by Christa Wick
A walk around the back of the house revealed a fresh plastic tarp over another portion of the roof, the ground still marked with the imprint of the ladder she had used. At least the small footprints around the ladder indicated Mia had been the one to repair the roof. The idea of her up there, working alone on a compromised structure for a few hours had me clenching my fists all over again. Not as bad, perhaps, as her living in the same house as Morris, but she had endangered herself in leaving Florida, compounded that danger by renewing her association with her stepfather and then she had risked life and limb making repairs.
I closed my eyes as I fought the need to punch a hole through one of the windows on her tiny home. Closing my eyes only made things worse. She needed disciplined and I only knew one way to discipline Mia. With my hands, in my bed, making her moan and come between firm smacks to her lovely ass or the dance of suede tails against her thighs and sweet pussy.
Arousal crowded against the worry and frustration I felt, my memory coiling around the contours of her body, her ripe breasts, the thick nipples that made her melt when I sucked on them, how tightly she could wrap around my fingers or cock, milking me as pleasure rolled through her.
My body responding, I thrust my hand into my pocket in search of the ring. Finding it, I shook my head at the lust thrumming through me. The big diamond with its platinum setting was my reminder of the baby lost and the one woman I wanted to protect more than anyone. The ring would not go on her finger. She would never be mine to discipline again. But I had to find and convince her to return to the company for her own safety. I would give her any location she wanted and a real job to do regardless of Trent's protests about the new security risk she posed as my former lover.
It was my company.
My Mia.
I could have waited at the guesthouse for however many minutes or hours it took for her to return, but I had to see her without delay. I needed to confirm with my own eyes that she was whole, that her foolish departure from the safety of Stark International was taken from a point of strength. I needed to see my beautiful, obstinate woman and know that, in trying to protect her, I hadn't destroyed her spirit.
From the evidence visible at the guesthouse, I roughly sketched out Mia's priorities. Digging in, she had a home to repair and stock as she built a place for herself away from Stark International. Having left early, she likely was procuring more supplies. Taking another look through the open curtain, I noted the name of the hardware store on the bag. I decided to make it my first stop and spread out the search parameter from there for the blue Mazda rental.
A eureka moment blossomed in my chest twenty minutes later when I spotted the vehicle parked in the far corner of the store's lot. I parked next to it and looked inside. No map or newspaper out on the seat. No bags from other stores. No clues for her next destination.
I jogged across the lot and entered the store. Half the aisles were marked clearance. I stared down each one of them, my ears perked for the sound of her soft, lilting voice. Having scanned every row, I walked to the counter where a man somewhere in his late sixties or early seventies sat at the register and made marks on what looked like a freshly printed inventory sheet.
He looked up, a cataract obscuring almost all of one blue eye. "Help you find something?"
I removed my phone from my pocket and pulled up a picture of Mia. The old man's face moved from helpful to guarded.
All of Trent's arguments about me losing my mind where Mia was concerned bubbled up as I squashed the desire to go hard on the old timer at the first sign of non-compliance. Instead, I smiled and forced a half-truth past my lips. "It's okay, just work related. She's my employee."
The man slapped a hand on the counter, his wheezy laugh exposing my lie. "You're from that Florida company, ain't ya? Sorry, boy, but she's my employee now."
"That was fast." I shrugged as I swallowed down my surprise. "She's only been in town three days."
"Smart cookie like that, knows her tools, easy on the eyes..." Shaking a gnarled finger at me, the old man threw a wink. "You don't give someone else a chance to hire her—or steal her back."
Not the kind of competition I expected, but I liked him. Feisty for his age. I dropped my head, a genuine laugh rattling inside my chest before I hooked his good eye with mine. "Can't blame me for trying. Where is she?"
The old man brought his hands together on the countertop, studied me a long, hard second, then offered a dismissive chuckle. "You don't worry me, none. That girl's come home, got that look. She's running a few errands for the store."
His hand swept toward the front entrance. "Good luck, son. You're going to need it."
Leaving the building, I took a few seconds to organize my search and a game plan for when I found her. The old man had said she was out on errands. For a small hardware store on its last legs, that probably meant the bank, post office or lunch.
Glancing at my watch, I amended the possibility of her fetching lunch to fetching coffee then scoped out the street since she was presumably on foot. The old man might have a delivery service, but I didn't see the demand and he had said "errands," not "deliveries."
I crossed the street, quickly eyeing the interiors of the stores I passed as I headed for the local branch of the county bank. The post office was half a dozen buildings beyond the bank, on the same side of the road as the hardware store. Standing sentry outside the bank, if I didn't get arrested by the locals, would provide an uninhibited view of every doorway Mia could possibly go in or out of on that bleak little avenue of commerce.
Reaching the bank, I looked inside then immediately flattened against the brick exterior. There, her back to me as she stood at the cashier's window, the lines of her body unmistakable to eyes that had never stopped studying her. Knowing we would be face-to-face for the first time since I sent her away, my pulse accelerated. The fear-based adrenaline rush brought a sharp reprimand from the soldier inside me. This was Mia—not Al-Qadir's men, not some member of the Juarez or La Familia cartels nor the Russian mafia. Just Mia.
My heart needed to slow the fuck down—and fast, before she came out and saw me like this.
The bank door opened outward, the contours of her hand instantly recognizable. She realized someone stood in the arc of the door, but not that it was me. Her gaze came up, an apologetic smile on her face before she saw its recipient and then her green eyes and accompanying smile froze.
I couldn't read her gaze, couldn't tell whether she thought I wouldn't find her after she left or if she was hoping I would. Based on the work already done on the house, I doubted her quitting my company was a plot to get my attention.
"Mia."
Catching her arm, I guided her the rest of the way out of the bank before she could retreat inside. I tugged her toward me. She twisted her elbow. I let her slip free. She stepped past me, her attention on the coffee shop I had passed before looking inside the bank. I touched her shoulder, longing for the time past when so small a gesture from me would freeze her in place.
She kept walking, glancing as she went at a small sheet of paper with all the lines but one marked off. "I'm not on my own time, Mr. Stark."
"Right, you work for Mr. Keppler at the moment."
I felt like pointing out the obvious. The store was going out of business, she was far too overqualified. None of those arguments mattered. Whatever her reasons were, I was to blame. I hadn't kept her safe in Dubai. I was too wrapped up in falling in love for the first and last time in my life, that I hadn't recognized the Omari deal as a set up.
Mia slowed, if only for a second, and raised a brow in challenge before shaking her head at me.
"The store has a few months left in it," she said, yanking on the door to the coffee shop.
She entered, not looking back. I caught the door before it closed and followed her in. She ordered two coffees, one triple black, the other the espresso and cream I knew she preferred. I ordered nothing, letting the clerk assume Mia and I were together.
Mia moved down
the counter. I followed, tongue frozen, heart hammering against my ribs. Whatever game plan I thought I had formulated evaporated the second I looked in those green eyes and saw the ease with which she could shut me out.
Had I really thought I could bribe or order her back?
Yeah—I had projected my desire onto her, assuming she would feel the same beast clawing in her chest as I did, feel the same heat scorching her lungs and capitulate to me. That her departure had coincided with the television coverage of me with Vivian's hand on my shoulder had fueled my fantasy that her feelings hadn't faded over the four months spent apart.
Apparently, she had instead looked at the video, realized she no longer felt anything, and decided it was time to leave.
Numb, I watched the clerk put the coffees on the counter. I wrapped my hands around them before Mia could and walked to the station with the napkins, sugar packets and lids. I licked my lips, finding them suddenly dry.
Next to me, Mia stood straight and silent. I shifted positions until I could gaze into her eyes. I searched for a sign that I was wrong about her being over me—that my first assumption had been correct.
Pissed, and without a prompt, she remained unreadable.
I gave her a prompt.
"You need to come back." I put a lid on Keppler's cup, averting my gaze at the last second because I didn't think I could take another blank response. "Real data analytics, you choose the site—"
"Home office?"
The question slid past her lips like a knife leaving a well-oiled sheath. An assassin's question, I wasn't sure how to dance around it. I just knew I couldn't have her that close—not if I wanted to keep her outside the danger zone. I couldn't know she was three floors away or that the elevator was carrying her down to the garage. I couldn't watch one of the men in the office try to get close to her without squeezing his head between my knees until his skull cracked.
The only control I had concerning Mia was keeping her at a distance—a physical distance because I couldn't yet manage an emotional one.
"That would be..." I fumbled for words as I passed her Keppler's coffee and put a lid on the espresso and cream before I finished. "Awkward."
She took the second coffee and turned to me, the green eyes almost hollow. Certainly the smile that rose to her lips was empty.
"I wouldn't have agreed even if you gave me home office."
Looking at her again, I searched for the lie. If she were over me, why ask for home office? To hear me say "no" so she could be certain she was over me?
If so, that meant maybe she wasn't.
Damn it, this was not how it was supposed to go! I didn't want to hear her empty or hurt or anything other than compliant. I couldn't keep an eye on her out at that farm, couldn't ensure her safety.
I shook my head, ending my indecision. My hands came up to grip her by the elbows. Absent the coffees, it was a position we had adopted more than once, usually naked. Me pulling her into my arms, my thumbs lightly indenting the pressure points on the inside of her elbows.
Control…command…
The blood that had turned to cold syrup in my veins at her flat smile and hurt gaze surged at last. My grip tightened then tightened again at the faint flicker of need that sparked in Mia's eyes. She wasn't lost to me, not yet. I could have her back at Stark International, where she would be protected. She'd roll onto a team, make new friends, meet someone...
I clamped down on the thought of her in someone else's arms. That only made me want to hold her in mine, to caress her silky brown hair, my fingers knotting in it as I angled her mouth to receive my kiss.
Don't go there, Stark.
You're here to protect her, keep her safe, not fuck her.
Definitely not that...
Another lick of my lips and I pulled her closer, the coffee cups pressing against my chest to warm the skin beneath. "Mia..."
She shook her head, her hands maneuvering to block me as she twisted her elbows free. Another shake of her head set a tear loose, followed by a confession that tore through my chest.
"Last night was the first time in four months I didn't dream about you, Collin." She stepped back, one foot angling toward the exit. "It was the sweetest sleep I could imagine."
7
Mia
I placed the coffee and deposit slips in front of Mr. Keppler, a grim smile on my face.
He took a swallow of coffee then smacked his lips. "That city slicker find you?"
I nodded, wondering just what Stark had said to my new boss.
Keppler swirled the cup in his hand, his good eye watching the steam come through the small hole in the lid. "Make you an offer you couldn't refuse?"
I took a sip of my espresso before answering, letting the heat relax my too tight throat so I wouldn't croak out the response. "No, I'm still yours."
That brought a smile to the old man's face. I, on the other hand, wanted to burst into tears. Stark's appearance had stunned me. His reaction to my asking for home office had almost crushed me. Why show up, in person, say any office I wanted and then reject the first one I asked for—the only one I wanted?
Keppler slapped his hand on the counter, the sound coming out of his mouth half cackle, half old man giggle. "I told him. You're a James, always been a James in Keeling since it was founded. You know you're home even if he don't."
I nodded, then ducked my head as I took another sip. I was the only James in Keeling. I had no family in the area beyond the loose, legal construct of Evan as my stepfather. I had no friends. I had a brand new boss who was retiring in three months. He knew my grandfather and father, but he didn't know me.
"Home..." I pushed the word out, rolled it off my tongue to catch its flavor.
Keppler looked up from the inventory sheet I had brought him that morning and smiled. "That's right."
The taste wasn't right, not yet. Still, it wasn't bitter, not like the words I'd exchanged with Collin in the coffee shop. It didn't burn, either. Pulling my phone out, I jiggled it at Keppler before grabbing a clipboard with a second inventory sheet. "I need to check if any of the roofers I called have left a message. Mind if I do it while I work in the stockroom?"
His bony hand shooed me toward the double doors in the back. I waited until I cleared them before I pulled John Gillie's phone number from my wallet and dialed. A few seconds later, his voice came over the line.
"Hey..." I paused, wondering for a second what the hell I was doing. Gillie seemed nice, but I wasn't interested in anything beyond a familiar face. I wanted to forget Collin, if only for a few hours. But I also didn't want Gillie getting the wrong idea.
"This is Mia...James."
He laughed, the sound so warm and indulgent it chased away some of the knots in my stomach that Collin had tied. "Is there another Mia in town?"
"It's been six years, there could be a hundred of us by now." I laughed back, the smile on my face real. There was something about the man that was relaxing. He had the uniform, which meant he had authority, but he didn't seem too interested in using it.
Unlike Collin thinking he could boss everyone around and they would immediately obey.
"Nope, just you." His voice dropped at the end, the tone turning intimate. "You calling to take me up on my dinner offer?"
I hesitated, surprised by how quickly Gillie had taken control of the conversation. He didn't wait for my answer when I was slow to offer it.
"Tonight at the roadhouse, six thirty."
"Okay." I gulped a little air into my lungs, the stockroom suddenly hot and stale. My grip on the phone tightened. The tension moved down my arm to the spot on my elbow Stark had pressed just a few minutes before. I could still feel the exact placement of his thumb, his touch memorized from all the repetitions over those weeks in Dubai.
Sucking another quick breath in, I repeated my acquiescence and bid Gillie a hasty goodbye.
As scheduled, I worked until three. A quick stop by the county clerk's office calmed my fears about any tax liens on th
e horse farm, but revealed that Evan had taken out a mortgage for three hundred thousand dollars two years ago. With no ability to check on how close to default he might be, the worry hung heavy in the air around me as I prepared to meet Deputy Gillie at the roadhouse.
My closet gave me the most pause. With a couple of hours to reflect, I wasn't delusional as to why I had called Gillie. I wanted Stark gone, otherwise I would never get over the man. He needed to think I was moving on. Which meant I had to try to attract Gillie—but not too much because I didn't really know him and had only vague memories of Maddie's protective older brother who had been too cute for me to even dare having a crush on.
Beyond the dating implications of what I picked out, I didn't want my stepfather Evan seeing me in designer labels. After almost an hour of holding up tops and bottoms and a few changes, I settled on jeans that would cover a pair of expensive black boots
My memory randomly slammed against images of the things I had done with Collin while wearing the boots. My tongue started to swell at one such image, saliva pooling along my gum line. Wet panties, silently panting mouth, the sensations driving my wetness became so real I could almost taste the salt of Collin's skin as I remembered sucking him.
I marched into the bathroom and held my face under cold running water until the need to touch myself faded. When it had, I stopped fighting my closet and selected a dark amethyst cardigan over a silk shell in pale gray for the top. If I was lucky, Evan's ability to recognize quality fabric without a label was limited to southern textiles.
Harboring that hope, I moved on to make-up, my hands working on autopilot as I reproduced the old-time Hollywood look I had adopted in Dubai. By the time I finished, tears swam in my eyes. I had to tilt my head back, a square of toilet paper at each corner to catch any leakage.
I swore at myself because it hurt to look in the mirror. It was my first attempt to glam up since Dubai, and I couldn't decide what reflected back at me.