“Why does he want to see me again? I told you what he said to me the last time. He told me to stay away from him and his family. Does he think I need another warning? I haven’t so much as said his name since that day.”
“I can merge him into the conversation.”
“No.” I put my laptop aside and stood. “I don’t understand this, Cecile.”
“I don’t either, but considering my current level of involvement . . . if things work out between you two, I want special treatment at the wedding. What’s a higher status than maid of honor?”
Panic swirled through me. I wasn’t ready for her jokes. “Cecile, this is serious. What do you think he wants?”
“Hang on.”
I was not only freaking out, pacing my apartment, but now I was also on hold. I told myself to breathe. Relax.
This doesn’t mean anything.
You only get hurt when you start to second-guess what is happening. He said he was sorry. He probably just wants to apologize.
Cecile came back on. “He wants to see you. In person. Today if you’re available.”
“I’m not,” I said in a rush. “I have . . . I have . . . Cecile, I made myself okay with never seeing him again.”
“So . . . tomorrow?” she asked in a tone laced with humor.
“I’m not even showered. And he couldn’t come here. What if he just wants sex? I was okay with that in Paris, but now that I’m home I can’t—”
“You know what, I’m just going to tell him you’re home now and you two can work it out.” With that, she hung up.
And I did my best to keep breathing. Cecile didn’t joke about stuff like that.
I texted Mauricio: I’m not dressed.
Then groaned and added: I’m not naked, just still in my pajamas.
Still feeling I had to clarify, I wrote: Not sexy ones. Big, baggy old ones.
I could almost hear his amused tone when I read his answer: I love it when you talk dirty to me.
I frowned as I remembered what he’d said the last time I’d seen him. I responded: They’re my favorite pair. They’re the kind of pajamas a woman who is only interested in a man once she knows he has money wears.
My emotions were all over the place. I was still angry with him, still telling myself I was over him, but knowing that he wanted to see me again filled me with an anticipation I couldn’t deny. Every moment we’d shared, every touch, every kiss, every laugh was still so vivid. Of course it was tempting to want another taste of that, but I reminded myself that it wasn’t real. Fantasy was fine in Paris.
But here? He would only be a distraction that would stop me from finding that job I want . . . or from being there for Dad.
Sorry, Mauricio, I’ve already closed the door on what we had.
His response took a moment to come in: I’m in a pair of jeans and T-shirt. It’s what most men wear after they’ve said something incredibly stupid to a woman and are hoping she’ll give them another chance.
My hands shook as I read the message over.
Another chance.
It was easy to say I didn’t want one when I wasn’t sure he was actually interested in one. I wasn’t ready to open myself to all the confusion that came along with how I felt about him. You embarrassed and hurt me.
I know. I’m sorry. I was still angry that you left the way you did. That’s not an excuse—just the truth.
I’d almost forgotten that he didn’t know why I’d left. My reasons didn’t belong in that conversation, but it did make me more understanding of his reaction to seeing me again.
I had reasons I needed to come home early and I wasn’t ready to share them.
With me.
Yes.
How about now?
Now? Right now?
I can be there in fifteen minutes. I live a few towns over. We’ll go somewhere crazy public if you want or just sit on the steps of your building. I don’t want to call or text you. I want to see you—face to face.
Right now.
The idea of saying no to him fell away beneath the weight of how much I’d missed him. He’d claimed enough of a piece of my heart that his absence was harder to bear than the uncertainty that came along with seeing him again.
I need time to shower.
If I remember—that’s about an hour. Hold on, without me, things might go faster. Thirty minutes?
What a ballbuster he was. I liked it . . . had missed that as well. Thirty minutes. I’ll meet you on the street outside my apartment building. You have the address?
I do. All I owe Cecile is a kidney. We don’t need both, though, right?
Funny, but I was now on the clock. See you in a few.
I tossed my phone on my bed as I flew past it to the bathroom. It did indeed go faster without him, but as I soaped down I closed my eyes and gave myself over to the memory of his hands lathering me up. His mouth. The crazy position we tried and how proud I’d been of myself for being able to orgasm and maintain my balance at the same time. Not an easy feat.
My body was humming and ready for Mauricio.
My mind was in quite a different place.
I needed someone I could depend on . . . someone who would understand how important my parents were to me. Mauricio was a player. A good time. Seeing him again would only be an exercise in frustration.
For both of us.
I wasn’t the woman he thought I was. Maybe he needed to see that.
I switched the water to cold long enough to snap myself back to the task at hand, then rushed through washing and rinsing my hair. Nearly slipped and fell in my haste to wrap a towel around myself and locate my hair dryer at the same time.
A few minutes later, dry and styled, I stood frozen in front of my closet.
I’d been in jeans the last time Mauricio had seen me.
He said he loves a good dress.
He also said he prefers me naked, and that isn’t happening either.
I grabbed a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and an older pair of undies and bra. If I could have instantly grown a week of leg hair, I would have done that as well.
Nothing is going to happen today. We’re going to talk. That’s it.
Two people meeting one last time, realizing that what they’d had wasn’t meant to be long term.
I applied a light amount of makeup . . . enough to give me confidence but not enough to look like I was trying to impress him. I would not be one of those women who threw themselves at his . . . midsection.
I gave myself a stern look in the mirror.
I’m a strong, intelligent, grown woman. I can handle meeting up with an ex-lover. People do it all the time. They’re mature enough to understand that not every relationship has to be forever. He wants to know why I left. Does he even deserve an explanation? It didn’t take much for him to think the worst of me.
The problem is I want to see him again.
Kiss him.
Wrap myself around him like a love-crazed anaconda.
No, that’s not what I want—not what I’ll allow myself to want. This is about proving to myself that we have nothing in common and no need to see each other again.
It was impossible to ignore the warm pink of my cheeks. There was excitement in my eyes, and I felt as nervous as a teen heading out on their first date. There was no denying that I still wanted Mauricio.
But it was not going to happen.
Shit, right now. He’s probably already waiting for me.
I narrowed my eyes and wagged a finger at my reflection.
No sex.
CHAPTER THIRTY
MAURICIO
No sex.
I muttered that affirmation while leaning on my car in front of Wren’s apartment building. It was a battle to not ring her bell, ask to be let upstairs, and see if the chemistry we’d had in Paris would be just as explosive in Danbury, Connecticut.
But that was the mistake I made the last time. I rushed when I should have taken more time to get to know her. This time, I’m doing
it right.
It didn’t help that my cock was already stiff and swollen. I couldn’t blame the guy. He was excited to see her too.
But he’ll have to share some of my blood supply, because I need to be able to form full, coherent, persuasive sentences.
I directed my next warning to my dick. Work with me, or you’ll never see her again either.
Wren stepped through the outer door of her building. The sun lit her blonde hair, and when she smiled at me, I was struck again by the beauty of her. Inside and out. I forced myself to not close the distance between us and haul her in for a kiss.
First we talk.
I reminded myself about what my mother had said. Wren was going through something, and as much as I wanted her, I also wanted to be the friend she needed. I smiled as I remembered my mother had overheard my father’s plan to hire Wren’s inspection company so we could meet. She’d known, but she’d let him go forward with it because she trusted him the same way the rest of us did. She wanted him to succeed. They were true partners, friends first . . . everything else was frosting.
I’d had the frosting before the cake.
I wanted more. I wanted Wren to hear me planning something anyone else would have thought was crazy and for her to trust me because we were that solid.
Her cheeks flushed as she approached.
I pushed off the car and employed maximum control over myself when I bent and kissed her on the cheek. “You look amazing,” I said.
She blinked a few times. “You do too.” Then she closed her eyes briefly as if regretting what she’d said.
“I know,” I said as I flexed for her. She laughed just as I knew she would.
We stood there for a moment, simply looking at each other. Eventually, she said, “It’s beautiful out today. We could take a walk.”
“I’d like that.” It was a semiresidential neighborhood. Enough traffic so children wouldn’t be playing in the streets, but enough private homes with large yards scattered around that, if it weren’t the middle of the day, I could imagine being full of families. Safe. Middle class. “Have you lived here long?”
Her hand accidentally brushed against mine. Heat shot through me. I could have taken her hand then, but I was determined to go slowly.
“A few years. I found the place after college. Although I wanted to stay close to my parents, I wanted my own place. They live one town over.”
I smiled. “I made the same decision after college. You and I have a lot in common.”
She searched my face before turning her attention back to the sidewalk. “You always say the right thing.”
Normally that would have sounded more like a compliment. “Not always.”
She gave me that look again—the one that made my heart sink a little. “Either way, Paris was amazing. I’m sorry I left the way I did. My father . . .” Her voice trailed off.
I waited.
I didn’t want more than she was ready for.
This time, patience would be my first, middle, and last name.
Wren was worth it.
She started again. “My father struggles with PTSD. He lost his arm along with several of his friends to an IED while serving in the Gulf. He’s never been the same since. Physically he’s fine, but he carries a lot of guilt, and while I was in Paris with you, one of his closest friends died. Trev had been there that day. He understood the demons that haunt my father. When no one else could, Trev could talk him back from the darkness of it.”
Her eyes began to glisten with tears, and I could barely breathe. Still, I forced myself to simply nod and listen.
“I spoke to my mother the morning I left. My father went out the night before, right after receiving the call about Trev. He hadn’t taken his cell phone with him, and she had no idea where he was. I didn’t know what to do.”
I almost said she should have woken me. I would have helped her, but something told me that wasn’t what she needed in that moment. Instead I reached out, laced my fingers with hers, and said, “So you flew home. I would have done the same.”
Her hand tightened on mine. “When I left the note, I wasn’t thinking about how you would feel. I wasn’t thinking about how I felt. I just had to find my dad.”
“You did the right thing, Wren.” I stopped and pulled her into my arms. Yes, there was heat, but that moment was more about comforting her. I breathed her in. She sighed and relaxed against my chest.
When she raised her head, I released her. She sniffed and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I did. He’s still struggling with the loss of Trev, but he’s home, and he’s talking to someone now at the VA.”
I didn’t think it was possible to care more for Wren than I did, but I was humbled by the love and loyalty she had for her family. I smiled. “And there I was thinking it was all about me. I was a real ass when I saw you the other day. I fell for you hard in Paris and I was . . . angry . . . hurt, I guess, when I thought you’d seen our time together as much less.”
Her eyes riveted to mine. “You were hurt by my note?”
I shrugged. “Is it so hard to believe I have feelings?”
She shook her head slowly. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean? I’m being honest with you.”
She clasped her hands in front of her.
“I’ve been an idiot.” I lifted and dropped a shoulder. “It’s why I took it so hard when you left. No one had ever made me feel the way you did. I started imagining forever—”
“No. You told me you don’t do relationships. You said if I was looking for forever, it wouldn’t be with you.”
“I said a lot of things I’m not proud of. It took you leaving to—”
“Stop.” She blinked a few times fast again. “I’m home, Mauricio. What worked in Paris doesn’t work here. I’m not going to hop right back into bed with you. I just left my job. My dad is good, but I don’t know how long that will last. I have responsibilities. I’m sorry.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to see you again. I met you today because I didn’t want to leave things the way they were. I’m not looking for a fling. I need something more substantial with a man who is based in reality—not fantasy.”
I held her hand to my chest. “I’m real.”
She pulled her hand free. “We’re too different.”
“You don’t know that.”
She rolled her eyes and waved a hand at me. “Look at you. Look at me. Your family is rich. My dad owns a gas station, and my mother was a maid. I’m currently unemployed. So tell me, how are we similar?”
I frowned. How could she not see that none of that mattered?
A thought occurred to me that brought a smile back to my face. The reason why Wren couldn’t see herself with me was because she’d only seen the Paris side of me. The younger me had needed the flash of the city or the thrill of the wild life. That hadn’t been me in a long time.
Something my brother’s wife had said came back to me then: “If you show Wren this side of you, she’ll forgive your first stumbles.”
I took her hand back in mine and gave it a squeeze. “Come to dinner with my family on Sunday. If you are not absolutely in love with me by the time you leave, I’ll never bother you again.”
Her eyes widened. “Dinner?”
A grin spread across my face. She looked so intimidated by the idea I decided to lighten the mood a little. “Don’t worry, I’m not Cecile. A Romano dinner starts with antipasti, then several more courses, lots of laughter, and a homemade dessert. Paris was fun, but that’s not all of who I am either. Before you write us off, don’t you think you should at least meet the real me?”
“I suppose.” She looked a little shell-shocked by the idea, so I guided her back to her building. I could have stayed, but I didn’t want to give her time to start overthinking my request.
“I’ll pick you up at three on Sunday afternoon. Dress casual and come hungry.”
I gave her a quick
kiss, spun on my heel, and walked away. Once inside my car, I glanced back and saw her standing there, hand on her mouth, still looking like she didn’t understand what had just happened.
That was okay. I wasn’t sure I did either. I couldn’t justify my confidence that this would all work out.
I just knew it would.
As I drove away, I called my mother. “Mom, set another plate out on Sunday. I’m bringing Wren home to meet the family.”
She called my father over so he could hear me say those words again.
I gave them a summary of how I’d gone for a walk with her and decided it was time for her to see there was more to me. “She said yes, so I left before she could change her mind.”
My father laughed. “Wise man. Less is more.”
“Call her tonight,” my mother said.
“You don’t think that’s too much?” I asked.
“Not considering what she’s gone through lately. You won’t win her heart with smooth words or even the grand gesture of bringing her here. I’m proud of the caring man you’ve become. When Sebastian needed you, you were there for him. When he didn’t need you as much, you stepped back to give him room. You’ve got a good heart, Mauricio, and people often overlook that because you were blessed with a pretty face. Call her. Ask her about her day. Cheer her on if she needs it. The reason people like you is because you care about them. Show her that side as well.”
“Ditto on everything your mother said,” my father chimed in.
Gratitude made it difficult to speak for a moment. “Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad. You’re right, I’m pretty great.” I added the last part just to make them laugh.
They did.
Before hanging up, my mother joked, “No pressure, but I have five future grandchildren riding on this.” Proving once again that Dad had told her everything.
Although I hoped not everything.
I remembered once asking Wren, “What am I going to do with you?”
Her response had been a breathtaking, “Something so decadent I fly home smiling.”
She hadn’t left Paris the way we’d both hoped she would, but rather than lament how our first time together had ended, I would make it my mission to give her endless reasons to smile—in and out of bed.
The Wild One Page 18
