Trouble (16 page)

Feeling lightened by his banter, I shrug. “I’m easy. Whatever you want is fine with me.”

His brows lift. He turns his body fully around to face me.

Easy
. Not the best word to use, Mia.

See this is what happens when I don’t consider my words. Verbal diarrhea.

“N-not that I’m
e-easy.
Just easy about the food, you know,” I start to stammer. “J-just not fussed, easy to please.”

His brow lifts higher, and he’s grinning.

I want the ground to swallow me up. Now. Please.

“Easy to please. Got it.” He turns his attention back to the fridge.

I’m such an idiot. I really shouldn’t be let out around people.

Jordan starts pulling food out and placing it on the counter. Eggs, tomatoes…

“So, ‘easy to please’, will a Spanish omelet be okay?”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “A Spanish omelet will be perfect.”

He gives me a smile before turning back.

“You want any help?”

“Nah, I got it. You want something to drink? There’s beer in the fridge, or wine if you want?”

“Beer’s great.” I hop off the stool and go over to the fridge. “You want one?”

“Sure.”

I grab two bottles.

“Opener is in the drawer.” Jordan points to the drawer with the knife he’s using to chop the tomatoes.

I falter in my step, my chest tightening, legs stiffening. My eyes hazing.

Shit.

Oliver trailed the knife across my collar bone and over my shoulder.

“Where did you get this from, Mia?” He held up the top I’d bought myself the day prior. A beautiful, low cut, strappy top, which I had hidden in the back of my closet. I was hoping to wear it when Oliver was at the hospital. I bought it because of the colors. It made me think of summer. I felt warm and happy when I tried it on. I wanted to keep hold of that feeling, so I bought it, even knowing the risk.

“I b-bought it, sir.”

“Did I give you permission to buy this?

I hung my head. “No.”

He moved closer to me. “This is a whore’s top! Designed to get the attention of boys! Is that what you want, Mia? You want the attention of boys?”

“No, Daddy.”

He held the top in front of me as he shredded it with the knife.

I wanted to cry. Over a top. But that top had made me feel happy. For that fleeting moment, I had felt happy, and he’d taken it away again. Like always.

“Take off your sweater, Mia.”

My eyes snapped up to his. “W-why?”

“Don’t question me!” he roared. “Just do as I say!”

My body shaking, I lifted the sweater over my head. Leaving me in my bra, I held my sweater, fingers clutching it, against my stomach.

Fear was roiling inside me.

Oliver walked behind me.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I heard the knife being placed down on his desk, then the snap of Oliver’s belt as he removed it from his pants.

My stomach dropped hollow. No matter how many times it happened, the fear was always the same.

“You’ve disobeyed my rules, Mia. You’ve been a bad girl. What happens to bad girls?”

I swallowed past the fear that was drying my mouth and shaking my insides. “They get punished, sir.”

I braced myself, gritting my teeth.

I felt the lash of the first hit on my back. Stifling my screams, I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood.

“Jesus, Mia! Are you okay?”

A worried Jordan is standing before me. I feel something running down my chin. I press the heel of my hand against my mouth. Blood.

I bit through my lip.

“God, oh, I, uh – it was an accident.”

An accident?
Yeah, because normal people bite their lips and draw blood all the time Mia. Perfectly normal. He won’t think anything is off there.

Saying nothing, Jordan takes the beer bottles from my hands and places them on the counter.

That’s when I realize my hands are shaking.

“Sit up here.” He pulls a stool over. I climb onto it, my legs suddenly feeling like jelly. He opens a drawer, then comes back with a first aid kit.

God, I’m such a screw-up. Now I’m zoning out and biting my own lip open. Awesome Mia. Way to go.

“Sorry,” I mumble as he starts to dab at the blood with a wipe. Antiseptic. Stings a little but I’m used to the sting – years of using the stuff will do that. “I’m such a klutz.”

I’m trying not focus on Jordan’s nearness, or how my skin tingles when he touches me. Or how amazing he smells. Or that I want him to kiss me.

Right now.

More than anything.

Yes, that’s what I’m thinking about in this screwed up moment.

Normal is something I will never be. I figured that out a long time ago.

“Stop apologizing,” he says softly, meeting my eyes. “Just tell me what happened back then.”

I hold my gaze steady. “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened? You zoned out completely. Where’d you go?”

I look away, focusing on the wall behind him. “Nowhere special. I’m sorry.”

He sighs. His warm breath blows through my hair. His exasperation should bother me, but all I can focus on is the way his nearness is making me feel right now. And that’s alive.

I can’t ever remember feeling this alive before.

“Seriously, stop saying you’re sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m just worried about you.” He presses the wipe against my lip. “Were you thinking about what your ex did to you? How you got the black-eye? I know that traumatic events can sometimes be triggered by the smallest thing, causing blackouts and that kind of thing.”

My body freezes. Muscles stiff.

I shake my head.

It’s the truth because the real screwed up in me happened long before Forbes came into my life. Forbes was just the rain after the tornado.

“I’m fine,” I say, probably a little too harshly. I don’t mean to be this way, but I just can’t talk about it. Not with him.

Not with anyone.

Removing the wipe, he steps back and rakes a hand through his hair. I can tell he’s frustrated, and I’m the one frustrating him.

All I ever seem to do is frustrate and anger men, but that’s also all I know. Kindness confuses me. Throws me for a loop.

An angry, frustrated man makes more sense to me.

“I know you don’t know me well, but you
can
trust me. You can talk to me and tell me anything. I won’t judge … honestly, I’m no one to judge.” His gaze sweeps the floor, then meets back with mine. His eyes are honest and clear. “I might be able to help you.”

Even when he’s frustrated, he’s kind. I don’t know what to do with that.

But I do want his help. More than anything I want to trust someone. I want to trust him.

I open my mouth to let the words spill out. But I can’t. The broken in me can’t be fixed.

“I’m long past help.” I shake my head, hating that I let that slip out. “I appreciate it – you – everything you’ve done for me. But really, there’s nothing to talk about.” I slide down off the stool.

“Thanks for the clean-up, but I’m going to skip dinner. I’m feeling pretty tired.”

“Mia…”

Ignoring the plea in his voice, I’m out of the kitchen and running to my room.

Chapter Eleven

Jordan

I lift my hand to knock on the door, then retract it and step back.

I’m standing outside Mia’s room, wondering if I should knock on her door or not.

It’s a fairly simple act. I lift my hand. It makes contact with the wood. I knock. She opens the door.

Simple, right?

So why am I thinking it over?

Because after last night, things don’t feel so simple anymore when it comes to Mia. Not that I’ve been coasting down easy street from the moment I met her, but this is just way out of my territory.

I have no clue what to say to her. And I
always
know what to say to women.

I suppose, I could just act like it never happened.

Yeah, because that wouldn’t be a totally shitty thing to do.

Maybe I can just let her know if she ever needs to talk to me about anything, I’m here.

That’s it. I’ll do that. I’ll knock on the door, tell her breakfast is ready, ask her what time she wants to leave to go to Farmington, and subtly mention that I’m here for her.

Easy.

I lift my hand to the door, and suddenly see a flash of Mia’s face from last night.

The look on her face. She was completely zoned out. Somewhere else. And the way she bit into her lip … I have honestly never seen anything like it.

I’m not afraid to admit that seeing her like that frightened the shit out of me.

What could have made her get that way?

I’m guessing things are way worse for her then I’d first thought. More than just the douche ex giving her that black eye.

I got that when she said she was beyond help and ran out of the kitchen like her feet were on fire.

In that moment, I wanted to go after her. Help her. I almost did. But I stopped myself.

Why? Because I knew if I did, I would be crossing the line into something else.

I would be getting in deep with her.

I don’t do deep. I
can’t
do deep.

Fucking? Yes.

Touchy feely? Huge no-no.

I back up, lean against the wall and drive my hands through my hair.

I’m exhausted. I hardly slept last night. I had Dozer and his broken leg in bed with me, leaving me with an inch of mattress to sleep on. My lack of sleep had absolutely nothing to do with Mia’s freak out last night. I might have thought about it a few times. But not much. I was just trying to figure out what her fuckhole of an ex could have put her through. And all thinking about it did was rile me up.

So then I thought happy Mia thoughts.

I thought about having sex with her in multiple different ways. And I imagined what those sweet lips of hers would feel like to kiss.

How she would taste.

How all of her would taste…

Her skin…

Her tight, hot pussy…

Fine. I spent all of my night either worrying about Mia, or thinking about all the ways I want to do her.

Mia was on my mind all goddamn night.

Happy?

Cause I’m fucking not.

Fuck this shit.

I push off the wall, arm raised with the purpose of banging on the door, when Mia suddenly opens it.

“Shit!”

“Jesus!”

My arm is still raised mid-air, and my heart is pounding like a motherfucker.

Mia’s eyes are on my raised arm, her breaths coming in quick, chest heaving.

Fuck, her tits look great in that top.

And I’m staring.

Eyes avert. I lower my arm to my side.

“Sorry,” I say at the same time as she does.

I lift my eyes to hers and grin. Her eyes smile at me.

“I just—”

“I was—”

She laughs.

The sound is so fucking sexy.

I want her. I can honestly say I have never wanted anything more in my life than her. My cock is throbbing. It’s a pleasure/pain thing.

Pleasure at the sight of her.

Pain that he can’t get in her.

I think he’s dying of thirst. He needs to bathe in the fountain of Mia.

Am I experiencing sexual frustration? Shit … I think I might be. So this is what it’s like. It’s pretty torturous. How the hell do monks survive? I know for a fact that I’m not going to last much longer without getting laid.

“You go.” She gestures.

What
?

Oh yeah, we were talking. Kind of.

I push my hands in my pockets and shift on my feet. “I just came to let you know breakfast is ready, and also to see what time you wanted to head out to Farmington?”

“You still want to go with me?” She looks surprised.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Her eyes drop to her feet.

I follow her gaze down, wishing her legs weren’t covered in denim right now. I see she’s wearing a pair of flip-flops and that her toenails are painted pink.

Is it strange that the sight of her feet is turning me on?

Yeah, well if it is, I don’t care. I want to push her back onto the bed, take those flip-flips off, then her jeans, and lick my way down her sexy instep, all the way up those gorgeous legs until I reach home.

“Because … well, uh…” Her soft voice pulls me back to her. “Because of last night.”

I frown. I can’t help it. “Nothing’s changed.”
Everything’s changed.
“Last night … it’s your business. If you want to talk about it, I’m here. If not…” I lift my shoulders. “I’m still here.”

Jesus, could I sound any more like a woman? I’ll be growing a vagina if I keep this shit up.

A smile touches the corners of her lips.

Our eyes catch, and I almost flinch from the pang that flashes across my chest.

That shit is getting on my last goddamn nerve.

I only get it when I’m with Mia.

Maybe it’s…?

No.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Are you ready to eat now?” I blurt out.

She looks a little taken aback at my abruptness. “Yes.”

“Okay. Good.” I turn and walk down the hall.

I was short. I didn’t mean to be, and I know I’m having mood swings like a hormonal teenager, but I just can’t seem to control my emotions around her. My head is all over the goddamn place.

I hear the door click close behind me, then the gentle sound of flip-flops slapping against her feet.

The sound is like a beat inside my chest.

I’m out on the terrace before she is. It’s a warm morning, so I thought she might like to eat outside.

I set the table already. I called Paula last night and told her not to come in today. There’s not much that needs doing, nothing I can’t do myself.