by Liz Crowe
“Melody Rodriguez, I love you. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.” He kissed both my palms, then each of my knuckles. “Please forgive me.”
I sighed. “Seriously, that’s all you’ve got?”
He raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth then snapped it shut. “You’re kidding.”
“Maybe.” I allowed him a small smile. I put my finger on his lips when he lurched forward for a kiss. “Nope. Not yet.” I rose, pulling him with me. “Take me to dinner tomorrow night. And we’ll talk, I promise.”
“Melody, I…”
I shook my head, backing away from him. I hurt all over I wanted his arms around me so badly. But I had to know for sure. Which meant I had to wait a bit longer.
“Pick me up at seven. You choose the place. Someplace nice though, no dive bars.”
He nodded, kissed my hand, then backed away. “Your wish…my command.”
I shuddered and grabbed a chair to keep from keeling over in the wake of that particular memory. “I know, guapo.” His eyes lit up when I used his pet name. “Go on now, get your beauty sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Trent sat in his car, his leg jittering up and down, his pulse racing like a teenager’s. His campaign had been spot on and it had, indeed, taken longer than a month. Taylor was going to win that bet after all. He rubbed his head, his lips, checked his tie and shot his cuffs.
“Enough. Get out and go get your woman.” The timbre of his voice shocked him. He actually sounded strong, which was the opposite of how he’d felt, ever since seeing Melody in that hospital bed.
When she opened the door, he was rocked back on his heels by the sight of her. She wore a short black skirt and a cream blouse, open to reveal her cleavage. Her neck was bare of adornment. Which was one thing he planned to change tonight. His mouth watered at the sight of her hair, tumbling around her shoulders, framing her newly fleshed-out cheeks. “Looking good tonight, angelita.” He held out his hand.
She took it with a smile. “Not too shabby yourself, guapo.”
He grinned at her, tucked her hand in his elbow and walked her to the Jeep. He handed her up, his hands already feeling her smooth flesh, her curves and contours, the silky threads of her hair.
She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Come back from fantasy land, Trent. I’m hungry.”
He shut her door and ran to his side, unbuttoning his suit jacket before climbing behind the wheel. He had that hopeful feeling again. The same one he’d been resisting for weeks. This time, he let it suffuse his brain, coat his nerves and take a slight edge off the anxiety he’d been carrying around like a heavy stone.
* * * *
He’d chosen The Grand, one of the old-school, white-linen-tablecloth style restaurants. He’d asked for a table with some privacy and the staff had delivered on their promise of the perfect option, guiding them to a smallish table near the front corner. The place was full, but that specific table sat empty, which accounted for the unhappy looks the groups of people hanging around in the foyer had given him as they were whisked into the room.
The waiter pulled out Melody’s chair and set the large white cloth napkin in her lap, filled water, opened wine he’d ordered ahead of time, poured then retreated without a word. Not that it would have mattered. If he’d chattered away, welcoming them, spouting specials or anything else, Trent would not have heard a word.
He couldn’t take his eyes of her. She thanked at the guy pouring water, thanked him again when he let her sniff and taste the wine. When the waiter finally faded, she turned her dark brown gaze to his, her full, lightly lipsticked lips turned up in a small smile. He opened his mouth to speak. Then shut it.
“I got nothin’ right now. You look amazing, though.” He held up his wine. She shook her head and clinked hers to it. As they sipped, they kept their eyes locked. He set his wine down. She kept hers in her hand.
“This is delicious. French?”
“Yeah. Figured we needed to switch countries for a while. It’s a Bordeaux of some sort.”
He knew exactly what it was because he’d ordered it specifically, knowing her preference for richness and a rounded mouthfeel.
“False modesty doesn’t suit you.” She put her glass down. A tiny line appeared between her eyes. Something new, he noted, since the miscarriage. “So I have to tell you what my mother’s been calling you lately.”
“Oh boy. Can I take a pass?” But she was smiling again, which encouraged him.
“Nope. She calls you una cabra.”
He tilted his head, flipping through his mental translation list. “I’m a goat?”
“Si, guapo. It means that you’re crazy, cuckoo, you know?” She swirled her finger around her ear. “I’m pretty sure she means it as a mild insult to me, though.” She ran her fingertip around the rim of the wineglass. “Su novio está como una cabra.” She sighed and picked up the glass, staring into its deep burgundy depths. “Trust me, it’s way better than some of the other things she called you…at first.”
“I can only imagine.” He kept still, watching her, trying to make his mind formulate words to emerge from his mouth.
The waiter appeared with a silver dish of fragrant soft bread and a dish of butter. She looked up, expectantly. But the guy merely gave a slight bow and faded again. “I don’t have a menu,” she said, uncovering the bread.
“You don’t need one. I took care of ordering already.”
She sighed and pursed her lips. “I know I should like that. That I should feel, I don’t know, better because you ordered my dinner. But I don’t.” She pulled a bit of the bread and put it in her mouth.
He sighed and fiddled with his utensils. “I told you before, Melody. It’s part of me. It’s just something that I do.”
“I know.” She chewed and swallowed. He watched her throat, unable to find words again. “It’s all right. I’m just being honest with you.”
“Okay.” He sipped his wine, wiped his lips and put his hands on the table to keep them from shaking too much.
“My favorite name she had for you was el hombre fuerta.”
“The strong man, eh?” He made himself pick up bread and eat it.
She raised a dark eyebrow. “You’re good.”
“I pick up languages fast. Always have. And I had some motivation for this one.”
She flushed and dropped the bread back in the dish. He sat back, mirroring her. This dinner was not going the way he’d planned. Not at all.
“So, why strong man? I thought she hated my Anglo guts.”
“Oh, she doesn’t hate you. She’s mad at you still but she called you el hombre fuerta because of…well…your sperms. You know.”
Unable to stop himself, he grinned. She frowned, but not for long. She shook her head, which sent her soft hair tumbling around her face. He reached across the table and tucked it behind her ear, letting his fingertip trail along her jaw to her lips. “Did you know? I mean…about the sperms thing?”
“Obviously not. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gone with condoms, or something else for you.”
She blinked fast at that.
“Just being honest with you,” he said.
She sighed. “I know, guapo. I know. I’m…sorry that I’m being such a…stubborn bitch.”
It was his turn to blink.
“That’s what Mama calls me—la perra toca.”
A silence descended between them that Trent let settle before he spoke. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I abandoned you. I was selfish. I ran. Like a weak, useless kid.”
She glanced up at him through her long, black eyelashes in a way that made his heart race. “I was no better, Trent. Once I realized that Mama had told you I should have come to you, talked to you, worked out what to do with you.” She fiddled with her spoon. The wait staff kept their distance. Trent made a mental note to hire their managers to do some training at one of the restaurants he owned. These guys were good.
�
�Well, yeah. That would have been nice.” He reached over and grabbed her hand, needing the connection with her so badly it hurt his chest. “But I understood, on one level. One of the things about being…the way that I am…” He waved at the table, taking in the pre-ordered wine and the lack of menus. “That control thing I need means I make myself understand whatever woman I’m with. Especially after Sheila, I mean.”
She frowned and pulled her hand away. “No, stop, don’t misunderstand me on purpose. That is your super power, you know.”
Her lips turned up slightly then she hid them with a sip of wine.
“I get you, Melody. I know what you like—in wine, food, conversation.” He lowered his voice. “And in private. Most especially in private.”
Her nostrils flared and a tinge of red hit her cheeks.
“But that makes what I did even worse. I knew you’d be conflicted. I didn’t think you’d automatically decide to have the…the baby.” He stumbled over the word. “I knew you needed me—I understood that you’d want to talk about it—but I bolted anyway. I will never forgive myself for that.”
She put her palm on his hand which was still lying on the table between them. He shook his head and sat back, crossing his arms, needing some space to gather his thoughts. The waiter appeared within that window and set down small plates that held artfully mounded spinach, feta cheese and dried cherries.
She glared at him, then seemed to crumple into her seat. “I was selfish. I wanted you to come to me and I wasn’t willing to go to you.” Tears made her eyes shine.
“No crying, bella,” he said, leaning forward again. “I mean, I don’t expect that we won’t ever argue.”
She sniffled and chuckled, touching the corner of her napkin to her eyes.
He took her hand again, the hopefulness now filling him fully. He was going to salvage this. He was. For all his big talk with Taylor, Kayla and Evelyn, he hadn’t been nearly as confident as he sounded.
“But if you’ll have me back, I…I would be so happy.”
She didn’t pull her hand away this time. He had to force himself not to stare at the deep cleft between her full breasts as she leaned forward and put her fingers to his lips. “I love it when you get all tongue-tied. So happy? Really, guapo. Not your usual level of witty repartee.” She kissed his knuckles, then turned his hand over and kissed the middle of his palm. The sensation was unlike anything he’d ever felt. Even if it were his favorite move, he decided that he must have a weirdly placed erogenous zone in the smack middle of his palm. He shifted in his seat, when the zipper of his dress pants bit into his sudden erection.
“I want to make you happy. You don’t have to be the one always bestowing the happy.”
She put his hand alongside her face and leaned into his palm, eyes closed.
“Your very presence in my life makes me happy, bella. And I’m learning how to temper my need to fix everything for you, I swear it.”
She opened her eyes, but kept his hand pressed to her face. He traced her lips with his thumb, which did not alleviate any of the pressure below his belt. “No more hacking my computer, then?”
He grinned. “No more. But I did fix your credit rating, so…you’re welcome.”
Her smile widened as she let go of his hand. He kept it where it was for a few seconds, loving the feel of her skin. Her eyes seemed to sparkle brighter as she licked her lips. “You’re impossible.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“I’ve been reading about your city block project. Sounds like a real success.”
He sucked in a breath, unwilling to turn the conversation to anything that didn’t involve him and her and them, preferably naked within the next few minutes. She picked up her fork and speared a dark spinach leaf. “Tell me about it.”
He swallowed hard.
“I want us to be able to talk about anything. I want this to be not just about sex. I want to…be with you, Trent. As an equal. Not as some poor little Latina charity case that gives great blow jobs and lets you drop hot wax on her, you know?”
Her words, spoken so conversationally, hit him hard. He frowned, formulating his answer.
She took another bite, then put her fork down. “I love you, Trent. And that scares me because sometimes I don’t know what you really think of me. I mean, I’m grateful that you freed me from my past. Which you did, you know. I do feel safe and happy with you. But this whole pregnancy thing…” She sighed, then kept talking. “It’s like you want me to be some kind of creation of yours. You tell me how to wear my hair, you send me clothes, you…you…pay my god damned credit cards when I told you I’d handle those.” She paused. “I am not yours to mold into something you want me to be. And sometimes…I think that’s all you want to do and once you’re done with me, you’ll get…I don’t know…bored.”
“I respect the hell out of you, Melody. I can’t believe you don’t know that.” This was the first thing that burst from his mouth, even though he was reeling from what she said on so many levels he couldn’t begin to parse any of it.
She looked away from him, biting her lower lip which brought his dick back to painful attention.
Is this just about sex? He pondered that concept for exactly two seconds.
“I don’t just love you because of how you make me feel on the outside, although that is pretty god damned amazing. I love you because of your smart mouth, your quick wit, your sense of humor, your ability to turn a hot mess like the Fitz Pub into a seriously successful business. Shit, I’d hire you in a minute to run one of my restaurants.”
She frowned at him. “That would never work.”
“I know. It’s why I’m leaving you with Evelyn and Austin where you belong during the day.” He leaned forward on his elbows, needing her to really, truly hear him for a change. “I would marry you, right now, if you wanted it. And I think you know what saying something like that means to me. I told you everything about me. I gave you everything I had. And if you honestly think that I’m just in this for the fucking then I don’t know if we should talk anymore.”
Fury made his vision blur and his ears ring. She stared at him, her jaw set.
“It’s not like you don’t have a rep, you know. Plenty of women have stories about you. About your…abilities.” Her eyes flickered down his chest. “They call you Mr. Romance. That you love the build-up, the gifts, the super sexy dates. Then, you just walk away, once you’ve fucked them a few times.”
He made a noise, so shocked by this he was frozen in his seat and unable to speak.
“I’m just being honest,” she said, again, as if this made up for her accusing him of only wanting to fuck her, or whatever the hell she’d been talking about.
“Yeah. Me too.”
She took his hand. He pulled it away, unable to stand her touch at that moment. “Maybe part of this is your problem. You keep me at a distance, it’s like you’re watching me, waiting for me to prove that I just want you for sex, or I just want to fix you and make you into…what did you call it? Something that fit my idea of what you should be?” He rose, needing to move, to pace, to think. “And for your information, I may have been on a few dates and fucked a few women before you but if you honestly think that I sat, blindfolded in front of any of them and spilled my damn guts like I did with you, then you’re truly delusional.” He closed his eyes. Rage was filling his head, swirling around and muttering at him, urging him to say things he’d never be able to take back.
“Trent, sit down. There’s no need to make a scene.”
He sat, still glaring at her. “You know what Evelyn said? When she let me in the office yesterday to see you? About getting your head out of your ass? Well, that’s my response to you right now. I don’t know how else to prove to you that you are different. You aren’t a sex play toy, or a project, or anything but the woman I love. The woman I want to marry. But you’re pushing me out again, walling me off, making me feel like a fucking interloper. You’re a closed-off bitch, sometimes.” He touched her
face. “I just don’t know if I can keep fighting this with you. I’m tired of trying to prove my feelings to you. I know I fucked up but if you can’t ever forgive me when you know damn well that I’ll never be able to forgive myself…” He shook his head, pressed his fingers to his lips, then put them against hers. “I don’t know if this will work.”
He rose. She remained seated, staring down at her salad. He saw a tear fall to her lap. But he walked away. He had no energy left for this. If she honestly believed that about him, he didn’t have a chance at a real relationship with her—the kind of relationship he craved deep in his soul. He sat in the Jeep, staring at the restaurant, wishing she’d appear at the door. But he hadn’t been kidding when he’d claimed to know her, to understand her.
She’d said her piece.
He’d said his.
The end.
He jammed the truck in drive and peeled out into the street. His dick was still rock hard. He touched his zipper, his brain fuzzing over.
Hey, dude, maybe you dodged another Sheila-shaped bullet back there. She’ll never trust you. So…fuck her. And speaking of fucking…why not go do that to someone who won’t accuse you of anything but making her come so hard she screams. You’re dressed for a party. Go have one.
He smiled, picked up his phone and made a quick right onto the freeway.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Well, I really blew it this time,” I said as the ride share drove me through the windswept streets.
“Come over,” Evelyn said. “I’ve got wine and I can watch you drink it.”
“No, I’m going home. I need to think.”
“He’ll come back,” she insisted.
“No, I don’t think so. I said some things that were pretty shitty.”
“He’ll be back. I guarantee it.”
Tears nearly blinded me but I let them flow. I was on a side street, nearing my apartment complex. “It’s all right. Thanks for all your help though. I’ll be fine.” My voice broke.