meet mine briefly and that familiar blush of embarrassment lights her cheeks. I wish I could ask her if she’s embarrassed simply by what happened between us, by my obvious physical reaction to her, or because she so willingly offered herself to me and I said no.
Hell, if the tables were turned I’d be mortified too.
I need to get her alone, tell her that I put a halt to it all because I had to, not because I wanted to. I want to tell her that I’ve fantasized about her too many times to count and yet the real thing so far surpasses anything I could have ever imagined. I want to tell her that she scares the hell out of me, that the promise of forever in her eyes makes me want to run, if for no other reason than to spare her any pain I’m bound to cause her.
Sliding down into a chair, I tip my head back against the wall and catch Marco’s gaze. My younger brother might be a helluva ladies’ man, but it’s clear he sees something happening between me and my beautiful assistant—something more than sexual attraction. And when all four girls head down to the cafeteria together, he wastes no time hitting me directly with his accusations.
“Don’t hurt her, man. She’s one of the good ones.”
Anger surges through my body. “You think I don’t know that? You think I want to hurt her?”
Roman glances between the two of us but chooses to remain silent for now. Marco, on the other hand, gets to his feet and starts to pace. “Look, Big Brother, I get why you’re attracted to her. She’s fucking gorgeous and on top of that, she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.” He stops pacing and glares at me from across the room. “You’re too wrapped up in your own shit to notice that the girl is falling in love with you. Hell, she may already be there.” He settles into the chair next to me. “I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve gone through since losing Dani, but Mia doesn’t deserve to be dragged down into your crap.”
“Marco …” Roman warns, trying to mediate as always.
Marco glares at him then at me. “I’m not keeping my mouth shut about this.” He swears roughly and once more is on his feet. “Jesus, Cruz, do you have any idea how lucky you are?”
Annoyed, I snap, “What the hell does that mean?”
“She wants you, man, despite the shitty way you treat her, despite that you hold her and everyone else at arms’ length. She’s taking a chance on you, and you’re still too locked-up to see it.”
A memory of Mia’s mouth locked on mine, her hands greedily exploring my body, hits me right in the gut. “I’m not an idiot. I do see it.”
He stalks toward me and leans into my face. “Then do something about it. Let some of that shit from your past go and be fucking grateful this amazing woman wants you, just for you. Not for your money or what you can do for her professionally, but just for you.”
Warning sirens go off in my head and suddenly all of this makes sense. “You’re attracted to her, aren’t you?”
He rolls his eyes at me and stands upright. “Dude, I’d have to be dead not to be.” Jealousy hits hard and fast at the mere idea that either of my brothers has fantasized about Mia like I have and the warning is out of my mouth before I can bite it back. “Back off. She’s mine.” Marco smirks and Roman chuckles, and suddenly I realize that I’ve been played. “You’re a dick, you know that?”
He chuckles and resumes the seat next to me. “Yeah, but you are too.” He sobers quickly and gives me a hard look. “But here’s the thing you don’t understand. Mia doesn’t want me or Roman. She wants you. Only you.”
I’m still ponderi
ng my brother’s words when the women stroll back into the room a short while later and Mia immediately moves toward me, thrusting a large coffee in my hand and taking her usual seat. She’s silent as she fires up the laptop and starts pecking away, her face shielded by the dark fall of hair I’m itching to get my fingers into again.
I hate that Marco is right. Mia doesn’t deserve to be dragged down into my chaos. She sure as hell doesn’t deserve this constant hot and cold I keep giving her while I try to work through my shit. The truth is that while I might not be happy, I am content with my life as it is. There’s no guesswork, not in my work life and not in my personal one either. I sure as hell don’t have to wonder about anything when I’m with one of the escorts, except maybe that each and every time I leave a little bit of my soul behind.
Life with Mia would be a merry-go-round of emotions I haven’t allowed myself to feel in many years. And I really don’t know if I’m strong enough to risk all that again. I could never live with myself if I hurt her emotionally or God forbid physically, like I did Dani.
A wave of sadness hits me hard in the chest and for a brief moment I can’t think, I can’t breathe. I can only look at her and see my future just out of reach, like always.
The next morning when I trudge in with the usual order of coffee and pastries for the entire family, I can tell right away that something is off. I suppose it could be the woman’s intuition thing my mom swears gives us girls a leg up over the men, but something feels decidedly weird. Marco is staring daggers at Cruz, Roman keeps giving me odd, shifty glances but won’t really look at me at all, and Cruz … well he barely even acknowledges I’m in the room to begin with. Whatever it is, something has changed since I walked out of here last night around midnight and decided to take my bruised ego home for a good cry. I never banked on the fact that I’d spend hours lying in the dark, breathing in Cruz’s scent from my sheets. I never planned on getting so incredibly turned on just remembering the kiss we shared that I finally had to slide my hand between my legs and bring myself to orgasm. Twice.
My face blazes as I set the coffees and pastry down on the small table then take my usual seat and pull out the laptop. Truly, I have no idea what day it even is, but chances are there will be plenty to keep me busy while these three men work out their issues.
“Mia, may I speak with you?” Cruz asks, his eyes darting to Marco’s. “Privately.”
Rising, I move out of the room and follow after him silently. When we’re finally standing in the stairwell, this time perched on the landing between the floors, he stops and gives me a long, hard look. He’s keeping a definite physical distance between the two of us, which should tell me more than any words he’s going say.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and states, “I need you to go back to the office.”
“Of course. What do you need me to pick up for you?”
He shakes his head and looks down at me with a blank expression. “You misunderstand. I need you to go back to the office and stay there. It’s not necessary for you to remain here at the hospital anymore. You belong at the office.”
My stomach jumps in fear and rolls fitfully—a physical reaction to what I suspected would happen all along. But even though I had a hunch he’d put an end to whatever that was in my apartment, I never prepared myself for how much it would hurt.
And wow … it hurts. There’s this knife digging deep into my heart and a big damn sledge hammer currently smacking me in the chest. There’s also this lump of something clogging my throat and making it impossible to breathe.
I suppose I should feel grateful we didn’t sleep together, because then on top of feeling hurt I’d feel used too. Now all I really feel is like the biggest idiot who ever walked this earth. How the heck am I going to continue to work for this man when he’s seen me all needy and practically begging him to make love to me?
Somehow I manage to bring up Fake-strong Mia, and with a brief nod I respond, “Of course. Should I text you with anything urgent?”
“Yes, please do.”
Forcing my eyes to his, I start to respond, but the darn lump in my throat just keeps growing bigger. So in an effort not to embarrass myself more in front of this man, I nod again and turn on my heel and stride purposefully back upstairs. Once I’m in the waiting room, I avoid the curious expressions of the brothers, stuff the laptop and papers into my bag, and hustle toward the door without saying a word.
I move quickly down the hall toward the elevator, stab the down button with my finger, and pull my arms across my chest, silently chanting ‘stupid, stupid, stupid’, over and over again in my head. And when the elevator doors finally open and I step inside, I can only be grateful I’m alone and that the doors close tightly before I start to sob.
“You gonna talk to me at all, Mia, or just sit there daydreaming?”
I glance over at Amita and shrug. “Sorry.”
She reaches for my hand and offers me a sympathetic smile. “Don’t apologize. Talk to me. Tell me why you’re so sad.”
Sad doesn’t begin to describe the roller coaster of emotions I’ve been on since Cruz effectively put an end to whatever it was we may or may not have had. The funny thing is, I always knew I was less than magnificent in bed, but I guess I never thought he’d figure that out before he actually got me in there.
Here’s the thing about being rejected … you can listen to a bunch of nice-nice words, let the perpetrator tie it up with a pretty bow, but at the end of the day when the person you are turned on by tells you “thanks, but no thanks,” you can only assume there’s something really, really wrong with you.
I’ve taken stock of myself the past few days and have determined that while I might be a solidly decent package on the outside, inside I’m nothing more than the same little girl I’ve always been: looking for approval and constantly doubting myself. And what’s ironic is that I fool most everyone, my parents in particular. They think I’m strong and independent and gutsy, and while I might be small portions of those, I am also incredibly insecure, especially when it comes to men. Look at my relationship with Darren for example. We were together nearly a year, and in the end we had one fight about something stupid and that was that.
I called him late last night, when I’d had too much wine and had spent more than a few hours crying over Cruz. Darren answered, not bothering to hide his surprise in hearing from me. After he droned on about his life for an hour or two, I came right out and asked him what I was lacking. And then when he did tell me, I wondered why I ever thought he was a nice guy in the first place. He said things that would make a seasoned sexual woman blush, and when he really got rolling he started throwing out the hateful stuff like how he’d been getting it on with Patty from accounting almost from the beginning of our relationship and that the only reason he got with me was for “appearances.” He called me a frigid bitch—twice—and when I finally hung up on him, I was left feeling like I needed a shower and wondering if all he’d said to me was true.
“Do you think I’m frigid?”
Amita’s eyes widen. “Uh, where’s that question coming from?”
I shrug. “Just wondering is all. But do you?”
She rolls her eyes and curses. “You talked to fucking Darren didn’t you?” At my nod, she curses again. ‘Why do you do that to yourself? You know the guy is a twatwaffle, so why bother listening to anything he says?”
Chuckling, I reply, “Twatwaffle? That’s new and different.”
My snarky comment earns me narrowed eyes and a look that is her best impression of trying to look stern, which mostly just makes her look demented. “Darren in a dick. Now please tell me why you called him instead of calling me. And please tell me what is bothering you!”
Tears fill my eyes unexpectedly. “Cruz turned me down.”
She looks perplexed. “Turned you down how?” I give her a moment to let the words sink in and then her eyes grow wide, and she bursts, “He did not!”
“He did. And then he basical
ly threw me out of the hospital, where I’d been for four or maybe five days round the clock. He told me to go back to the office because that’s where I belong.” My air quotes around the words may be a vain attempt to lighten the mood, but it does nothing to ease the pain of rejection.
Amita scoots her chair closer to mine and wraps her arm around my shoulders. “Ah, honey, I’m so sorry.” Leaning her head against mine, she inquires, “So you think he turned you down because you’re frigid, is that it?”
I shrug and look at the palm trees off in the distance. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know. He’s hard to figure out.”
“Speaking of hard, was he?”
My cheeks heat. “Uh, yeah.” Try as I might, I cannot seem to get that image out of my head. Seeing stern, buttoned-up Cruz Moran in nothing but black briefs and a very impressive erection is something I’ll not soon forget.
She laughs and gives me a tight squeeze. “Well, chances are you’re not frigid if the guy was rocking wood around you.” Her fingers grasp my chin, and she turns my face to hers. “Please tell me … he’s massively hung right?”
I snicker like a schoolgirl and give her a shove. “None of your business, nosey lady.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Yeah, that much I’ve figured out already.” I cringe at the thought that I have to face Cruz five days a week, knowing how wantonly I threw myself at him.
“Knock that off right now,” Amita demands, finger pointing in my face. “You are not frigid, Mia. You just haven’t found the right guy. I had to sleep with like twenty guys before I found Vic.”
“I am not sleeping with twenty guys,” I reply. Not that I’m a prude exactly, but I really see no point in it. Cruz is the sexiest man I’ll ever meet, and if I can’t get something going with him, chances are I never will with a regular old guy.
“Maybe Cruz is just not ready for a relationship. Or maybe he feels guilty, you know, because you work for him.”
Draining my glass, I reach for the pitcher and refill it to the top. “I’ll never know. He’s not exactly a big talker.”
