Mad About You: A Box Set

by Pamela Ann

  “Coffee.” The last thing I needed was to drink any alcoholic beverages and make a fool of myself.

  In the kitchen, I decided to sit at the kitchen counter as I watched him prepare coffee from the espresso machine. Watching him closely, I noticed he had this way about him as he fed the beans into the grinder, as if he was in deep concentration.

  “How do you take it? With or without sugar?” he asked after he made two steaming cups of cappuccinos like a true barista would.

  Beyond pleased at his superb manners as a host, I licked my lips before responding to him. “With sugar. Two teaspoons please.”

  With the use of his manly hands, he followed my request while I intently took in everything he did. He could make cappuccinos all day long, and I wouldn’t get bored.

  Graciously handing me my coffee, Cruz chose to stand across the counter from where I sat, unassumingly sipping his drink while watching me taste mine.

  “Are you feeling homesick yet?” he asked, seeming as if he wanted to know more about me. It was understandable since I would be living here for almost a year.

  His question really made me think twice. It was odd, but I just realized I hadn’t really thought of home much since I had landed. Maybe it was too soon to tell, but yeah, home was the last thing on my mind, most especially when I was facing this kind of male perfection. Forget home. I would rather ponder more about whether he had a stellar body or not.

  “Surprisingly enough, no, not really. My mind is overwhelmed … with everything.”

  “Yeah? Well, I hope you feel right at home here. If you have any problems with the staff or if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  “Thank you. That’s really nice of you to say.” I couldn’t help smiling at him. “So, how do you expect me to sleep now since you’ve injected my system with caffeine?”

  His face lit up as if he had thought of something brilliant. “I want to show you something.”

  Damn it. Why was it that, every time that particular smile appeared, butterflies magically appeared in my stomach, making me all the more aware of how deeply this man affected me.

  “Um, sure. I’m down for whatever you like.”

  My expression most likely looked dull compared to the posh people he surrounded himself with, just like Archer’s friends at the bar earlier. But hell, Cruz had the magical power to turn my mind into a mush, so I couldn’t really be faulted for that now, could I? It was insane how my attraction to him had made me seem like a star struck idiot. I just hoped it wasn’t too obvious, or he would think I was weird.

  My thoughts immediately vanished when he began to set our cups aside in the sink for the staff to clean tomorrow. He then guided me towards the other end of the house where he opened the French doors that led to a beautiful garden. There were lights randomly placed about, making the whole scene look grander at night.

  Heading towards the trees, we strolled on a stone pathway before a vast wall of hanging vines appeared on the very end of the trail. Upon reaching the dead end, I was surprised when Cruz pushed the vines to the side and led me to another place, like a secret garden, a detailed, lavish one.

  “What is this place?” I gasped in awe, looking around as my eyes took in everything they could. It was like stepping into one of those gardens one read about in storybooks. The dim lighting enhanced the setting, making the place look utterly magical.

  “My father had this made for my mother.” His raspy voice came out sounding wistful as I followed him farther into the garden. “On the days he was too sick to go anywhere, he would wheel himself here to have some special time with her.”

  “How incredibly romantic … They sound like they were crazy in love.” A sigh came from my lips, enamored by this newfound spot that evoked a sense of serenity and calmness. Hearing stories like Margery’s gave me hope for the future. I hoped I would be that lucky someday, finding a partner who loved me unconditionally.

  “They were.” He sounded thoughtful, a soft smile playing on his lips, awash with heartwarming memories of his parents. “They deeply loved one another. My mother never once thought my father’s illness would deter them from being together. They fell in love, and the rest was history.”

  It seemed appropriate to wait for him to speak it all out before saying anything, so I did just that.

  “I worry about her. She’s a bit more fragile ever since he died,” He went on saying as we ventured towards a curved garden bench before taking a seat.

  His unconcealed concern for his mother showed me what kind of a man he was. It was always comforting to find a man who worried about his mother. It gave me a glimpse of how deep the bond of love was between him and Margery.

  Glancing at him with a careful look, I felt his uneasiness, yet I knew I had to give him some form of reassurance. “I’m sure she’ll learn to cope in time. Most people do.” It was the best I could come up with. Deaths weren’t something I was used to. More to a point, I had no idea how wretchedly painful it would be to lose the man you loved due to sickness.

  “Most do I suppose … but I highly doubt my mother will,” he continued. Seeming thoughtful, he cocked his head to the side, showing me those mesmerizing eyes of his, leaving me somewhat panting. “Do you believe in people dying of heartbreak?”

  The intensity of his gaze and the angle of his face that showed how chiseled it was made me forget what he had asked for a moment. My eyes went on full admiration of his jaw-dropping face from a close distance.

  “Do you?” he pressed.

  His question made me blink a few times before snapping me out of the heavy, lust-filled haze I was in. Shoving it in the back crevices of my mind, I let my mind back pedal to the conversation about love and heartbreak.

  Daydreaming squashed and oddness aside, I cleared my throat slightly before shyly looking away, shrugging as I considered his question. “No, heartbreaks don’t kill people. That’s just plain crazy. I mean, if people died like that, there’d be no college students left.” I immediately paused when I noted how weird his reaction became as I voiced my opinion. “Most intense romantic relationships happen during late teens to early twenties. Breakups are happening all over the world—right this second, right this minute—so, no, I don’t think it can kill. There’d be no humans left.”

  My reply made him smirk before laughing lightly at me.

  “All right, little miss. I do see your argument, but have you considered the depth of heartbreaks? What if one is much more severe than another? Could one really gauge and compare the agony of a broken engagement with ones who dated for several weeks?”

  I frowned, pondering at his thought-provoking argument. “Humans evolve. We’re malleable beings. One can’t cease to live because of a breakup. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Then I suppose you haven’t really experienced anything like it. I’m cynical at best, but I’ve seen it happen. When my grandmother died, it only took my grandfather six months to follow suit. He didn’t have any underlying condition, but he died, anyway. The same thing happened with a distant cousin. The wife died three months after her husband tragically died in a car accident.”

  Since he had a valid point, it made me realize how distressing his position might be. After all, he was responsible for holding the family together after his father’s died.

  “Are you afraid your mother will die soon?” My mind drifted back to Margery and how she had been earlier in the day. She had seemed poised and reserved with a calming aura about her. People were good about masking their feelings, so I supposed Margery could have been acting a part to welcome me to her home. Given the class this family had, I guessed it was one of those things they deemed appropriate.

  “I am,” he openly admitted, looking despondent. “I’m finding ways to prevent her from falling deeply into that hole.”

  I felt for him. I did.

  “That’s a big task. Each person deals with grief differently. Maybe your fears are misplaced, though. Maybe they a
ren’t. At the end of the day, it’s her choice and hers alone.” My sentiment wasn’t meant to be insensitive, so I hoped he didn’t see it that way. I just believed people had the freedom to choose was all.

  He became silent for a moment before penetrating into my eyes with such sadness I could almost feel it wrap around me.

  “I can’t lose both parents in the same year, Serena. That’s a little too much for any person to handle.”

  The thought of losing both my parents made me want to faint. I couldn’t imagine what he was going through, grieving after his father died. Not only that, he had to worry about his mother and running the family’s company. From what I had heard from my mother, Cruz had taken the reins early on after being groomed to run the company as he grew up.

  I couldn’t have imagined that he was going through such turmoil upon meeting him today. He seemed so confident and sure of himself I never pictured we could have this conversation. I supposed it was true what they said: there was more than what met the eye.

  Reaching out for his hand, I entwined it with mine. There were no words spoken, yet I hoped the gesture held some comfort for him. I couldn’t fathom what he was going through, but I at least wanted him to know that, if he wanted someone to speak to, I was there.

  After five minutes of comfortable silence, I felt his hand squeeze mine before he threw me a thoughtful, arresting smile.

  “This is the first time I have spoken about this. I don’t usually divulge anything to anyone … let alone a mere stranger.” He paused then gave me a sexy smile. “Well, technically, you aren’t one.”

  “What do you mean technically?”

  “My parents and I visited your home when you were about two or three years old. You were this stubborn, little button who would follow me everywhere.”

  What? This was a lie, right? It had to be.

  “No, I didn’t. You’re seriously making this up.” My cheeks had to be the shade of a ripened tomato.

  The mischievous glint was back in his eyes, teasing me to no end. “Everyone was outside, enjoying the barbeque, when I found you holding a small fruit knife. I tried to take it from you, but you were having such a terrifyingly good time with the bloody thing, so you wouldn’t hand it over. Long story short, I managed to take it away from your chubby, stubborn fingers while cutting myself in the process.”

  “You’re joking?” The picture he painted of a crazy child playing with a knife made me think of possessed, little girl who wanted to rein terror on the world around her.

  “I swear to you on my father’s grave, you went bonkers with that knife,” he replied. “Here,” he said, showing me a white scar between the valley of his right forefinger and thumb.

  FUCK. I did that? I thought, paling at the thought of hurting someone, marking their skin forever. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. I had no idea I was a baby assassin.”

  “You scarred me for life,” he teased further, making me laugh.

  I wasn’t really sure what happened, but somehow, the normal laugh turned into a series of hysterics that made me snort, which then made me want to die on the spot, while my colossal blunder only made him hoot twice as hard.

  It went on for a bit longer, and for some odd reason, I ended up kissing him. Unbridled. Unchecked. Unforgettable.

  Chapter 69

  My lips simply took his, and I felt him freeze. Nonetheless, I was too overwhelmed with passion, so I ignored his reaction and continued my own desires by deepening the kiss, forcing his lips to open. My tongue parted his lips, consuming him without reservations. It took him a second, maybe a few more, before he finally took hold of the situation and kissed me just as ardently, just as feverishly, devouring my lips as if they were a decadent piece of chocolate.

  The sudden progress of how quickly things shifted between us left me reeling at how consumed he was.

  I wasn’t sure why I had done it. The moment was a sudden rush of heightened awareness. His close proximity, his intoxicating male essence drugged me into an exquisite stupor. Then my lips became possessed and took over, expelling what little inhibitions I had left.

  Being this close to him—having his lips mesh against mine in a heated, erotic kiss—was beyond anything I had ever experienced. Nothing came close. Nothing could compare. One kiss was all it took for me to know I was more than unhealthily attracted to Cruz. I was, in fact, epically crushing on him.

  My corrupt thoughts came to a sudden pause when the man whose lips I had technically raped and ambushed decided to halt, and he looked me in the eye with such profound severity that I literally forgot to breathe for a few seconds.

  Those eyes … Those beautiful, magnetic eyes made my heart skip not one, not two, but many beats. When it regained its momentum, my heart was beating erratically.

  “We should head back,” he murmured in a croaky voice, which made me think of hot sex. And lots of it.

  With my tinted cheeks, I didn’t recoil from his powerful gaze. “Yeah … um … we should.” I tried to sound normal, unsure of where his mood was. Was he upset about my impulsive actions? Was it too slutty for me to advance on a man who didn’t make the first move to kiss me? He wasn’t necessarily being cold, but there was something amiss. I could feel him thinking deeply, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

  Getting up from the cool, stone bench, I followed him out of the beautiful place, but before fully exiting, I twisted my body one more time to get another glimpse of it, knowing all too well I wasn’t ever going to forget this place or this particular memory.

  There was something about him that drew me towards him in the most nonsensical way. It was indescribable, and even though I wasn’t sure where this was heading, I knew the chemistry between us existed. It was palpable. If he couldn’t feel it, then he must have some sort of chemical imbalance because, fuck, I could literally feel the electric current bouncing off us, ready to spark fire. Suffice to say, however, my self-preservation was in effect, helping to settle my relentless hormones.

  Sending him a quick glance, I noted how tense he was. His posture and his hands in his pockets didn’t give me the kind of reassurance I needed. Regardless, instead of prying into his thoughts, I resorted to the waiting game, hoping the tension would disappear, and he would be back to his gorgeous smiles and unending teases.

  Striding back out to the main garden, I emerged near the line of trees as the spell of that secret spot gradually disintegrated, and I was placed back in reality. Question after question hounded my thoughts, wondering what major consequences I had to deal with after that bold kiss.

  We didn’t speak at all as we retraced our steps to the house. Then, the second we reached the French doors, he led us through before halting his steps to face me.

  He had unreadable expression across his handsome face, giving nothing away. “I’ll bid my goodnight here, Serena,” he uttered in a tone teachers would use if they had caught someone cheating.

  His stern attitude made me crumble inside from humiliation and rejection. My pride was beyond injured, but I still managed to give him a genuine smile through my pain.

  “Goodnight, Cruz.”

  As I slowly took my leave, I thankfully managed to remember which direction led towards my bedroom. Although I could feel his eyes on me, watching me closely as I walked away from him, he didn’t say a word to soothe or reassure me. He simply let me walk, thinking I had made a fool of myself, that maybe I was unworthy of him.

  This negativity continued as I brushed my teeth and changed, but before I managed to fall asleep after a couple of hours of torturing myself, I made a vow that I wouldn’t let Cruz Elliot affect this once in a lifetime opportunity. No matter how much the man evoked strong reactions and emotions from me, I just had to stand my ground, regroup, and get over it.

  The next day, Anne came in to greet me before announcing that breakfast was going to be served in half an hour. Sleepy and still partially hallucinating, thinking I was still back in my bed in Los Angeles, I stared back at her with
my squinting eyes, disheveled hair, and a look that screamed what the fuck? After all, where I came from, no one cooked anyone breakfast. If you found yourself hungry, you made toast or popped a frozen waffle in the toaster, whatever was convenient. To wake up to such an untraditional thing, I was instantly reminded of where I was and what I had done last night.

  The horror of my mistake last night made me contemplate getting out of bed and facing the man who had made me feel less confident of myself. It was daunting to think of conversing with him, let alone being in the same room and sharing the same table as we talked about menial things that I couldn’t care less about. However, this was part of being human and living in a civilized world—most especially on this part of the map—where class and decorum were high on everyone’s list.

  It wasn’t as if I didn’t have class—I believed I did, though I hadn’t exercised much of it last night—or the fact that my display of decorum was nil. It was just that I felt as if I had gone in over my head, and I wasn’t sure how to act around these affluent people. Never again would I dare wear a denim skirt when I had to be surrounded by rich kids. I wouldn’t put myself through that kind of ordeal. It was just too much for anyone to handle.

  I was better than this. I kept telling myself that no one should ever have the right to make me doubt myself. However, it was hard to convince myself when my ego and pride had taken a beating from Cruz’s standoffish attitude last night. The need to curl up and sleep through the day, using jetlag as my excuse, was truly tempting, but my parents had taught me better than that. At a young age, manners had been ingrained in my head. Therefore, instead of opting to save myself from more hurt and insanity, I reluctantly rolled off the bed, slowly dragging my feet to the bathroom to get ready to face the music.

  Just a little bit over half an hour later, I left my bedroom to head downstairs. I was dressed in an all black outfit, leggings and cami that matched my comfortable flats. My hair was knotted into a messy bun that crowned my head. And as for war paint, I didn’t use much: a smear of concealer, a coat of mascara, and some blinding, bright red lipstick to mask my battered confidence.