by Alexis James
She shoots me a raised brow. “Don’t you mean fucking?”
Erection now fully faded, I lift myself out of the water, perching my ass on the edge. “Why is this is such a big damn issue for you?”
Her answer, when it eventually comes, is unexpected. “Because regardless of what you say, this is about trust. You insist on treating me like those other women you screw, and I can’t accept that. If all I am to you is a warm body, then I might as well resign right here, right now.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Cruz, I … I … love …”
“Don’t say it!” I snap. “Don’t you dare pop off with declarations of love now, just to get your way.” Securing a towel around my waist, I attempt to settle my out of control heart.
Mia gets to her feet once again, all the fight now gone. She’s ashen, teary eyed, and visibly withering under my angry glare as she, too, steps out of the tub and reaches for a towel, wrapping it around her body and lowering herself to one of the padded loungers. She flinches when I stalk past her and into the room, pouring myself a healthy portion of the scotch I received as a gift from my newest client.
Fuck … this is not the way I wanted tonight to end. This is not the way I want any night to end with her. I liked where we were and even though we were heading somewhere unexpected, I liked knowing she’d be by my side on the journey.
Slumping down onto the end of the bed, I toss back the alcohol and welcome the burn down my throat. The empty glass tumbles to the floor as I tear my hands through my damp hair and attempt to figure out what to do about her. About us.
I can see her point of view, though I’ll admit it does feel a tad bit overdramatic. What does it matter that I insist on condoms? As long as we’re each getting off repeatedly, that should be the only important thing. What I don’t understand is why she went all heartsick and weepy on me. Did she really believe we were going to leave here and suddenly be this couple? A couple having family dinners, hanging out watching television together, buying matching shirts?
What do you think, Moran?
Christ. Of course she did. A girl like Mia … a sweet, wholesome girl like her would have certain expectations after spending five days giving herself to a man like she has to me. What the hell did I expect? That she’d let me wander into her bed, into her body, whenever I felt like it and ask for nothing in return?
Uh … yeah?
Jesus … for a smart guy this was one dumb-fuck move.
Mia strolls into the room, head down and eyes avoiding mine while she searches for her clothes. I can’t even look at her, not with the knowledge that yet again I’ve been selfish and self-centered. I’ve taken what I wanted, consequences be damned, and now she’s shattered and unable to look at me, doubting herself, her choices, and most certainly doubting me.
“Querida, I’m sorry.”
She whirls to face me, eyes flashing fire and the towel coming precariously undone. “Do you realize how many times you’ve apologized to me since we got here? That’s all you do. You say hurtful and mean things, then you’re instantly remorseful. Well, guess what, Moran, not this time.” Tossing her clothing onto the bed, she lets the towel drift to the floor. “Take a good look because this is the last time, you hear me? I’m done doing this with you. I’m not letting you treat me like crap all the time. I’m done letting you unload a few token apologies and some really sexy Spanish words and expecting me to fall into your arms.”
“Come here,” I reply softly, holding my hand out to her.
“No.” She’s like a petulant child, except for the incredibly hot body that tempts me more than it should.
“Look at me, Mia.” At first she refuses, but curiosity gets the better of her and she slowly lifts her eyes to mine. “You are not like the other women I’ve been with, at all.” I sigh a ragged breath and scrub my hand over my face. “I’ve told you this before … this scares me. You scare me. You make me think I’m entitled to something I haven’t wanted in years. You make me want that more than I want my next breath.”
“But you don’t trust me enough to be as close to me as two people can be. And God forbid I tell you how I feel.” Her chin lifts defiantly. “Guess what, Cruz? I do love you. Suck it up and deal with it. I’m not asking for you to love me back. In fact, I’m not asking for anything from you except the truth.” She reaches for her bra and starts to fasten it.
“Wait.” I’m on my feet next to her, removing the garment and sending it to the floor once again. She goes willingly into my arms, which is surprising, pulling me in tight and gripping my back with her fingers. “I’ve been honest with you, Mia. I think sometimes you just don’t like hearing what I have to say.”
She shrugs. “It’s what you don’t say that scares me.”
“I know.”
Her eyes find mine. “I don’t want to fight with you. I want tonight to be memorable and for us to go home tomorrow, hopeful that maybe something between us will work out.” Hope burns from her eyes to mine. “Can you handle that?”
“I’ll try.” It’s the best I can do for now, even knowing how deeply she feels about me. And as I take her mouth and we fall down onto the mattress together, a tangle of arms and legs, I make a silent promise to myself and to her that I will do everything in my power to make this work. Fear aside, Mia is perfect for me. She challenges me and makes me laugh. She makes me believe in hope. She’s my equal in so many ways, especially in the bedroom, I think as she crawls on top of me and urges my mouth to her breast. Taking a chance on her, on us, will be scary as hell, but there’s a little voice inside my head that says it’s worth it.
By the time I step into my apartment Sunday evening, I feel like I’ve been turned inside out and have no idea which way is up. The past few days have been blissful to say the least. But they’ve also been filled with self-doubt … an entire truckload of it. For all of Cruz’s amazing and wonderful attributes, he’s equal parts frustrating and stubborn, locked up so tight it’s not surprising he’s spent the past fifteen years alone.
Ever since I woke up in his bed this morning things have been weird between us. He was quiet, pulling me into his arms and making love to me twice, before we had to get packed for the airport. And even though I know he always refers to it as fucking (and every time I cringe), I’d argue that this morning was different than all the other times he’s touched me. Yes, he was silent, but he wouldn’t take his eyes off mine. His touch was gentler, softer than I’d gotten used to. Although, he’s only ever been as rough with me as I’ve needed him to be.
Something changed in him overnight, and I wish I could pinpoint what it was. I have my ideas and would venture a guess to say that physically being with me these past few days has altered everything—and not for the better, in his eyes at least. Being with me has added another level of paranoia to his already very timid and fragile heart.
His silence continued all during the flight, and he offered me nothing more than a strained smile when he tucked me into a taxi and sent me on my way home. I don’t know what I expected from him, but silence wasn’t it.
My phone blares to life and Amita’s picture pops up on the screen. Dropping my bags onto the floor, I swipe my finger across the screen and plop my butt on the couch. “Hey, girlie, miss me?”
She laughs. “Of course I did. I’m anxious to hear all about your trip. Did you have fun?”
Fun. Hmm … well, I suppose that would describe my time in New Orleans with Cruz. “Uh, yeah, it was nice.”
There’s a thick beat of silence. “Oh no. Please tell me you did not succumb to his charm.”
Snickering, I kick my heels off and prop myself up with a couple of pillows. “Okay. I did not succumb to his charm.”
“You totally did.”
“I totally did.”
There’s a whole lot of squealing and what sounds like hand clapping, then her voice gets serious when she says, “He didn’t hurt you did he?”
Hurt … well, that’s subjective, I suppose. He spent a lot of time apologizi
ng, mostly for believing I’d allow him to treat me like some two-bit hooker. I’d say I’m more confused than hurt. He always seems to leave me wondering … and second guessing … and doubting. “No, Amita, he didn’t hurt me.”
Another long pause. “Was it amazing?”
My face flames when I recall all the things he did to me, all the things we did to one another. “Yeah, I’d say it was amazing.”
More squealing. “I must have details. Meet me for lunch tomorrow.”
“Come by the office around one. I should be able to get away. We can eat at the deli next door.”
“Coolio, sissy. See you then. Love ya.”
“Love you too.”
With a groan, I gather up my shoes and bags and trudge upstairs. Unpacking from a trip is a chore I dread but at least it will keep me from picking up the phone and calling him … just to say hi … or to see if he wants to come over. I’m so pathetic. The guy obviously needs a break from me, at least if his silence was any indication. I need to give him some space and see how it all plays out at the office tomorrow before I go freaking out and start chasing him like some teenager.
Phone in hand, I pull up the photos I took during our stay. There’s a few of my hotel room to show to Amita—although the truth is that I hardly spent any time there at all. There are a few photos of the hotel pool, one of Cruz’s suite that I nabbed when he was in the shower, and two of us together. In the first one, we’re seated at Café Du Monde, the green and white awning shielding our faces from the sun. There’s a plate full of beignets and two cups of chicory coffee between us, and Cruz’s arm is wrapped around my shoulders as we smile into the camera. I recall how unnerved he was when I asked a nearby patron to take our photo, and yet he willingly complied after a minute or so of inner musing.
The other photo of us was taken as we wandered down one of the side streets. We’d stopped in front of a jazz club, and he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. The kiss was one of those full-bodied ones: lips and tongues seeking, fingers grasping, and all parts in between burning with the need to be alone. I’d shot the selfie shortly after that, and in the image I can see how flushed my face is, the slight swollen lips, the dark look of need in my eyes. Cruz just looks … predatory, eyes blazing with hunger, jaw tense. In retrospect, I’m surprised he let me take the photo, though I don’t believe his mind was on much else other than the need to get me alone and get me naked—which he did directly after we snapped this.
I’m thankful to have these few reminders of how close we were during our trip, especially since I fully believe he’s going to give me the cold shoulder at the office tomorrow. It will still hurt to be on the receiving end, but seeing firsthand how he waffles between being happy and accepting his solitary life as-is gives me a little insight into this man I’ve somehow fallen madly in love with.
I don’t regret spewing out the words, but I’ve yet to repeat them, and frankly I wonder if I ever will. I have my doubts about whether or not the man is capable of loving me … or ever really loving again. I believe there’s affection there, but I also believe he’s spent so long running from it, he wouldn’t recognize anything remotely like love if it walked up and bit him on his oh so firm ass. He knows how I feel, so there’s no need to beat a dead horse. If he ever decides to come clean and tell me about his past, tell me what troubles him so, then I might believe I have the right to verbalize my feelings again.
Flopping down onto the bed, I smile fondly at our happy reflections. Cruz and I might not have forever. We might only ever have those five precious days, but I have to believe there’s a tiny part inside of his heart that longs to be more than simply the coldhearted man he chooses to allow everyone to see. His mom is right. Deep down in that fragile heart of his is a broken man, one he is constantly at odds with. Whatever happened between him and Dani was powerful enough to affect him for years on end. That proves to me he does have the potential to love, though he may have forgotten how or, as he’s told me, he’s simply too scared to try.
I think of how he touched me this morning, fingertips trailing over my flesh, leaving goose bumps in their wake. He may be able to deny he wants something permanent, he may argue that he never led me on and never made me promises, but he will never convince me that I didn’t affect him deeply. I saw the way he looked at me, heard the whispered words of endearment when he was deep inside me, felt the reverence of his touch. I’ll never be convinced I was just an easy lay for him, though I do believe it will be easy for him to walk away … if for no other reason than it’s what he’s always done.
I think that’s what terrifies me the most.
Glancing up at the large clock on the wall for at least the tenth time in the past twenty minutes, I see it’s now half past one and Amita has still not showed. I’m more than anxious to get out of here for a while. The silence is wearing.
I’ve only spoken to Cruz briefly, when I arrived earlier than normal and found him sequestered in his office. I bid him a good morning, took the pulse of the room, and decided to keep my distance. The anger was literally seeping from his pores.
I have no idea if he’s angry at me, at himself, or at the situation in general, but I’m not about to question him. The best thing I can do for both of us is to keep my distance, be professional, and let him work through whatever chaos he has going on inside of his head.
“Daydreaming again, beautiful?”
Glancing up, I see Marco strolling up to my desk, looking like the wealthy man he is in a custom-made, double-breasted, charcoal gray suit. He settles down in the chair that sits off to my left, propping one expensive loafer on the opposite knee. Like his brother, the man screams money and affluence. His warm, easygoing personality is a far cry from the hostile man I spent the past week losing my heart to.
Marco is grinning broadly, eyes twinkling like there’s something he knows that I don’t, and once again I ask myself why I couldn’t have fallen for him. He’s such a nice guy and so different than his harsh older brother. They share a lot of the same traits— same tall frame, same hair and eyes—and yet when I see Marco, I smile. When I see Cruz, I melt.
I grin at him. “What’s up?”
He smirks. “Ah, babe, you can’t ask a guy that question.”
Chuckling and more than used to his raunchy remarks, I reply, “Are you here for a meeting?”
He rolls his eyes and nods. “Yeah, I’ve been summoned.” The laughter fades and he leans close. “What’s up with him today? Bad airplane food?”
Not about to delve into anything personal with him, not today anyway, I shrug. “He’s just very busy. Lots to catch up on after being gone.”
“Nice try. But I’m not buying it.”
Thankfully, I’m saved from commenting when Amita strolls up to my desk. “Sorry, sorry. Parking was a nightmare.” She glances at Marco and grins. “Are all the guys who work here hot?”
Marco gets to his feet, all six foot two of him responding to her like she set his hair on fire. I watch with idle curiosity as he gives her the once over, then does it again, only slower this time. Watching her response is comical. For all my sweet friend’s fire and ice, she literally melts under the weight of his stare, blushing hotly and shifting her feet uneasily.
Suddenly uncomfortable with all the sexual energy buzzing around these two, I state, “Marco, this is my best friend, Amita Morales. Amita, this is Marco Moran. He’s the CFO here at The Moran Group.”
Amita seems to get herself under control, gives him a quick once over, and responds properly, “Mr. Moran.” They shake hands and I swear I can hear the sizzle when their hands touch. Reminds me of a certain other member of his family and the reaction I have whenever his skin touches mine.
“Miss Morales.”
Anxious to get out of the office, I toss my purse over my shoulder and get to my feet. “You need me to let him know you’re here?” There’s silence in response to my question and for a brief moment I feel the need to slap them both. “Marco, do you need
me to let Cruz know you’re here?”
He looks oddly flustered. “What? Oh, no. I’ll let myself in. You girls enjoy.” He manages to regain his composure, sending my friend a panty-wetting smile and a flash of warm, blue-green eyes that are so similar to his older brother’s. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
She smiles and I swear she bats her eyes at him. “Oh, you will. You can bet on it.”
I give them both an eye roll and shove Marco out of the way with my palm. “Control yourself.”
He responds with a smack to my ass, which unfortunately happens at the exact moment Cruz opens the door.
Where moments ago there was sexual tension, now there’s nothing but hostility and anger—most of it directed right at me. He shoots me a brief, hateful look then turns to his brother and growls, “Keep your hands off the employees.”
The door slams loudly once he gestures for Marco to enter, dismissing me and my friend with another cold glance. I refuse to feel hurt, reminding myself that he’s too busy to think about us or to contemplate all that happened. Who knows, maybe guys don’t do that. Maybe they don’t sit around and play the what-if game that girls do, speculating on a potential outcome.
“I don’t know how you can work here,” Amita mumbles.
“Sorry. He’s just very busy today.” That’s it, Mia, keep lying for him. Keep making excuses.
Befuddled, she responds, “No, not that. I couldn’t work here with all these hotties. I practically came just shaking that guy’s hand.”
Snickering, we make our way down the elevator, through the lobby and into the deli next door. Amita is still fanning herself when we finally take a seat at a small table, large turkey subs and sodas spread out in front of us.
“Okay, girlie, I want details.”
“It was a nice trip.” I busy myself by pulling the pickles out of the sandwich. “New Orleans is great.”
“Whatever. I’m not talking about that. I want details about you and the boss man. Was it good? Did you come a bunch of times? He looks like the type of guy who could make you come multiple times.” She sighs and fiddles with her straw. “I miss the multiples.”
