by Tacie Graves
Making Mina: The Best Revenge
By Tacie Graves
Copyright © 2012. All rights reserved.
Cold. Distant. Unresponsive.
Frigid.
Mina Hemingway glared down at the bar as she took a healthy swig of rum and coke. Her ears burned from the insults Ethan had thrown at her. She could still see him standing in their living room, clutching a pillow to hide his nakedness, lashing out—blaming her for coming home early, her for embarrassing him. She supposed it was also her fault that he didn’t take his very personal assistant to a hotel instead of fucking her in their bed.
Cheap bastard.
She didn’t buy into the guilt trip, but she wasn’t completely innocent either. She’d known something was up. There’d been too many late nights at the office or unexpected “business” trips, and while she might not be sexy, she was smart enough to know what that meant. In the beginning she’d convinced herself it was her imagination. Ethan was her college sweetheart. He’d been her first—her only—and she just knew he wouldn’t do something like that.
Yeah right, Mina snorted and took another drink.
Then, she was ashamed to admit, she’d almost hoped he’d find someone else so she wouldn’t be the one to leave. After four years together their relationship was safe. Comfortable. Leaving him would throw her whole life into chaos.
Mina hated chaos.
Their friends—his friends—would take his side without question. Ethan had just finished designing another golf course; he’d been in seven magazines. He was up and coming—the mind behind the newest, cutting edge courses. No one would question him if he said he had to find satisfaction somewhere else. They’d think she was lucky he was still going to marry her even if the sex was lousy.
And it was lousy. There was no question about that. But even so, she never turned Ethan away and she’d have sworn he enjoyed himself. They had sex at least once a week and when he fucked her he came quickly enough. He always made ridiculous faces and noises and early in their relationship Mina learned to keep her eyes closed until he was done so she wouldn’t frown or laugh at the wrong time. Afterwards he would kiss her sloppily and then roll away and fall soundly asleep.
Mina didn’t understand all the fuss. Sex was messy and uncomfortable. She’d read enough romance novels to have had ideas about need and longing and overwhelming desire but even bringing herself to orgasm was disappointing. There were no stars bursting behind her eyes or tingling shocks shivering through her aching body.
Nope. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
Frigid.
She threw back the last of her drink and felt it add to the little fire growing in her belly. It wasn’t his fault that she was frigid, but damn it all, she deserved better than this. If he wasn’t happy with her she’d given him more than enough opportunities to bow out gracefully. But no, he had to lie and say he understood, that he loved her. Loved her? Ha! He couldn’t have loved her if he could do this.
The glass snapped down on the counter a little too loudly and she looked around to make sure no one noticed her little outburst of temper. She shouldn’t have come to this bar; it was one of the places that she and Ethan used go. It was close to his office—a place to see and be seen—and she recognized more than a few faces in the Friday night crowd. She’d had a wild idea that she’d show up here and pick up a handsome stranger, leave with him and let the grapevine carry the news back to Ethan in the most embarrassing way possible.
She sighed and shook her head. There wasn’t enough rum in the world to make that a good idea. Speaking of rum, though.
“Can I have another one of these?” She pointed her finger unsteadily at her glass and the bartender gave her a measured look. “No, it’s okay. I promise. I’m going to call a cab, but I just found my fiancé with his twenty year old intern’s legs wrapped around his head and I think another one of these is really in order. Absolutely necessary, actually.” She shook her head until a blonde corkscrew fell out of the sloppy knot at the back of her head and bounced in front of her eyes. “I mean, alcohol is good for shock, right? And it was a shock, I’ll tell you. I didn’t even know he did that. At least he never did it with me.”
The bartender raised both eyebrows and poured her another—with extra rum.
“Thanks,” Mina gave him a wobbly smile. “It’s okay.” The bartender looked confused so she explained. “That he didn’t do it with me, I mean. Not the intern thing, no. Fucking his intern wasn’t okay, but the other thing I understand. I’m frigid, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t do things like that with me.”
A tanned hand appeared beside her, and her eyes unsteadily followed along its back, over a ridiculously gorgeous watch, and then over a spotlessly white cuff. Like a bird hypnotized by a snake she couldn’t pull her eyes away. She inspected it closely, approving of its long fingers and the short dark hairs that disappeared under its sleeve. Ethan’s hands were white and soft. Mina always thought they looked like unbaked bread dough, and the most exciting thing they’d ever done was wield a super pointy CAD stylus. These hands looked like they belonged to a man. A man who could do really exciting things with them.
She was so wrapped up in her fantasy about the mystery hands and what they could do that she almost fell off her bar stool when the man they were attached to spoke.
“Mi scusi. I couldn’t help but overhear a little of your conversation.” The hand she’d been watching so intently clenched a little.
Mina’s eyes flew up, hands forgotten, and she blood rushed to her face. Sitting next to her was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and the worst part was she’d seen him before.
“Mr. Genovese,” Mina’s voice cracked and she took a quick drink to clear her throat only to sputter at the burn of the rum. “I didn’t see you there.”
Marco Genovese was the one that got away. Not from Mina, of course, but from Ethan and the other golfer geeks at Patterson McGee Golf Architects. The head of an Italian all-inclusive resort conglomerate he’d been wined and dined for weeks trying to persuade him to contract PGMA to design a new golf course for him in Miami. Ethan dragged her along to one of the events and while Marco Genovese was being wooed by PMGA, Mina was trying to keep from being trampled by everyone who wanted to get close to him.
With his stylishly short curls and eyes so dark they looked almost black, she understood the attraction.
She’d been introduced briefly, unnerved by the attention he turned on her, and when Genovese had shown an interest in her Ethan wrestled her across the room and told her to flirt, to smile, to do whatever it took to make a good impression. For an hour she managed not to melt under the heat of that incredible focus. It was like the whole world had fallen away and it was just the two of them. They spoke of art, and travel and Mina’s passion for museums and books, but nothing was said about golf courses or contracts and at the end of the evening Marco Genovese left without committing to anything and Ethan was terribly disappointed that she hadn’t had more success. Mina was certain that if she’d said flipping up her skirt and letting Genovese screw her on the dance floor would get them the contract, Ethan would have been happy to supply the condom.
The image was so clear and unexpected that it brought a deeper flush to her cheeks and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze in case he could read it there.
“Ah, Miss Hemingway, you must call me Marco,” he said with a smile and Mina was shocked that he remembered her name. “I knew I recognized you. Such loveliness is impossible to forget.”
The compliment burned like an insult. She knew she wasn’t beautiful. Too short and curvy to be fashionable, she was a pale shadow of the supermodels that flocked to him. Add that to the details he’
d just overheard and the mocking was obvious. Mina squirmed on her seat, anger and embarrassment vying for control. Anger won out.
“I’m sorry you had to overhear the gory details concerning the demise of my relationship,” her voice could have chipped ice, “But you shouldn’t make fun. It isn’t nice.”
Proud of that stunning set down Mina turned away and took a more careful sip of her drink, determined not to let this man, no matter who he was, make a bad situation worse.
“I was not making fun of you,” Marco’s voice was low and surprisingly gentle as he placed his large hand over one of hers. “Although ‘nice’ is rarely an adjective I aspire to, I apologize if I caused you distress.”
For a moment she considered telling him off some more, but the rum was buffering reality nicely and Mina decided he was too handsome not to forgive.
“I was already distressed,” she said. She sighed and pushed the errant curl away. “You were just the cherry on top.”
A Technicolor image popped into Mina’s mind—whipped cream piled high with a bright red cherry glistening on top and those long, graceful fingers lifting it, dragging it across her lips until she opened and he popped it right in. The thought of those fingers brushing accidentally across her lips. Those black eyes so intent on her. It was enough to make her dizzy.
Or maybe that was the rum.
She shook her head to clear it, with little effect. Oh well.
“I’ve never been called that before.” He shifted closer on the stool and Mina could feel the heat of him leaching through her silk skirt. “I think you’re mistaken, though.” Mina looked at him enquiringly. “Cherries are much too sweet.”
He gave her a dangerous smile and she believed him. He didn’t look sweet at all. Hot, and dark, and delicious, but definitely not sweet. She squirmed a little more on her stool, heat pooling uncomfortably in her stomach.
It was too bad she was frigid.
“I beg your pardon?” Marco quirked an eyebrow at her and she realized she’d said that out loud.
“Oh my God,” she put a shaking hand to her face. “I am so sorry. Please, just ignore me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight…” he held up a hand to stop the flow of apology.
“Enough.” His voice brooked no argument and Mina fell silent in spite of herself. “There is nothing wrong with you, and you are definitely not frigid.”
The anger in his voice surprised her. Why should he care? Mina opened her mouth to tell him it was okay, she’d accepted it, when his mouth claimed hers. His kiss was fierce and demanding. His tongue moved over her lips before sliding into her mouth, the taste of him mixing with the alcohol, and all her protestations disappeared as unfamiliar flames of desire threatened to consume her.
He drew back slowly, their breath mingling. She looked deep into his eyes and for the first time in her life she wanted more.
This was what it was supposed to be like. It was as if her whole body was on fire. She’d never felt so alive and she leaned closer to him. She felt those beautiful hands slide up her arms and grip her tightly, right above the elbows, pulling her closer, drawing her into his chest, into his heat.
Her nipples tightened against the fabric of her blouse, begging to be touched. Wetness pooled between her legs and she rubbed her thighs together restlessly trying to soothe the ache there. The heat of Marco’s hands burned through the thin white silk and she moaned deep in her throat.
What was this man doing to her?
“You see,” he said, satisfaction thick in his voice, “this is who you are. Not some quiet little mouse, happy with crumbs of attention.”
He slid his hands higher, dragging his thumbs lightly across her breasts as he pulled his hands away. Mina swayed in her seat, her body yearning for something she didn’t understand, and she watched as the satisfaction on his face turned into something darker and more intense.
Marco stood, filling the space between the barstools, and pulled his wallet out. He threw a handful of bills on the bar and nodded to the bartender before turning back to Mina.
“It is time to go.” When she didn’t move he stepped even closer, the scent of him strong and spicy, and she shivered as his breath caressed her ear.
“Go where?” she asked faintly.
He didn’t move; didn’t give her any space.
“Tell me, Mina,” he said, “what will happen if you stay here?”
Thoughts flitted through her head—drinking herself into a stupor, going home alone, probably crying herself to sleep. She turned and looked at the room, noticing some of Ethan’s co-workers at a nearby table, remembering the sympathy on the bartender’s face and she knew she looked pathetic. She couldn’t even get revenge right.
Marco could sense her uncertainty and pressed his advantage.
“Now, tell me what you think will happen if you leave,” he leaned in quickly and nipped at her earlobe, “with me.”
Electricity arced across her skin, every nerve ending alive and tingling. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she bit her lip as a little moan threatened to escape. She remembered the legs wrapped around Ethan’s head and imagined what it would be like to have Marco Genovese in that position—her legs wrapped around his neck, those nipping teeth blazing a trail up the insides of her tender thighs, that silken tongue touching her in places no one had ever touched her before.
Suddenly every naughty idea she’d ever had seemed possible and it took her breath away.
Marco let out a dark chuckle and nuzzled her neck. “Oh Mina,” he murmured, “You haven’t even scratched the surface.”
Mina knew she would never get a chance like this again. She’d come here with the intention of picking someone up, and if Marco Genovese wasn’t exactly a stranger he still wasn’t a friend. More than one woman was watching him, wondering why he was kissing the geeky girl at the bar. The sensuality radiating off him attracted them like bees to honey, and she knew that if she left with him Ethan would hear about it by tomorrow.
If that was the only thing she got out of it, it would be worth it. If Marco Genovese could show her the pleasures he was hinting at, though, it would be worth much, much more.
Mina pushed herself out of her chair, allowing her body to slide down the hard length of his. Marco’s eyes darkened and he sucked in a hissing breath as she pressed herself against him, her nipples poking insistently into his chest.
The rum made her brave and she looked him in the eye.
“Why me?”
Her voice was breathy and she wished she sounded more confident. Marco weighed his response and Mina braced herself for him to change his mind, to realize that this was a waste of his time, that he could have any of the dozens of women around them.
Seconds seemed to stretch out forever as she waited for his response. Instead of speaking, though, Marco wrapped her hand in his and raised it to his chest. He held it there, trapped, watching her as she focused on the feeling of his heart, strong and insistent, pounding away under her fingers. From there he slid their joined hands down, lower and lower, twisting just enough that the movement was obscured from the view of the other patrons of the bar.
Mina gasped as he tucked her hand around his cock where it pressed against the placket of his trousers, straining for release, hungry for her touch. She gently squeezed, the impulse undeniable, and felt her arousal skyrocket as she watched his ridiculously long lashes flutter closed as he groaned in pleasure at her actions.
“That is why you.” He said it like it made all the sense in the world, but everything Mina knew ran counter to that.
“I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand.” Her mouth was dry and she forced herself to swallow. She watched his eyes as they followed the movement in her throat and shivered at what she saw there. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” Impatience laced through Marco’s tone. He wasn’t a man accustomed to being questioned, but he didn’t want to scare her away, so instead of arguing he bent his head and challenged her.
“Follow me and I’ll prove it to you.”
Rage and rum had shoved Mina’s good sense into a closet leaving curiosity and desire in charge, and she felt them urging her to listen to this man, to trust him, to give in to the terrible temptation he was presenting. She knew it was too good to be true, but how could she say no? He was exactly what she’d imagined when she was plotting this disastrous attempt at revenge—even who she’d imagined if she was honest with herself—and she felt herself nodding in agreement even as her intellect was screaming that this could only end badly. As he wrapped her hand in his larger one and pulled her slowly to the end of the bar, she noticed the fingers that had started it all—sexy and purposeful and inexplicably entwined with hers—and she threw caution to the wind just so she could continue to hold onto them.
Their movement was camouflaged by the growing crowd, and she looked around for a door, or an exit sign, anything to indicate where he was leading her. But instead of an exit he’d found an alcove. It was quieter than the rest of the bar and dark where it was so far away from the windows lining the street. Here they could see but not be seen and a mean little voice in her head pointed out that he didn’t want anyone to know he was with her, but rage pointed out that he was the one pursuing her, and rum said, “Who gives a fuck?” so she ignored it.
“You said I didn’t know you.” He pulled her up tightly against his chest, turning away from the crowd to where only its distant murmur intruded. “But I do. Do you remember the evening we met?”
He still held one hand in his and she felt him trace tiny circles on its palm with his thumb. His other hand was gliding along her other arm, the tips of his fingers dragging lighting along the skin, each pass leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When she didn’t immediately respond he tugged at her captive arm, bringing her back from being lost in sensation.
“Yes,” she said, “I remember.”
Mina remembered every minute of the time they spent together. She remembered his questions and his rumbling laugh and the breathless way she felt when she caught him looking at her just so. None of that, though, explained his behavior. She was nothing like the women in his life. Nothing he could want.