I was relishing its love, when I noticed Rick. He was standing at the front of the church watching us. I didn’t like the look in his eyes. Was that anger? Resentment?
My eyes narrowed, but then I smiled brightly, turning my attention back to Paul. I hoped Rick was still watching. I wanted him to see how happy his brother was. My hand went to his jaw and I turned his face towards mine. As close as I could get without actually kissing him, I whispered, “Did I tell you how incredibly handsome you look?”
“Did I tell you how absolutely gorgeous you are?” he smiled.
“Uh-uh. I said it first. Doesn’t count,” I said, rubbing my nose against his.
Paul made an amused sound, kissing me softly.
When I turned back to Rick, he was looking at anything but us, and I smiled to myself. Take that, jerk.
Through the wedding, I couldn’t take my eyes off the best man. Paul had called him Lewis. He shook Rick’s hand and whispered brotherly words of encouragement into his ear. He’d smile at him. Joke with him. How far had he and Marjorie already gone together? My intrusion last night couldn’t have been the first time they’d fooled around.
When the bride walked down the aisle, my eyes continued to drift between Lewis and Rick. Did Paul’s brother really know about them? Did he care? Why did I care? I was letting myself get worked up and confused about the lives of people I didn’t even like. I took a breath and pushed them out of my mind.
The wedding took longer than it needed to. Marjorie had gone all out. Long speeches. Drawn out songs. I was widening my eyes, blinking rapidly to keep from falling asleep. After far too long, the minister pronounced them husband and wife and they thankfully walked down the aisle.
“Do you want to talk to them before we leave?” I asked Paul.
“I might as well. Come with me to the reception for a bit?”
Luckily, it was being held in the building next door. We walked over and joined the line of people waiting to give the new couple their well wishes.
Marjorie’s eyes lit up when she saw Paul. “I’m so glad you came,” she beamed, pulling him in for a hug. The picture I’d found of them flashed in my mind. Still, even now, they looked good together, complimenting one another well. Before I lost myself to a jealous daydream, I pushed the image aside. Her smile to me was more reserved—short and passed on to the person behind me within seconds.
Rick and Paul were locked in a firm handshake. Their faces were close, but Paul was looking away from me. Rick whispered in his ear, eyeing me the entire time. Marjorie was squealing with delight over my shoulder, making it impossible to hear his words. They separated and Rick pulled me in for a hug.
“You ever get tired of Paul, you know where to find me,” he whispered, giving my side a sleazy squeeze.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MY SIDE TINGLED WITH unwanted nerves where Rick had touched me. The entire ride back to Paul’s townhouse was quiet, but my skin crawled. If Paul and I had a future, as I hoped we did, I’d never be comfortable alone with his brother.
Maybe this is what Rick had done with Marjorie—thrown small advances here and there, seeing if she wanted to reciprocate. Most likely. Neither one of them seemed the committing type. With a sigh, I shook it off as I stepped out of the car.
Paul met me at the hood, a genuine smile on his face. “Thank you,” he said. “You were right. It felt good to go. Maybe Rick and I can mend this.”
“What did he say to you?”
Paul shrugged. “Just that he was happy I came and he hoped we could be true brothers again. I think we can.”
He was so hopeful and happy. With a smile, he walked away and I held my breath. Should I tell him what Rick said to me? Did I want to ruin their relationship all over again?
“Paul,” I called, realizing it wasn’t me ruining anything. Rick was.
He turned over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.
“Rick, um. Rick came on to me. At the wedding. He winks at me and touches me inappropriately. I’m not comfortable around him.”
Paul frowned, his head jerking in shock. “He came on to you? At his wedding?”
It did sound farfetched—a man, at his wedding, hitting on his brother’s girlfriend. Who did that?
“When did you even speak to him?” Paul asked.
“In the receiving line. He said–he said if I ever got tired of you, I knew where to find him.”
Paul closed his eyes tight and looked away from me. “Have you two ever…? Done…anything?” His shoulders were squared, as if he was already prepared for me to say yes.
“What?” I asked, and moved to stand in front of him. “Do you really think I’d do that?” He refused to make eye contact, so I grabbed his face and forced him to. “No, Paul. Never. I only ever want you. Give me some credit. I’m not Marjorie.”
Something in his eyes was different. He was angry. Furious. His jaw ticked and I could feel his coiled tension ready to snap. His rage was fearsome and I was grateful Rick wasn’t there. Paul would tear him limb from limb.
Not knowing what else to do, I petted him, rubbing my hands down his arms and chest. “Rick’s a jerk,” I said. “A stupid jerk. I’m sorry I’m ruining all your hopes of reconciliation, I just…I couldn’t let you believe he’d somehow changed. But I–I love you, and couldn’t hold that in.”
Through my words, I hadn’t realized how close he suddenly was. His torso pressed into mine, and his hands were on my hips. My breath quickened when they squeezed.
“Fuck. Rick,” he said.
Everything happened quickly. A strong arm went around my waist and he lifted me off the ground. There were a few jerks and slams as he opened the door to his townhouse and roughly deposited me on the arm of his couch.
I was too stunned to do anything but watch as he removed his jacket and pulled his shirt out of his pants. His hands went to my legs and he forced them under me, pulling my behind to the edge of the arm. Paul was usually in control of his emotions, and seeing him so forceful made my body immediately respond. It was hot and panting, ready for his touch. Quickly, I unbuckled his pants, pushing them down his legs.
“Please, Paul,” I said when he hesitated. “I want you.”
My panties were jerked off, and he stepped into the cradle of my thighs, spreading them. His dick hovered at my entrance and I gripped his shoulders, putting our bodies and faces close, but he didn’t move.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He blew out a steady breath. “I’m…trying to calm down.”
“Why?” I was drenched in need and could only think of sating it.
“I’m angry, Mia. I don’t want to be too…aggressive.”
I’d had sweet. I’d had focused. I wanted to see him lose control.
“He came onto me while you were standing a foot away. You can get aggressive. I want you to.”
Our eyes connected and he saw what I was asking, what I needed. With a strength and determination he’d never used before, he pushed himself into me. Hard. Forceful. My legs dangled in the air, spreading wider to give him access. I didn’t even have to move, Paul did it all for me, using his arms to maneuver my body as he needed.
Our warm breaths mixed as we panted to his thrusts. Faster. Harder. My nails dug into his shoulders and he groaned. With masculine need, his hands held me. One on my low back. The other gripping my hair. It forced me flush with his body and my eyes closed—the hot rhythm of his pumping too much for me to take. The sounds he made were firm and deep, the roll of his hips purposeful.
“Paul,” I breathed. “It’s so good.”
Hearing that set him on fire. He pulled back and ripped the shirt from his body. His pants were kicked away and he fully discarded my clothes in expertly maneuvered jerks. When he came back for me, he leaned in, his thrust pushing me off the arm of the couch. My hands fumbled to find something to cling to, but I was too focused on the burning heat between my legs. My breathing was erratic and I was getting lost in the choking inhales. Paul grabbe
d me, lowering me down. My shoulders hit the couch first, and I arched my hips, meeting him.
“Christ, Mia,” he said, gripping my waist.
“Don’t stop,” I said. “Please.” We stumbled to the couch and he dropped my hips, pumping harder. I loved the look in his eyes. Intense. Wild. His eyelids were hooded, his mouth open as he expelled shaky breaths.
Unable to stay still, I turned my head and saw the bulging of his muscular arm. A thin sweat was building on his skin and I moaned, arching my legs up. It brought him deeper and Paul made a wholly sexual sound that liquefied me.
He turned frantic, his intense thrusts sending me up the couch until I couldn’t move anymore. The top of my head banged against the end, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was him. His heat. His skin. His hard length pushing in and out of me.
It started. Tiny pulses shooting through me. My feet and hands clenched. My body contorted. I didn’t hold anything in. My nails dug into his back and I heard his shaky moan, felt the change in his movements. He pushed in as deep as he could go, finishing with a guttural groan.
His heavy body collapsed on mine, but he held some of his weight up with his arms. “Mmm,” he said at my ear. “Everything about you is perfect.”
Now that the passion had left us, I realized my neck was pushed at a weird angle, and my head was sore from being banged. I squirmed, trying to get more comfortable.
“Oh, shit,” Paul said. “I’m sorry.” With a laugh he pulled himself off and helped me stand. “How’s your head?”
I grinned. “Fine,” I said, rubbing it.
He pulled me into him and gave it a sweet kiss. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should have tried to move you.”
“No. I, uh, I kind of liked it.”
Paul chuckled and lifted me into the air. My legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me to his room. “You’re full of surprises. Sweet, innocent, Mia, likes it rough.”
I smiled. “Just a little rough.”
He sat me down in his room and Ferdinand eyed me from the bed. I had a sudden urge to cover myself. Paul laughed when he saw me shield my body. “Here,” he said, throwing me one of his t-shirts and then a pair of his pants. I slid them on and patted his dog atop the head.
“Sorry for the show, boy.”
Ferdinand huffed and tears sprang to my eyes when I realized how much I would miss him, too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
TWO WEEKS WASN’T ENOUGH time. Gladys let me work the same hours as Paul, and even with that blessing, our time was reduced to packing—his home and mine. We’d be moving the same weekend.
Moving back in with mom and dad wasn’t supposed to ever be an option. Paul still insisted he could help me. I wouldn’t have needed much from him, but it didn’t matter. If I was going to succeed, I needed to do it on my own. The satisfaction would be greater that way. Paul understood, and even admired that in me.
Depending on where we were packing, we spent every remaining night together. Either squeezed onto my twin bed, or snuggled together in his. His definite departure loomed over us, and my stomach grew heavier with each day. It took every ounce of strength I had to keep from crying.
With only two days remaining, we had Paul’s home almost boxed up. I was downstairs, neatly organizing his silverware when he called me up to his room. Weary, I walked in and saw him standing at the foot of his bed, a painting in his hands. It was one of mine.
Catherine had sold it. To him apparently. The girl walked and birds danced around her. It reminded me of chaos and my chest constricted. Only two paintings had sold. One to Paul and one to his mother. Tears came to my eyes.
“I bought this shortly after you sold it to her,” he said. “I know. I should have told you. But…”
He sighed and flipped it around so he could look at it. “You were like a dream, Mia. I’d known for a while you might be interested in me, but it felt too good to be true. I didn’t want to hope. When you let me kiss you and then let me take you out, I thought you’d date me for a little while but ultimately realize I wasn’t what you’d built me up to be. Preparing myself for that, I bought this—wanting to have something of you if you left.”
He sat the painting down at the foot of the bed. “So many times I nearly hung it on the wall. I was proud of you. I am proud of you. But I thought you might not like that I bought it. I see how scared you are, how insecure you can be. You don’t need to be.”
He reached for me, and I moved, fighting off the knot in my throat.
My eyes glistened as he held my face. “You’re wonderful, Mia. One day you’ll get all the things you deserve. Whether it’s an art show of your own, a museum to run, or whatever else you want to do. After I’m gone you have to promise that you’ll tell me when you start to feel down. I won’t be here to see it, but someone needs to remind you how talented you are. And that someone is me. Always.”
I burst into tears.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I sobbed. “What am I going to do while you’re gone? I’ll be so lonely.”
Paul shushed me and cradled my head to his chest. “We’ll talk to each other every day. Don’t worry. I’ll come back as often as my job permits and you can visit me anytime you want. We’ll still see each other.”
It didn’t feel like it. It felt like he was going off to war and I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again. It was silly and overdramatic.
“Besides,” he continued, “Panama City’s not that far of a drive. I could get to you in six hours.”
I nodded, knowing he was right, but was unable to end my tears for the remainder of the evening. As I packed boxes, I sniffled and wiped my eyes, not even angry that he’d bought the painting. It made me glad. Now I knew a piece of me would be with him.
When we lay down to sleep, I wrapped my arms tightly around him, thinking if I could get close enough, pieces of him would rub off and stay behind with me.
The next day was his last as an official resident of Louisiana. I was moved first. It didn’t take us long—barely an evening. My small boxes were pathetic, neatly fitting into my parents’ house without issue. My larger furniture was moved to storage and I felt the weight of my predicament.
This wasn’t what I wanted and certainly not what I envisioned. When I chose this career, I’d pictured things so differently. Mom and Dad were gracious and pretending they were delighted I’d come home, but I knew they weren’t. They had their routines. Their ways. I was messing it all up.
Paul was driving his belongings down to Florida himself and hired a moving team to unload everything when we arrived. I was going with him, but driving behind the van in his car.
I would only get two more days. Gladys might have let me off for longer, but Yazra wasn’t working out and I knew if I asked, she’d give it to me, further putting herself in a bind. So first thing in the morning, Paul and I rose from the sleeping bags on his living room floor and took Ferdinand for one last walk around the complex.
The morning was quiet with only the distant sound of a lawnmower filling the air. “You could still change your mind,” Paul said. “My offer stands.”
Leaving with him was more appealing as time went on, but before I made that choice, I had to have a plan. Currently, I didn’t.
I smiled and laced my arm through his. “Thank you. Let me keep thinking about it.” He kissed me and we both departed, heading towards Panama City.
Paul had left the task of finding a new home to one of his new coworkers. Someone named, Garrett. Paul assured me that Garrett knew what he was doing. He restored homes as a side hobby and had looked at several for him. Paul chose his little bungalow only through pictures and the word of Garrett.
Despite Paul never seeing it in person, I was impressed with the choice. It was cute. The outside was stucco with blue shutters. His neighbors had a large tree. It’s branches bled over into Paul’s yard, providing shade. Ferdinand was itching to be out of the car, and I walked him to the backyard. He burst through the gat
e and ran around the fence, stopping to smell and inspect.
In the middle of the yard was a large gazebo. I’d seen it in the pictures, but smiled at the real life version. Cushions lined the posts and a fire pit sat in the middle. It looked inviting and well-loved. I walked over and propped my feet on the stone lip of the fire pit. Ferdinand saw me and ran over, jumping his big body onto mine, licking my face ecstatically.
Paul chuckled from the grass and snapped a picture. “Shoo,” he said to Ferdinand as he sat beside me. “Run. Play.” The dog jetted away and Paul joined me, pulling me into his side.
“The movers will be here soon,” he said. “I’d rather wait until you’re gone to do any unpacking. Do you mind sleeping bags again tonight? We’ll have the mattress, but I’m not sure where the sheets are.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, leaning into him.
We had only twenty minutes of peace before two burly men and three teenagers arrived with dollies. While Paul told them where to place the boxes, I tried to organize them as best I could. We were dirty and covered in sweat when they left.
Together, we took a slow shower and I begged for time to stand still. My heart beat played a chaotic tune, pumping faster and then slower as the night wore on. It ended with us naked under the sleeping bags, Ferdinand curled up on the floor beside us.
He missed Louisiana, too. Nothing was where it belonged here and he’d frantically moved from room to room all night. Now he lay peacefully beside us on his oversized dog bed. The gentle rhythm of his breaths lulled me and I sighed.
“What’s wrong, Pretty?”
“Besides the obvious?”
Mia Found (Starting Fires Book 3) Page 18