by Alexis James
Okay … well, that’s a lie. I turned him on. But not enough to finish the job. Darn it.
Shoving the blanket aside as my entire body heats, I take another sip and attempt to look at this objectively. Clearly there is something in Cruz’s past that keeps him from getting close to women, or in this case me. Since I don’t know squat about his dating history, I’ll have to assume there’ve been other women like me who have walked this same painful walk. Whatever the reason is, he’s unnerved at the idea of getting close to someone. That, I cannot fix or alter, regardless of what I do.
The crux of the issue here is that Cruz will change only when he’s ready and when he wants to. Nothing his family says or does seem to matter, and evidently nothing I’ve done will either. Until he decides that’s what he wants in is life, we all might as well leave him alone to suffer in silence. He seems to like it there. A lot.
When I crawl between the sheets later that night, sheets that still carry the fading scent of his cologne, I risk a glance at my phone and am shocked to see a text from him. Sliding my finger across the screen, my stomach jumps wildly as I read:
Last minute trip to New Orleans. We leave Wednesday. Pack enough for five days. Get well.
Really? Because I’m just going to hop on a plane with him and go out of town for an entire week? Not happening. Really, really not happening.
That’s my heart talking there, because my head stands up straight and reminds me all too loudly that I’m being paid very well to change gears at the last moment and drop everything to go out of town: requirements he made very clear when I came to work for him. Why should I believe that would change? After all, I am just … I am only his assistant.
Traveling is a hassle under the best of circumstance. Traveling with a companion who won’t speak unless spoken to and who for all intents and purposes would rather be anywhere else but with you is a damn nightmare. Even though the flight itself is only a few hours, it feels like it takes days. And the more minutes that pass, the larger the wall between us grows.
Mia has been strangely subdued since she returned to work yesterday after being out ill. And even though I’m not fully convinced she was truly sick, I can’t say I was disappointed when she called in. After the complete debacle at my parents’ house, I was surprised she returned to work at all. I wouldn’t blame her if she walked away for good. Lord knows I’ve considered it a few dozen times.
She declines the flight attendant’s offer of a beverage with a firm shake of her head then goes right back to listening to music on her phone; the ear phones she’s wearing are a good excuse for not hearing me when I speak, not that I have. I’m not sure I could open my mouth at this point without yelling at her, and that’s the last thing I want.
This trip, unlike the one to Atlanta, does require an assistant by my side or else I would have been more than happy to leave her behind and put some much needed space between us. I’ve got meetings lined up for the next two days, a cocktail party to attend Saturday, and I’m hopefully going to squeeze in a visit with Sophia while I’m here, unless her class schedule interferes with all the work commitments. Between the packed schedule and the continued demands at the office, I doubt Mia will feel like this trip is a vacation.
I glance at her pale face once more before turning my attention out the plane window. Concentrating on work now is impossible, and I can only hope that once we’re at the hotel and she’s tucked away in some swanky room, I’ll be able to focus on the matter at hand. This business deal I’m about to close will mean millions for my company, as long as I don’t get distracted by this crap with her. As it stands now, I’m pissed off and anxious and itching for a fight. Sure as hell not a good way to go into a business meeting.
Christ … I should have left her behind. What the hell was I thinking bringing her along when there’s such a thick layer of hate and animosity between us that even a stranger could pick up on it? I blame myself for most of it, but she’s done her fair share of creating tension too, getting so damn chummy with Marco.
I see red every time I think about them going to the movies together on Sunday then arriving at my parents’ house like some perfectly normal couple. Nothing about this situation is normal. I suppose I should be happy for them and shut the hell up, but considering the way I reacted on Sunday I don’t believe I have it in me to be glad she and my brother are seeing one another.
By the time we land, I’m brewing a headache and anxious to put some distance between myself and my hostile assistant. She follows me through the airport, waits in silence next to me while we retrieve our bags, and remains so the entire drive into the French Quarter.
Gone is the wild-eyed jubilation she emitted in Atlanta. This time she merely glances at the hotel and seems unimpressed as we move into the lobby, electing to wait for me by the front doors while I check us in.
“Sir, here are the keys to Miss Elliott’s room. The porter will take you to your suite, which is located in another building.”
Anger rises up once again. “May I ask why our rooms aren’t near one another?”
The clerk smiles patiently. “Miss Elliott requested these rooms. You will need to ask her.”
Seeing red, I reply, “Yes, I’ll do that.” Stalking over to Mia, I slap her keys into her hand and growl, “Why the hell did you request our rooms in separate buildings?”
She looks up at me with a vague expression. “I assumed you’d prefer being as far away from me as possible.”
Not wanting to start an argument in public, I shove the need to scream aside and glance at my watch. “Get settled and then I want you in my suite in an hour.” I rattle of the room number.
She nods. “Yes, sir.” I can only watch as she pulls her suitcase behind her and heads to the elevator, the picture of prim and proper with her hair tightly coiled and her pressed black suit.
The porter leads me to the suite, and after accepting a tip he bows out quietly, leaving me alone to curse a blue streak and to somehow figure out a way to move past all this.
Easier said than done. Especially when I want to pull her into my arms and beg for forgiveness. But I have my doubts at this point that a token apology will mean a damn thing to her. I left her crying, surrounded by my entire family, and haven’t once had the courtesy to explain myself or even apologize for walking out. Not that it would matter at this point. Nothing I say will erase what’s been done.
How do I tell her that seeing Dani in that video eviscerated me? How do I explain to her how terrified I am to move past all that and accept what has happened and move on? How do I do all that and not come off looking like a fool?
My head knows that the best thing I could do at this point is what I’ve been considering all along. Fire her. Make up a dumb excuse, give her a glowing letter of recommendation, then tell her goodbye once and for all. Truly, that would be the best thing … for both of us.
But the idea of never looking into her eyes again and seeing a potential future there is as terrifying as coming clean with her is. I want her, but is that enough to stow my worries and fears? Is that enough to make me want to let go of my past for good this time?
Until I can say yes to both questions, I have no business treating Mia with anything other than cool reserve. She is my employee after all, and it’s high time I remind myself of that.
I’ve just finished unpacking when there’s a soft tap at the suite door, and as I move to open it, I remind myself that I am here to conduct business and nothing more.
Mia glances up at me, offers a nod of greeting, and steps over the threshold. Silently, I watch her move through the space, taking in the black accents, the vibrant mustard-yellow wall behind the bed, the abstract paintings scattered throughout the large room. The contemporary, modern hotel is a far cry from the rather sedate one where we stayed before. But as with the hotel in Atlanta, there is no lack of amenities.
I gesture for her to follow me into the attached sitting room where I’ve laid out my computer and all the files I
’ll need while we’re here. She settles in a chair across from me, extracts her tablet, a notepad and pen, then glances over at me to begin.
But the minute our eyes meet, I can see past the hate and anger she has for me to the scared little girl hiding inside. The same girl I’ve intentionally hurt more times than I can count. And right then and there, something inside of me cracks wide open. Something I’ve kept buried for far too long. I can’t define exactly what it is. Maybe it’s need, maybe it’s love, or maybe it’s acceptance and the ability to finally let go.
“I’m so sorry, querida,” I whisper.
Her eyes widen in stunned surprise. “Sorry for what?” She can’t hide the suspicion in her tone, and I sure as hell can’t blame her.
“Everything.” Rising, I shove my hands in my pockets and start to pace. “I’ve treated you terribly since the first moment you came to work for me.”
She nods. “Yes, you have.”
My stomach rolls with nerves. “You … You make me …” I curse and try to begin again. “You make me want things I haven’t had in years.”
All the fight in her seems to fade instantly, and this time when our eyes meet I see in hers all the warmth she’s been trying so desperately to hide in the past few weeks. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I’m undecided at this point.” I halt next to her chair and squat down until we’re eye to eye. “I haven’t been in a relationship in fifteen years. Can you understand why I’m unsettled by the idea of one?”
She frowns. “You mean you haven’t had a girlfriend in fifteen years, or you’ve been celibate for fifteen years?”
I smirk at her. “No girlfriend in fifteen years.” My tone alludes to more, but talking about my sexual history feels wrong. The idea of sharing with her my sordid past makes my skin crawl. Someone like Mia, someone good and kind and sweet, would never be able to understand that it was necessary for me to find sexual release with paid strangers purely for practical purposes. I got what I needed, and so did they, and I never had to worry about being emotionally invested.
“Ah,” she replies, looking down at her clasped hands. I can practically see the wheels turning in that brilliant brain of hers, can almost hear the flurry of questions.
Reaching out, I grasp her chin and turn her to face me. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore. But I need to know … are you romantically involved with Marco?” My stomach rolls again, this time with disgust.
She shakes her head. “No, we are just friends.” Her eyes scan my face. “He keeps me company once in a while, and we hang out together and talk.”
“Do you talk about us?”
She lifts her brow and shoves my hand away. “There is no us. You’ve made it clear that you want nothing to do with me.”
What she says is the truth, and yet I get the feeling there’s more to be said. “Fine, then do you talk to him about me?”
Her eyes fill with tears and she looks away. “Sometimes I do. Other times it hurts too much.”
Hearing her admit aloud what I’ve done hits me hard right in the gut. For years, I had no problem treating women like objects, taking what I wanted and walking away without a second thought. Then she strolls into my life and everything changes, and I have to consider that maybe I’ve been waiting for her all along.
Pulling her up out of her chair and into my arms, I hold her tightly against my chest and breathe in the tropical scent of her skin. “I do want you, querida, probably more than I have a right to. But …”
“You’re scared,” she whispers.
“Yes, I am.”
Minutes pass, long, silent minutes where we stand there holding one another and saying nothing. And while I haven’t fully considered how this development will shift things between us, I do feel like an enormous weight has been lifted. I’ve been carrying around the pain from the past, unwilling to explore even the idea of a happy future with anyone. Then Mia comes along and with her sweet smile, her honesty, and those intoxicating brown eyes, and I somehow believe I deserve better from the life I’ve been living.
“You called me … um … querida.” I glance down at her and wrinkle my brow in confusion. “What does that mean?”
Dropping a kiss onto her head, I respond, “It’s a term of endearment, like sweetheart.”
She smiles. “I like that.”
My hands frame her face, and I will my racing heart to settle as my mouth comes down on hers. This kiss is far different than the first one we shared, which spawned from anger and fear. Sure, there’s still a ton of fear now on my part, but the need to be with her is larger than my worry about what will happen in the future. Right here, right now, this is my future.
Her mouth widens and our tongues dart out to play. She tastes like mint and warm honey, and as I pull her closer and tighten my arms, I can’t resist the urge to groan. Her fingers tighten on my shoulders and in one slick move that makes her gasp, I grasp her ass in my hands and lift her up. Her legs go easily around my hips, fingers diving into my hair as I walk us out of the sitting room and into the brightly lit bedroom.
It’s midafternoon and the sun streams in through the wood shutters flanking the windows and balcony doors. As I slowly lower her to standing and reach for the buttons on her suit jacket, I imagine how glorious her olive skin will look without clothes. Our mouths remain locked together, fighting gently for control, as I slide off her jacket and go to work on the buttons of her blouse. Making quick work of that garment, I toss it aside and reach for the zipper on her slacks, easing them down and taking a step back to admire her body.
She kicks off her tall heels, steps out of the pants, and looks at me with an eager smile, her lips swollen from my kiss. I take another step back to give myself enough space to enjoy the view. And what a view it is. Firm, full breasts peek out from beneath the lacy white bra, nipples erect and begging for attention. She’s curvy and soft in all the right places, with a firm, flat stomach and gently rounded hips that plead for a man’s hands. The plain, pink panties hide what my mouth waters for, and I make a quick mental note to buy her some see-through ones as quickly as I can.
Mia looks up at me with a shy smile. “I want to undress you now.”
Moving closer, I softly press my lips to hers. “By all means.”
She’s just as curious and greedy as I am, tossing the suit coat aside and quickly going to work on the shirt buttons. Her eyes widen and fill with need when she sends the garment flying and takes a step back to look me over just as I did her. And even though I know I’m in really good shape, I still grin cockily when she sighs appreciatively and runs her tongue over her bottom lip in anticipation.
Her fingers delicately trace my erection and when I groan in frustration, she grins and reaches for the zipper. The shoes, socks, and pants are quickly discarded, and then I’m pulling her into my arms and kissing her hard, grasping her ass and rolling my pelvis against hers. The time for patience is gone and in its place is a furious need to make her mine in every way possible, until there are no doubts about who she belongs to.
My fingers find the clasp of the bra and soon the bit of lace joins the pile of other clothing on the floor, and once more I take a step back to admire her. Dark nipples peak under my inspection, and with one hand I reach out to cup her, letting the weight of one breast settle in my palm as my thumb glides slowly over her flesh. She sighs again and her head tips back as I lean down and swirl my tongue over one hard bud while simultaneously easing her panties down her hips.
“Belleza,” I whisper against her warm skin, taking a moment to admire her entire naked body. The sight alone is enough to bring me over the edge, and I grind my teeth together to try to regain my composure. As desperate as I am to find release, I’m more determined to help her reach hers. Repeatedly, if I do my job right.
Dropping my briefs to the floor, we share a grin, and then I shove the coverlet and bed pillows aside, ease her down onto the crisp white sheets, and crawl between her thighs.
O
ur eyes meet again and in hers I see nothing but resolve and happiness. There’s no fear there, no hesitation, only a deep need for me that she shows me fully. That is all the encouragement I need as I lean over and fuse our lips once more while my hands continue to learn every inch of her body. She sighs when I pinch her nipples, sucks my tongue when my hands cup her hips, and moans loudly when my fingers skim between her thighs, where I find that she’s impossibly wet for me.
Pulling my mouth from hers, I press her thighs open with firm palms on her knees, bend down, and immediately trace her seam with my tongue. She groans out a curse, then whimpers when I start to work her with my lips, teasing her gently with a flick of my tongue as her fingers grip my hair.
Her hips roll, finding the perfect rhythm with my mouth to bring her the most satisfaction. Her taste is intoxicating and one I doubt I’ll ever get enough of. Her response is eager and impatient, as is my own. Gone is the shy Mia I first met. This woman clearly lets me know what pleases her most, sighing her approval and whimpering when I’m not giving her enough. And I’m not the least bit surprised when she tumbles quickly into orgasm, moaning out my name and riding my tongue. Frigid my ass. This beautiful woman was made for sex, willingly giving all of herself to me as I continue to work her through her release.
When she finally relaxes down onto the mattress, I lift my head and smile, licking the last taste of her from my lips, which immediately turns her eyes into a hot, needy mess.
“Delicious,” I whisper, watching her face heat under my gaze.
She wraps her hand around my cock and states, “My turn.”
While the idea of her pouty lips wrapped around my ridged flesh does entice me, my need to be buried deep inside of her is bigger. “Next time.” The promise hangs in the air. “Right now, I need to make you mine.”
Mia smiles slowly and arches her back, offering her body to me. “Please … do.”
More impatient than I’ve ever been in my entire life, I quickly extract a condom from my wallet, rip the package open, and roll it on. She watches me studiously and for a brief moment I see a hint of disappointment, but it quickly dissipates when she grasps me in her hand again and starts to stroke. Wrapping one arm under her knee, I lift her leg, line myself up, and thrust into the hilt, bottoming out with a groan as her wet heat surrounds me. She gasps at the intrusion, but soon relaxes into my embrace and looks up at me as I begin to move.
