Chapter Nine
Mia
I really do like Francesca’s room.
I like Kate Chopin a lot less, it turns out, but I have to read her stupid book for my literature class. It’s so frustrating and boring. I think I’d rather die than flip another page. Francesca’s bed is so comfortable; I’m nestled up in the middle of it, desperately trying to stay awake. But this chick is the worst. I know I’m supposed to feel for her, but man, what a selfish jerk.
I reread the same paragraph for the second time. I’m so bored and my mind keeps drifting.
Then I hear the bedroom door open.
I glance up to see who comes through the arch, expecting Meg since Maria wouldn’t come in so late unannounced.
It’s Mateo.
My heart drops right out of my chest cavity. Actually, I think it falls all the way out of my body and gets lost somewhere in the ocean of blankets.
What the hell is he doing in my bedroom?
“Um… are you lost?” I ask, since he hasn’t looked at me yet.
Instead of answering me, he frowns with displeasure at the empty wall to the right of the entry hall. In his room there’s a chair, and as he inexplicably peels his suit jacket off, he murmurs, “This isn’t right.”
My eyes are glued to the jacket he is now abandoning on the floor.
“This room needs some remodeling,” he states.
Kate Chopin completely forgotten, I push myself up in the bed, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest.
Oh, my god, why is he coming over to my bed like he’s in his own room?
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to scoot back even more, but there’s nowhere to go.
Finally, his gaze meets mine as he unfastens the cuff of his shirt. “Undressing.”
My eyes bug out of my head. “Why?”
“I’m spending the night with you,” he states.
I’m shaking my head before he’s finished saying it. It’s cruel for him to test me like this. Seriously, cruel. He knows I don’t want to hurt Meg. Now he’s made my stomach hurt. I feel like I just went ten rounds on a rollercoaster and I’m about to lose my lunch.
“Mateo, no.” He ignores me, unbuttoning the other cuff. “Please stop undressing.”
This right on the heels of my nice afternoon with Meg. After the guilt I felt when she told me what a great friend I am.
She sure wouldn’t say that if she saw us now.
He isn’t stopping and I don’t know what to do. I’ve been so weak lately—wanting him, struggling to even hide it. But today with Meg reminded me that there’s too much at stake to let simple lust fuck everything up. It may be love on my end, but what he feels for me isn’t that. And it isn’t enough to wreck what he already has with her.
I won’t be the one who wrecks his relationship with Meg. Not in a million years. Not even if I want it more than I want anything else in my whole life. I will not sink that low.
His shirt comes off and now I’m feeling panicky. Not knowing what else to do, I decide to bail on him—run, escape, get the hell out of here.
Throwing back the blankets on the far side of the bed, I hop off and make for the door.
As if amused, he asks, “What the hell are you doing, Mia?”
He moves to block me, and now he’s shirtless. My stupid, faithless eyes drop to his muscular chest, but I jerk them away, refusing to look at him. “Please let me out.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about wanting me,” he says, watching me like a cornered animal as he takes a step closer.
I take a step back, eyeing him warily. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t hurt Meg. I can’t do that to her. I love Meg.”
“So do I,” he replies, easily.
A literal sting of pain gets me right in the gut at the reminder, but he shouldn’t be here if he loves Meg. He shouldn’t be taking his clothes off and telling me he’s going to spend the night with me. He shouldn’t be making me say no to him when he knows I don’t want to.
Mateo’s hands shoot out, gripping me by the hips, and he backs me up against the wall. The stupid spot between my legs that he seems to own throbs with arousal. Breathing gets a lot harder. God, he’s so much more powerful than a man has a right to be.
My eyes drop to his bare shoulders—those broad, sexy shoulders. He has great shoulders. His arms come up on either side of me against the wall, barring me in like a Mateo-prison.
I think I’m going to suffocate.
“Calm down,” he commands, probably thinking the same thing.
“You need to leave. Please. I’m begging you to leave.”
“I’m not going to leave,” he replies, calmly.
“You have to. You’re going to ruin everything. You have a good thing going right now and this is going to ruin it. I’m sorry, I know I led you on, but I thought you’d be the stronger one, I thought… I thought you knew better. But this cannot happen. I can’t do this again. I can’t do this to another person. I can’t destroy more relationships—and this will do that. I know you don’t think there are consequences for your actions, and that’s maybe a little my fault because I’ve lied for you in the past, but there are consequences, terrible consequences, even for you. I can’t maintain this lie. The first one was your fault so I could justify it, but this would be just as much mine; I won’t be able to lie for myself. And when Meg finds out—and she will find out—it’s going to ruin everything for both of us. I’m going to lose my best friend and you’re going to lose her love. You might be able to make her stay, but you can’t force her to feel, you can’t make people forgive you. Trust me, I’ve been trying. I’ve been living the aftermath, and… love doesn’t recover from this. You can’t rebuild the good thing you had once you break it. You can’t make people look at you the same way. You can’t get the trust back.”
Tears are brimming right now, and this is somehow only the second most humiliated I’ve been in front of him. I’m so overwhelmed and a little scared. I know he won’t leave if he doesn’t want to. And if he doesn’t, what do I do then? I don’t know if I can keep covering his ass without the weight of all his secrets completely crushing me. I’m floundering right now in the sea of guilt I’ve slowly immersed myself in since becoming a part of his life, only realizing after diving in that I don’t know how to swim.
A stupid tear slips down my cheek and I feel like the biggest idiot in the world. I can’t look at him. I’m too afraid he’s going to have that look of amusement on his face, his smug, condescending—
His thumb suddenly comes up to brush away the tear, and it surprises me, so my gaze automatically jumps to his face.
There’s no amusement there. Not a drop. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I saw a hint of remorse.
Holy shit, is that remorse? Is that what it looks like on him? Why does it hurt me?
“I’ve hurt you so much,” he says, simply. He already brushed away the tear, but he’s still caressing my face. Comforting me. It works, but it makes everything hurt worse, too. The tears subside as quickly as they welled up, but now the aching pit in my stomach has opened back up. I’ve thought before he was the black hole, the thing I couldn’t escape from, but somehow it’s like he’s put that black hole inside me. Somehow it’s not enough to keep my distance from him, because it’s in me now. A part of me. I can get sucked into that dark trap of yearning even if I don’t see his face. But it’s so much worse when I do.
I’m unprepared for the vulnerability that overtakes me now, as he shows me this side of him that I was once convinced existed, despite all evidence to the contrary. Hope reemerges, a damned hope, because even if there’s good in him, I know it’s not much. I know there’s more bad. I know he’ll always hurt more than he helps.
I need to go home.
I need to leave the mansion.
I need to get the hell away from this man before he decimates me.
It feels like it’s been an eternity, but it’s only been a few seconds. Mateo is still cupping my face in one of his hands, and now he gently turns my attention back to him, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry, Mia.”
My poor aching heart is going to explode in my chest. My lungs threaten to collapse. Emotions swirl through me like a tornado, ripping into crucial, necessary processes, sucking up values of right and wrong, demolishing every rational thing. He blankets my brain, my heart, my soul with those three little words.
And then he kisses me.
And I kiss him back. I don’t just kiss him back, I cling to him, like he’s the only stable thing in the shitstorm of emotion moving through me, and that’s so wrong. It’s a lie. He’s not a stable thing at all, he is the fucking storm.
He’s going to ruin every good thing in my life, and I’m going to let him.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, his strong arms locking around me, and I can’t for the life of me remember why I wouldn’t. He can demolish everything else and leave me sitting in the middle of a barren wasteland—as long as I have this, as long as I have him, what more do I need?
He lets go of me just long enough to brace his hands under my ass and lift me. I lock my legs around his waist and he carries me to the bed, his mouth never leaving mine.
I already feel like a raging inferno, and all he’s done is kiss me. When he kisses me, it’s so much more than brushing lips and dueling tongues—he owns me. He doesn’t even have to battle me; I’m already his, but it’s scary and exhilarating, like dancing with the devil over an open pit of flames, knowing the only thing that keeps you suspended, that keeps you safe, is his hold on you. If he lets go, if he stops, if he pulls away, I’ll fall. I’ll burn up.
And I know he has to stop. I know we can’t stay here forever, dancing above open flames. No matter how long this lasts, no matter how high he brings me, it’s going to end. It has to end. I have to fall. Because he isn’t mine. He’ll sweep through my life like wildfire, burning up all the good, but all I’ll have to show for it is the barren wasteland—I won’t have him.
He stops kissing me long enough to drop me on the bed and get out of his pants, and my brain clears just enough to remember that.
“Wait,” I say, scooting back on the bed.
“We’ve waited long enough,” he states, climbing on the bed with me.
My heart’s still pounding from kissing him and here he comes again. I hold my hand out, like that can keep him away. It’s so hard, because I don’t want to keep him away. That’s the last thing I want. I want to pull him close. I want to open myself up to him and get swept up, swept under—I want to get lost in him.
I try to bargain with myself. Maybe if it’s only once? It’s going to hurt me more in the long run to only have this one time than never at all—I can already feel him ripping a new wound in my heart, but maybe it would be worth it. Maybe she doesn’t have to know.
That new guilt is already gnawing away at my insides. I can’t keep justifying these things. It’s a slippery slope and I keep sliding down. It’s only a dream, it’s only a hug, it’s only a dance, it’s only a kiss. All lies. It’s much more and I know that.
“Mateo, I can’t,” I say, miserably.
“Meg knows I’m here,” he states.
Adrenaline surges through me. My eyes widen, darting to his for understanding. He looks calm, not like someone whose dirty secret has been found out by his intended wife, whose life is about to blow up because he can’t keep to his relationship. “What?”
“She knows where I’m at. She knows I’m spending the night. She’s fine with it. We’re not hurting her.”
Now I can’t breathe for a different reason. Confusion mingles with all the other things I’m feeling. Mateo climbs over me on the bed, straddling me. The hard evidence of his arousal presses against me, heat rolling off him in waves; my greedy body responds in kind, but I’m so fucking confused. Is she giving me a night with him? That makes this… scarier. Because it’s still going to rip my heart open in the long run, but if I’m allowed to have it, I can’t say no.
Mateo’s brown eyes bore into mine as he looks down at me. “Can you share me, Mia?”
It’s hard to concentrate with his body so near. All I want to do is touch him, but I try to keep my head straight and process what he’s saying. “What?”
He smiles, dropping a brief kiss on my lips, like he used to when I amused him. It makes my heart ache again, but I’m too confused to really feel it.
“Can you share me with Meg? No betrayal, no pain, no heartache. Not an affair; a relationship. Nobody gets hurt. Meg’s already agreed to it. If you want me, I’m yours.”
He doesn’t give me time to respond. To process what the hell he just offered. Those last six words are the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard in my life. If you want me, I’m yours.
His mouth is on mine again, and it’s like pouring lighter fluid on a roaring flame. I let loose. I break away from his mouth, but not to fight. Arching off the bed, I yank the thin black camisole off my body and fling it. I shove my sleep shorts down, and he helps, yanking them off and throwing them in the floor.
“Is that a yes?” he asks, amused.
“Fuck me,” I say, reaching for his cock. I want to stroke him and make him feel good. I want him to bury himself inside me again and again. “Fuck me, Mateo.”
He grins, a devilish grin that reminds me of the poker game so long ago, when I felt like I was selling him my soul. It feels like that again, and a flash of fear moves through me, because he could be manipulating me. This could be a trick. It’s not inconceivable that he would fool me again to get what he wants, and if he is, he’ll turn my whole world upside down—again.
But even if he is, I might as well enjoy it.
I might as well let the devil sweep me up in his arms for one more dance.