She’d at first thought he’d gotten rid of her old one, and she had run around the apartment with tears in her eyes trying to find it. Only to discover that what he’d actually done was transfer the contents into the new one, and stuck the old one in the closet of the guest bedroom she’d moved into.
That had embarrassed her. The thought that he’d seen how little she had. But she hadn’t mentioned it, not wanting to get into a discussion or an argument about it. Instead, she’d put her things in the old backpack in the closet and kept the new one out where he could see it.
However, her old clothes still hadn’t returned. He’ d sworn to her that he hadn’t gotten rid of them, but given that it had now been two days and she still didn’t have them, she was starting to wonder. Laundry didn’t usually take that long did it?
Along with the beautiful dresses, the woman had also showed her some of the most beautiful lingerie she’d ever seen. Lace and silk, in a rainbow of colors.
She didn’t want any of it.
She wore the spare pair of panties she’d had in her backpack, washing them every night in the bathroom sink and hanging them on the heated towel rail to dry. She didn’t wear a bra and had settled on one of his T-shirts and a pair of his old sweatpants she’d found in a cupboard in the hallway. She wore them with an old business tie around the waist to keep them up, also found in the same hallway cupboard.
He’d been incensed when she’d come out of the bedroom wearing it, telling her she should stay in the robe until he’d gotten her something decent to wear, but if he could ignore what she wanted, then she could ignore what he wanted. He’d threatened to dress her himself, but she’d just looked at him, silently daring him to do it.
He’d backed down at that, and she thought she might have some idea about why.
It had to do with that kiss. The kiss she tried not to think about too much during the day. It was only last night that she’d taken out the memory, turning it over and over in her head as she lay in the soft, wide bed, staring at the ceiling. Reliving the heat of his mouth, the feel of his strong hands on her, and the strange awareness of her body that had gone through her like an electric shock.
He’d kept his distance from her for the rest of the day after that, at least physically. She’d been glad, because she didn’t know how to process it. Didn’t know why she’d stood there, letting him put his mouth on hers. Letting him touch her, letting his tongue explore her, taste her.
She just . . . hadn’t known how to deal with any of it.
“Excuse, me? Miss?”
Mia looked up at the woman, who was holding out the impractical black dress. “Yes, it’s very nice. But I don’t want it.”
The woman didn’t even blink. “No problem. Let’s see if we can’t find something else for you.”
At that moment, the elevator doors opened and Xavier came strolling in. He wore his suits without jackets and mostly without a tie, and today was in a pair of dark, tailored pants and a black business shirt, a couple of buttons open at the neck.
The department store woman gave him a glance, her smile widening into blinding. Mia watched curiously as the woman touched her hair in what looked like an unconscious gesture. “Oh, Mr. de Santis,” she said. “We weren’t expecting you back quite so soon.”
Xavier gave her one of his own blinding smiles, making something unfamiliar tighten in Mia’s chest. She didn’t like it, whatever it was.
“Sorry ladies,” he said, all easy, careless charm. “Hope I’m not intruding.”
The department store woman patted her hair again. “No, of course not. Mia was about to choose something beautiful to show you.” She glanced over at Mia. “Weren’t you?”
“I can’t wear that dress,” Mia felt compelled to point out. “It’s not very practical.”
“Well, no, of course not. Which is why I was going to show you—”
“I can’t wear any of those dresses,” Mia cut her off. Suddenly she didn’t want the woman here. There was something about her that Mia didn’t like and she wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was the smoothness of her hair or the perfectness of her makeup. Whatever it was, it annoyed her.
Xavier strolled over to the couch, without even glancing at the woman. He’d left early that morning—where he went, she hadn’t asked—and she hadn’t seen him since the night before. He had a curiously intent look in his blue eyes and it made her uncomfortable.
Are you sure that’s discomfort you’re feeling?
Of course it was discomfort. What else would it be?
How long are you planning on lying to yourself?
Mia shoved the thought away as Xavier said, deceptively mild, “Sure, you can wear those dresses. You’d look beautiful in them.”
She decided not to reply. They’d had this argument before.
He stopped by the arm of the couch, looking down at her, and she could see by the glitter in his eyes that he was not happy with her.
Too bad.
“We’ll take all of them,” he said, not taking his eyes off her. “Including the lingerie.”
“Mr. de Santis,” the woman began.
“I said all of them.” He didn’t turn. “I’ll be in touch later about delivery. Now get out of here.”
The woman didn’t say another word and five minutes later, both she and the rail of clothes had gone.
Mia stared at him. “You weren’t very nice.”
“Like I give a shit.” He’d began rolling up sleeves of his shirt and for some reason she couldn’t take her eyes off the lean strength of his forearms. “You don’t like the clothes? Or are we going to have another argument about you refusing to accept anything I give you?”
“You’re not giving them to me. You’re forcing me to have them.”
He made a dismissive sound. “You want them Mia, I know you do. Just like you wanted my knife. You want a lot of things that you’re not letting yourself have. What’s that all about?”
She tore her gaze away from his arms and looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. “You wouldn’t understand.”
He skirted around the arm of the couch then flung himself down beside her, leaning back and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Try me.”
She didn’t know if she wanted to have this conversation with him. It felt too close to something . . . painful. “I need my clothes back,” she said instead. “I need them.”
“We’ve had this—”
“I can’t stay here,” she cut him off. “I have things I need to do.”
A look of frustration crossed his face. “I told you that you don’t have to go back. You can stay here as long as you like.”
“And how long will that be for?” She stared at him. “I can’t live as a guest in your house forever.”
“Sure you can,” he replied with maddening calm. “I don’t mind.”
“But I do. I want . . .” She stopped, her heart suddenly beating faster, nervousness fluttering inside her. She’d never told anyone what she wanted for herself, it was her own private dream, something that no one would take from her, that was hers. Telling him felt dangerous. Like giving up a piece of herself.
“What do you want?” There was a gentleness in his voice, a warmth that made her want to crawl inside it and wrap it around herself. “You can tell me.”
“It’s going to sound stupid,” she mumbled.
“No, it won’t.” He paused, the look in his deep blue eyes suddenly unreadable. “Nothing you could tell me will sound stupid.”
She didn’t mean to tell him, but it came out anyway, all thick and emotional. “I want . . . a home. I don’t care what it looks like. I just want a place that’s mine. Somewhere that’s safe and warm and I can have all my stuff and I can—” She shut her mouth with a snap, before anything else could spill out.
Xavier didn’t say anything.
She kept her gaze on her hands, her heart thundering in her ears. Stupid, God, so stupid to tell him all that stuff. He wouldn’t unde
rstand. He wouldn’t. How could he? This man with all his money in this fancy penthouse apartment and a limo. What would he know of wanting something that was just his?
“I know what it looks like,” he said quietly, after a long moment. “I have everything I want, right? And I do, it’s true. But . . . none of it’s mine. It’s all bought with my father’s money. In fact, everything I have is all bought with my father’s money. It’s all in his name, he retains control of just about everything. I don’t care, I’m kind of careless with stuff so it’s probably a good thing.” He let out a breath. “But . . . there’s one thing of my own I wanted. My Mom’s family ranch out in Wyoming. I just wanted that. And Dad had been holding it over my head for years, getting me to do a whole lot of things for the company. Probably as a punishment now that I think about it, but . . . Anyway, he finally signed over the title to me yesterday.”
There was a silence and she didn’t want to move in case he stopped talking, and she didn’t want him to stop talking because the note in his voice . . . She knew it. She recognized it. It was the sound of her own feelings whenever she thought about a home of her own.
“It’s mine,” he went on. “Finally I’ve got something that’s mine. And I’m not going to be careless with that, not in a million fucking years.” For a change he wasn’t looking at her, his gaze straight ahead, as if he was looking at that ranch already. As if he was already there. She had no idea what Wyoming was like, but from that expression on his face, it looked like it was beautiful.
Abruptly, he gave a short, hard laugh. “Shit, I didn’t mean to talk about that. I’m not comparing our experiences or anything. I just want you to know that I understand what it’s like to want something of your own, too.”
It was strange that a man like him would know that and even though the wary part of her was still telling her not to trust him, the rest of her did and more than that, she was beginning to be curious about him as well.
It was hard being the relentless focus of someone for so long, especially when she wasn’t used to it. Maybe it was time to turn that focus on him.
“Tell me about your family,” she said.
His smile turned wry. “Christ, you know. Like any other fucking family.” Then he stopped. “No, you probably don’t know, do you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I only had my grandma and she . . .” Her voice trailed off. No, she didn’t want to tell him about that.
His gaze sharpened. “And she what?”
If she was cagey, he’d probably press. “I asked first.”
“Okay, but don’t think you’re getting out of it.” He let out a breath. “So my fucked-up family . . . Well, I mean, how much do you know about us?”
She blinked. “Nothing. Should I?”
“Kind of. My grandparents came out from the old country—Italy, obviously—and settled in Wyoming for some reason lost in the mists of time.” He gave her a very blue glance. “Yeah, you’re getting the long story.”
“Is there any other story with you?” The statement just slipped out of her and she hadn’t meant to say it, which almost never happened to her.
Xavier’s eyes widened and he turned more fully to her. “Did you just sass me?”
She could feel it, the beginnings of a smile curving her mouth, a strange tightness in her chest. Quickly, she looked down at her hands. “Maybe.”
He laughed, low and deep and the delighted warmth in the sound was better than a thousand goose down comforters. “Sweet thing, I don’t think I’m ever letting you go. Okay, so grandparents coming from the old country, settling in Wyoming, all that shit. Anyway, they brought their business with them, which was making guns. When Dad took over the business, he diversified into shit like protection and security. Got some major contracts, bought some more businesses, made shitloads—and I mean shitloads—of money. So that’s us, the de Santis gun empire.”
Her curiosity deepened. “What about your brothers?”
“Yeah, Lorenzo the douchebag. He’s Dad’s CFO. Then there’s Raff—Rafael. He’s the middle one, and is as much of an asshole as Lorenzo. He manages the PR side of the business. Oh yeah, and then there’s Nero, though we don’t count him.”
“Why not?”
Xavier’s handsome features hardened. “Dad had an affair and he’s the bastard son. Plus we never see him anyway since he never leaves his house.”
She blinked. “Never?”
“Not that I remember. Can we not talk about my brothers?”
Mia studied him. Clearly they were a painful subject. “What about your mom?”
The response was so instant it was like a light had been switched off, or shutters coming down over windows. “She died a long time ago.” His voice had turned flat.
Clearly that was an even more painful subject.
She wanted to push, wanted to know more, but something told her that now was not the moment. So she looked down at her hands again, because she couldn’t do this and look at him at the same time. And she did want to do this. She wanted to give him something, though she wasn’t really sure why or what to give, not when she didn’t have anything, not that meant anything. All she had was her own story.
She’d never given it to anyone before.
“My mom left when I was five,” she said quietly. “I don’t know why. My grandma said it was because she couldn’t cope with me, and since Grandma couldn’t cope with me either, maybe that’s true. Anyway, I lived with her until I was about thirteen, I think. But . . . she wasn’t a very nice woman. She liked for me to help her around the house and stuff, so I didn’t get to go to school much.” Her fingers were white knuckled in her lap, which was weird because she thought she’d put all that in the past years ago. “She . . . wasn’t nice to me. She’d yell a lot and sometimes . . . Sometimes she’d hit me. It wasn’t anything major, nothing like what some other kids got, and I guess I was grateful that she took me in, because she didn’t have to. But one day—” She broke off as Xavier reached out and put one large, warm hand over hers. She blinked staring down at it, the tanned skin peppered with little white scars. Something shifted inside her, steadying. “Grandma used to smoke,” she went on, somehow needing to say this, needing to get it out. “She used to put her cigarettes out on my arms occasionally. One day, I’d spilled something in the kitchen and she was mad, and she beat me pretty hard. I was thirteen.” Xavier’s fingers tightened on hers. “I knew I couldn’t stay there after that because it was only going to get worse. So . . . I left. I didn’t have anywhere to go, but there was a lady who lived in an alley near the apartment and sometimes she was nice to me, so I went to her. She looked after me for a while, helped me out. I was afraid the cops would find me so I moved around and tried to stay hidden. It was scary, but after a while . . . I kind of got used to it. I never got picked up. Once I went to the police station to ask if anyone had reported a missing kid—I told them it was my sister—but no one had. I think Grandma was glad I’d gone.”
Xavier said nothing, but his hand on hers was tight, strong.
For long moments they just sat there in silence and she felt strange, vulnerable, but not in a bad way. As if the gift of her story had been accepted and not only that, treasured.
“You want a home?” Xavier said at last, his voice even deeper than normal. “I’ll get you a fucking home.” It sounded like a vow. “One that’s yours, that no one can ever take away from you. Where you’ll be safe. I promise.”
Her throat closed up painfully. She kept her gaze on the hand over hers, staring at the scars on it. “I can’t have one. I don’t have a birth certificate. I don’t have a social security number. And I need those before anything else.”
A gentle finger caught her beneath the chin, turning her face toward him. “Then we’ll get those too,” he said. As if it was easy. As if all he had to do was snap his fingers and they’d appear.
“Tony at the shelter was helping me,” she explained. “But it’s hard. I don
’t know my Mom’s surname and I don’t know where she was born. Tony told me I need that information for the birth certificate, but Grandma never talked about her. I don’t think she ever told me.”
He frowned. “What about your own surname?”
“I don’t know, my Grandma never said.”
“What about her then? Was she born in New York?”
Mia shook her head. “She talked every so often about it being a mistake to come here so I guess she was somewhere else first” Her jaw tightened. Her grandmother had been a mean, bitter old woman and she didn’t like thinking about her too often.
“Okay, but she had a name?”
“Yeah. People used to call her Hazel or Mrs. Clare. But I don’t think Clare was my Mom’s name because Tony searched on it for me and couldn’t find anything.”
One side of Xavier’s mouth curved in an attractive, lopsided grin. “Don’t worry, sweet thing. That’ll give me enough to go on. I’m pretty sure I can get that birth certificate for you.”
She became conscious all of a sudden that he was still holding her chin, and that his other fingers had curved out, lying lightly against her throat. Her skin tingled where he touched, like little sparks scattering everywhere. “I don’t know how you can,” she said, her voice sounding thick. “Tony was having real trouble.”
Xavier’s grin deepened. “Yeah well, I’m not Tony. I’ve got a lot more money at my disposal, not to mention a shitload of useful contacts in various government departments.” His fingers pressed lightly. “I’ll get your documents, Mia. And once we have them, we’ll find you that home.”
She shouldn’t be letting him do all these things for her. She should be insisting on getting her clothes back then leaving, going back to the shelter, going back to Tony and all the things he was going to help her with. But . . . Tony hadn’t had much success. It was winter and she didn’t want to stay in the shelters. She didn’t want to go back to her alley, where it was freezing and dangerous and dirty. It had only been a couple of days but already she’d gotten used to being warm. She’d gotten used to having food. She’d gotten used to being safe.
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