He nipped the flesh of her palm, kissed the inside of her wrist. Spinning her around, he propelled her toward the full length pedestal mirror. His arms around her midsection held her snug.
“Look at yourself, Mira. Tell me what you see?”
She squirmed in his embrace. “This is ridiculous, Armand. Let me go.”
“Tell me what you see in the reflection,” he insisted.
She turned her face aside. “Don’t do this to me, Armand. Haven’t I suffered enough?”
“Only because you continue to perpetuate the suffering through your self imposed isolation.”
Her angry gaze met his in the mirror’s reflection. “Joel was a selfish bastard who never truly cared for me! His dick was his only driving force. If he wasn’t trying to conquer me in bed, he was chasing every female within a fifty mile radius. I was simply available. Stupid and blindly in love, or so I thought. Other than my grandmother Ada, my family disowned me for shaming them in the eyes of the community. When I found out I was pregnant, some of them said I’d turned out no better than Jocelyn who whored in the streets for her next fix. For God’s sake, they bought me a used gown—a beige one—because in their eyes I didn’t deserve to have white.”
Armand felt as if he’d been sucker punched. His stomach clenched. He suspected Mira had been too young and innocent—easy prey for a prick like Joel. Still, he could not imagine her family comparing Mira’s life to Jocelyn’s, or denying her a decent gown to celebrate her special day.
“Annabelle Island is close knit community—even clannish at times,” Mira continued. “Everyone knows everyone’s business here and if you ever get out of line, they never let you forget.”
His arms still locked around her, Armand gave her a gentle, but reassuring squeeze. “Look into the mirror. Look at yourself, Mira. Tell me what you see reflected.”
“No.”
“Fine, then I will tell you what I see. I see a woman who was once naive and who was taken advantage of by a despicable bastard. I see that frightened young lady, alone in the world, her heart broken, her dreams of happily ever after gone.”
Armand didn’t know how she managed to escape his grip but she whirled and smacked him on the side of the cheek. Hard.
She reeled back and he watched a look of horror spread across her face.
“Oh, Armand, I’m so sorry.”
He knew she hadn’t meant to slap him. It was her ex-lover Joel she was lashing out at. He rubbed the stinging blow. Not the first time a woman had smacked him, but this feisty, petite lady packed a hell of a wallop. “Go ahead and strike me again,” he challenged. “Hit me as long as you need. Until the son of a bitch who abused you fades from your memory.”
“I can’t.”
“Then how long will you allow the ghosts from your past to continue to haunt you, Mira?”
With a broken sob, she turned away from him. “You know nothing about that time.” Her tiny shoulders shook as she cried silently.
Oh, but he did. He knew men could be bastards, using women for their bodies, telling them all the sweet lies they wanted to hear to get them into bed. He also knew she’d lost more than a child. She’d lost a piece of her soul to a sorry asshole who didn’t deserve a pure, innocent heart like Mira Reece.
“From what you’ve told me, Joel abused your body.”
A broken sob escaped her lips and she turned her face away. “I was so young and stupid I’d have done anything to please him.”
Anger rolled through him like a ball of fire. If he could have gotten his hands on Joel, he’d have ripped the bastard’s head off and beat him with the damned bloody thing.
Her lower lip quivered. “I thought if I did what he asked things would get better after the baby came.” She shook her head and gave a resigned sigh. “But I never could please him. According to Joel everything I did was wrong. The way I dressed. The way I talked. The way I laughed. When I disappointed him in bed he berated me. Then he dumped me when the baby died. I just can’t risk another breakup again Armand. It hurts too damned bad when it’s over—when the people whom you think love you, leave.”
He held out his hands. “Talk to me, Mira. Do not let this remain unsettled between us.”
Snatching up her clothes, she drew a blanket from the bed around her body and fled the room without another word.
The following week and a half was pure bloody hell. Armand managed to write ten new ten new chapters. He then deleted them all and started over. Every day he watched Mira and the children play badminton near the rose garden on the grounds, or take their after dinner walk along the beach. He’d desperately wanted to be part of Mira’s life—of these children’s lives—but she’d made it clear their relationship was over.
Writing up to sixteen hours a day and existing on pots of strong coffee from a one cup coffee maker he’d smuggled into his room, as well as feasting on a newly discovered delightful southern snack called pork rinds, he finished the first rough draft of Passion’s Storm in record time. Ten days, four hours and by his estimation, thirty two minutes.
Two days later, he received a call from his attorney in New York, Jack Lampbert. Tara Carrington had released him from their contract. Armand immediately phoned J.L. Grayson, a literary agent who agreed to meet him in New York in three weeks.
With the first draft of Passion’s Storm complete, he decided to take forty-eight hours off, recoup his energy with a hearty meal or two, and then return for a round of intense, guerilla editing before his meeting with John.
And he knew exactly how he was going to spend his down time. Winning back his beloved Mira.
He caught Mira alone at the dunes one afternoon, replacing the citronella oil in the tiki torches. The children were several yards away, building a lopsided mammoth sand castle with colorful buckets and scoops. Apparently she hadn’t noticed his approach for she jerked, as if startled to see him.
“Hello Mira.”
“Stalking me on the dunes now?” She finished filling one torch, then ignored him and walked over to another. “Isn’t it bad enough I’ve caught you watching me with binoculars from the widow’s walk?”
He started to speak—to inform her he’d caught her spying on him with binoculars, too—but snapped his mouth shut. Damn. He thought he’d been discreet.
“It’s been ten days since we last made love,” he finally said.
She glanced over her shoulder, then returned to filling another empty oil can. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs writing in your dungeon?”
Ouch. The tigress was a tad touchy today. “I’ll have you know that I finished the first draft.”
She paused, but did not turn around. “I guess that means you’ll be leaving the island soon.”
He heard the sadness in her voice and knew that she didn’t want him to go. For a fleeting moment, his heart soared with hope. She didn’t hate him after all!
“No. I won’t be leaving soon,” he replied and waited for her reaction.
She capped the bottle of yellow oil and placed it in the sand near her feet. “Oh.”
Oh? That’s all she had to say—oh?
She stood there, an exquisite natural beauty, the wind tousling her auburn hair, rippling the dowdy blue cotton dress he hated. He would have loved nothing more than to divest her of her clothes, reveal her beautiful body and make love to her under the sun, the moon and stars.
He would give her the world in his palm, make her every wish, dream and fantasy come true, only if she’d let him. How could he break through the steel fortress that protected her fragile woman’s heart?
“I’ll be staying on a while longer. A month or more,” he bluffed.
He watched her expression carefully to gauge her reaction—one of both shock and surprise.
“You can’t stay.”
The bloody hell he couldn’t. He was paid through the end of the month and he damned well had enough money to buy the goddamned Inn should he so choose. Did she think she could get rid of him so easily?
/> Besides, as of two days ago, he had no home to return to. He’d put his Los Angeles mansion on the market. It sold in less than twenty four hours.
Mira sighed. “Look, Armand, I received a phone call last night. Someone booked a wedding at the Inn toward the end of the month. Most of the rooms will be occupied by out of town guests—some people are coming from Europe—France and England mostly. The arrangements have already been made. I’m refunding all your money. I’m sorry, but you have to leave.”
No, he was the sorry one…sorry to have assumed she might still care about him.
He swallowed down the hard lump in his throat. What the hell had he done to drive her away?
Feeling numb all over, he shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets and glanced away. Perhaps this had been a mistake—all of it. She’d apparently made up her mind and was ready to toss their love aside. Now what was he to do? He’d already set the wheels in motion. There was no turning back.
“I trust the children are adjusting well to life here at the inn?”
She nodded, turned to watch them. “It appears I’m going to be given full custody now. Jocelyn doesn’t want them anymore. She’s going into a long-term treatment facility.”
Armand sighed. Of course he already knew. He’d overhead Mira’s conversation on the phone two days ago with someone he assumed to be a social worker. Still, he couldn’t imagine a mother not wanting her children, but if it was to be, Mira would be the perfect mother.
“Will you formally adopt?”
She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I haven’t thought about that yet, although it would be nice if they all had the same last name instead of four different ones.”
He nodded in agreement. Giancarlo was a nice name, too. He clenched his teeth together to keep from saying so. He cleared his throat to get her attention and she turned back to look at him. “Mira, we have too much unfinished business for me to just leave.”
“It’s over, Armand. Please, don’t make this any worse than it already is.”
He scuffed the toe of his shoe in the sand. “The hell it’s over. What we shared was more than a few hours of sex. It was special—magical— and you damned well know it.”
She waved him off and turned to walk toward the children.
“Do not dismiss me so easily!” he thundered out.
She paused, keeping her back to him. “Why are you doing this?”
“I love you.”
She turned around, tears shining bright in her eyes. “Then stop. Don’t love me, okay? I can’t be what you want me to be —a mother to your biological children. A beautiful trophy wife hang on your arms at ritzy New York parties to impress all your writer and editor friends.”
He threw his hands up. Where in the bloody hell had she gotten all these ridiculous ideas? “Is that what you think I want? Well you’re wrong. None of that means a damn to me. It’s you I want—you!”
The children stopped their digging and stared.
Mira stormed up to him, eyes flashing, nostrils flaring. He’d never noticed before but she had exactly four pretty pale freckles across the bridge of her nose. God, but she was gorgeous when she was angry!
“What do I have to do to get it through your thick skull, Armand? It’s over between us. O.V.E.R.,” she spelled out.
The hell it was!
He grasped her arms and pulled her close. “Tell me you don’t love me,” he demanded. “Look directly into my eyes and tell me you don’t love me and I promise I’ll pack my bags and leave today.”
She turned her face away. “I . . . I can’t.”
“Because you know what we have is real—that it is worth fighting to save.”
She tried to jerk from his grip but he held her close. His heart pounded in his chest as his body trembled with both fear and desire. He loved this woman more than anything in the world, and he’d come to love these children. He couldn’t lose them, not now. “You know what I say is true, Mira. I love you, damn it.” He gave her a gentle, but sobering shake. “For God’s sake, woman, don’t walk away from me—from us.”
He held her in his arms while she sobbed and his heart broke a little more. What could he do to make her understand that he didn’t care about the artificial trappings of life. This woman—these children—they were the only true thing worth having. Worth loving.
Once her sobs ended, he lifted her chin and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“It will be dark soon. Let me help you get the children fed and settled down to sleep. We’ll talk afterward?”
She sighed and turned her face away. “Fine.”
After Mira bathed the boys and the girls were showered and dressed in pajamas, Armand surprised them all with a quick supper of spinach and three cheese omelettes. To her surprise, the children ate the once-offensive vegetable without complaint, even asking for seconds. After a clever dessert of dunking graham crackers in chocolate milk topped with whipped cream—Armand’s idea—it was time for bedtime stories.
Once the rowdy crew settled down for the night, Mira showered quickly and changed into simple cotton dress. She returned to the kitchen to find Armand drying dishes.
She observed him without his knowing, watched as he went about the task of setting polished plates in the cupboard. Her body warmed with desire as she studied his strong, sexy form. What was it about him that had turned her into a woman she didn’t recognize? Was it the novelty of having a sexy man in her house for the first time in years? Or in her loneliness and naivete, had she confused sex with love?
She thought back to Joel and wondered what their lives might have been like had he married her despite the loss of their baby. She doubted he’d be doing dishes or making dinner, and instead would be piled up on a sofa, a beer in one hand, TV remote in the other.
Her body shook with the realization that Joel was still here, the bastard, in her house, in her life, in this night, and in this moment with Armand. Every time she and Armand had made love, Joel was always there, lurking in the shadows of her mind, waiting to dredge up the ugly past.
And all because she’d let him.
Joel hadn’t deserved her back then, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve another moment of her time now.
“You’re afraid I’ll abuse you like he did,” she heard Armand say quietly before he turned around, adding, “that I’ll abandon you like your family.”
Mira swallowed hard, not realizing he knew she was there. What could she say? It was true. She had no one, no one except the four precious children asleep upstairs.
He laid the drying towel aside and moved toward her, stopping within arm’s length. “No matter what happens in the future Mira, I would never abandon or abuse you.”
Instinctively she knew that, but it was so damned hard to let go of the pain.
Moving a step forward, he leaned taking her by surprise. His mouth brushed over hers in the barest of touches. Somewhere deep in her heart she knew Armand wouldn’t break her heart or abuse her. He was a good and decent man. But she couldn’t let go of the rope of shame that bound her to her past. She’d wallowed in a comfortable rut for twelve years. At least by staying rooted in place she always knew where she stood. To take a leap into the future with a man she’d barely known more than two weeks was terrifying.
As they kissed more deeply, his hands smoothed down her back and over her hips. He pulled her body snug against his, then slowly lifted the hem of her dress. Her breath caught in her throat and she pulled back to look into his dark passionate eyes.
“Armand…”
He shuddered as his hands smoothed over her naked bottom. “You’re not wearing panties.”
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
Pressing his cheek to hers, he inhaled sharply. “You push me beyond sanity, sweet Mira. One moment you’re running hot, the next cold. What is it you truly want from me?”
“One last night with you,” she whispered.
He released her. “I see. So it is only sex you need from me.”
The light faded from his eyes. “Well, what an idiot I’ve been.”
Mira’s heart sank. Oh, no. She’d insulted him. It wasn’t only sex she wanted. Ashamed, she tugged her skirt down then moved past him and opened a tin canister on the counter, removing two packets of instant cocoa. “I’m sorry, Armand. I mean, after what I said to you earlier this afternoon on the dunes… and now it looks as if I’m trying to seduce you.”
“Aren’t you?”
She swallowed hard, finding it difficult to meet his questioning eyes. “Yes, but…but I…Damn it, Armand…” She stomped her foot lightly and spun around to face him. “I won’t apologize for being attracted to you…for wanting…”
“Sex?”
“No. Not just sex. For wanting to feel wanted. Desirable.” Tears stung her eyes and she swiped them away. “Don’t you see, you taught me that I’m a normal woman. I can feel pleasure and I can give pleasure as well.” There. She’d said it. A long pause of silence settled over the kitchen.
He sighed, looked away. “You’ll never let that bastard go, will you?”
“I have let him go, Armand. Now I’m floundering because I don’t know where I stand!”
He stared, silent.
She bit down on her lower lip, unable to form the right words. She had to make him understand. “Every time you and I are together, I feel like I’m alive again. You were right. I’ve been stagnant for years, hiding in this house. Running from the past. You helped me see that. You showed me how beautiful lovemaking can be…how a man should treat a woman. But now you act like it’s wrong for me to be content to just spend time in your arms.”
He sighed. “It’s not wrong for you to feel that way. I’d just hoped….you felt more for me.”
“I do. I love you Armand. I truly do. Can’t you see that?”
He stared over her head, his face unreadable. “I’m trying to understand but it’s difficult when you continue to push me away…when you don’t trust me.”
Midnight Craving (Contemporary Romance) Page 10