Saving Cruz (The Moran Family)

by Alexis James

  I’ve always known Cruz was single-minded and stubborn, but I never realized to what extent until we’d spent a week at the office dancing around one another and attempting to act like nothing had changed between us.

  Monday morning he greeted me with an icy, “good morning, Miss Elliott.” Mind you, three hours prior to that he had me writhing around, screaming out his name. I was so stunned I couldn’t even respond, and we spent the rest of the day communicating via intercom.

  Tuesday was much of the same, only this time I was irked because I’d expected him to call or come by the night before, and all I got was a silent phone and a tension headache. I retaliated with a cold, “good morning, Mr. Moran,” refused to look at him, and spent the bulk of the morning arguing with myself about whether or not to slap him.

  By Wednesday I was waffling between hurt and anger and when he called me into his office to make changes to the calendar, I could barely look at him. He just sat there being the jerk he’d been for the past few days, and eventually I retreated to my desk, feeling like I’d misjudged him completely. Maybe I had imagined the sweet, loving man I’d gotten to know over the weekend. Maybe that man doesn’t even really exist.

  Yesterday was the worst. He was hostile, I was teary-eyed, and when he stomped out at noon to go to a meeting, I put my head down on my desk and cried. Real professional, I know.

  By the time he returned a few hours later I’d reached a few conclusions: I was done putting up with his crap, and I was convinced the angry man in the office and the warm, caring man who I’d spent the weekend with must be twins separated at birth.

  Choosing to confront him took strength I didn’t realize I had, but when I stormed into his office to start in on my tirade, he silently closed and locked the door and pulled me into his arms, kissing away the anger, the hurt and most if not all of the confused feelings.

  We haven’t yet talked about our stressful week, and now at five o’clock on Friday I’m left wondering where we go from here. I hate all this uncertainty, hate that he’s so insistent on being one person at the office and another one out of it, and I wish I could understand his reasoning. I can’t. I just can’t. I can’t look at him and not see the same man I shared a bed with. I can’t look at him and not see the warm smile, the gentle touch, the thick thread of need. I can’t look at him and pretend I don’t love him.

  “You done for the day?” Cruz asks, looming over me.

  “Just a few more things and I will be.” Even after that smoldering kiss we shared yesterday, uneasiness sits like lead in my stomach. Looking at him just makes it more difficult, so I keep my eyes averted and focus on the computer screen in front of me.

  He takes the seat next to the desk and glances around uneasily, speaking softly. “Can I see you this weekend?”

  My eyes shoot to his and a surge of anger bubbles up. “Really? You want to see me after you’ve treated me like a stranger all week?”

  He frowns and anger slides over his face. “You work for me, Mia.”

  I offer up an eye roll. “Like I could forget.”

  “Come into my office.” He stalks away and I’m left in his dust, seeing red and feeling like a fool.

  I drag out his demand, closing down the program I’d been working on and straightening my desk. Then, tablet in hand, I saunter casually into the large room and softly close the door behind me.

  Cruz is standing at the window, hands in his pockets, and I can sense the frustration he’s feeling from across the room. I take my usual seat, set the tablet aside, and fold my hands in my lap. And then I wait. Minutes go by … two, then five, and still he stands there seething and silent. This is the side of him I loathe. The side that expects compliance in all things. His word is God and all that, and while his arrogance can at times be a turn on, right this moment I’m starting to regret ever getting personally involved with him.

  “This is my company, Mia,” he starts, keeping his back to me. “And as such I’m expected to behave a particular way.” I can see his jaw clenching tightly in anger, see his hands turn to fists in his pockets. “Whatever you and I have going on away from here has no bearing on what goes on between nine and five. Are we clear?”

  Feeling fully dressed down, I snap, “Crystal.”

  Turning to face me, he growls, “Why do you insist on acting like a child?”

  Rising, I take a few steps in his direction but am careful to leave a considerable distance between us. “Because I expect you to treat me like a person. Not like the woman you fuck when you feel like it and not like some hired hand that you can order around. There has to be a good middle ground.”

  One dark brow inches up. “And what would you suggest?”

  “Stop calling me Miss Elliott for one.”

  “Fine.”

  One step closer, I snap, “I would never disrespect you by thinking we’d be close or affectionate here at the office. I know you have a reputation to uphold. I get it.” One more step and I’m standing directly in front of him. “But you can be nice to me without everyone thinking we’re sleeping together.”

  “We are sleeping together.”

  I shoot him an irritated look. “Yes, I’m well aware of that. But that’s between the two of us. I’m sure I can manage to not pounce on you during business hours.”

  He scoffs. “Wish I could say the same.”

  Ah … so there it is. High and mighty Mr. Cruz Moran is having trouble keeping his hands off me. Good to know. “So that’s what this is about? You’ve been acting like a complete jerk because you’re the one who is having trouble separating our work and personal lives, is that it?”

  Blue-green eyes latch onto mine. “I’ve been acting like your boss.”

  “I disagree. You’ve been an ass, and you know it.”

  Stroking his fingertips over my jaw, he wilts under my hostility, looking contrite. “I have and I apologize.”

  “You do that a lot, you know.”

  He nods. “Yeah, as you keep pointing out.”

  Wrapping my arms around his waist, I lean my head on his chest and let him engulf me in his arms. “I have to. It keeps you humble.”

  He sighs heavily. “Do you really think we can do this? Work together and still see one another?”

  “I do, if you can quit being such a jerk.” Tipping my head back, I accept his soft kiss and whisper, “I’ve missed you this week.”

  “Ah, belleza, I’ve missed you too. I hate arguing with you.”

  “I do too.” Regretfully, I pull out of his arms, pick up the tablet, and move toward the door. “Now, in keeping with this truce, is there anything you’d like to go over before I leave for the night.”

  “No. But thank you.”

  “Okay then, well I’m going to head out.” Our eyes meet. “Have a good evening.” Being blasé about this is harder than I thought, but I know that if I want this to work I’ve got to allow him to make some decisions. Let him be our guide into these rough waters. A guide with a perfectly detailed map I’ve provided, I think with a smirk.

  “Mia, wait.” Turning to face him, I force a neutral expression. “Are you busy tonight?”

  My heart does jumping jacks inside my chest. “No. I was going to order takeout and watch a movie.” Wait for it.

  “Can I stop by later?”

  I resist jumping for joy or shouting hallelujah. “I would like that. Text me when you’re on your way, and I’ll order food for us.”

  Finally, a smile lights his entire face and in that moment he looks exactly like the beautiful man I fell in love with, the same man I spent last weekend with. “Will do. I’ll see you soon.”

  Driving home, I consider how confusing this must be for him. The man has dedicated his life to his company, refused to allow himself to get close to anyone and has single-mindedly weathered the past fifteen years with determination and as my grandpa Tito would say “gumption.” I can only imagine how torn he must feel, needing to be one person at work and a completely different person when he
’s with me. It does make me wonder who the real Cruz Moran is, and if I had to guess I’d say it’s the loving man who spent last weekend making me his. The Cruz Moran he has to be during business hours is nothing more than an image he created because he was forced to by circumstance.

  Cruz arrives a few hours later bearing a few bottles of wine and some of his coveted and very expensive dark chocolates. He greets with me with a soft kiss and a long, lingering look that tells me in no uncertain terms he has plans for me later tonight.

  I turn to mush. I admit it.

  Over Chinese takeout we chat about the week and some upcoming projects at the office. Relaxed and casual after changing into cargo shorts and a tank top that shows off his mouth watering muscles, he’s much more like the man I spent time with over the weekend. He’s quick to laugh, quick to smile, and oh too quick to drop a kiss on my lips between bites.

  “So what movie were you going to watch?”

  I grin at him. “An Affair to Remember.”

  “Never seen it.”

  I scamper to my feet and shove the movie in. “You’re ridiculous. It’s one of the best movies ever.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  An hour later I’m curled up next to him and transfixed as usual by the movie I can quote line by line. He’s unmoved, so far making only an occasional comment but for the most part remaining silent. I have to consider how this must look from his perspective: a classic love story, the two of us on the couch together on a Friday night. So far there’s been no nerves, no freaking out, no terse retorts. In fact, if I had to guess I’d say he’s content. Happy … and content.

  Cruz is silent, right up until the movie’s end, then he growls, “Really? She’s paralyzed?” He throws me an annoyed look. “I can’t believe you made me watch this.”

  “Just wait. It has a happy ending.”

  He grumbles something unintelligible and grunts like a caveman, shoving a chocolate in his mouth while I snicker. He is so darn cute when he gets like this, though I’d never tell him that. Cruz Moran doesn’t do cute.

  Predictably, I’m teary when the movie comes to an end, sniffling and wiping at my face and glancing at him. “Well, what do you think?”

  Shaking his head, he says, “I don’t get you women. You’re crying and you call that entertainment.”

  “It’s romantic,” I reply, running my fingers along his face.

  “Babe, if that’s romance I want no part of it.” With one hard tug, I’m in his lap. “Now, how about I show you what real romance looks like.”

  Grinning, I drop a kiss along his hairline. “Okay. If you must.”

  Rising to his feet, he carries me effortlessly up the stairs, setting me down in the middle of the bed. “That Grant guy can’t hold a candle to me in the romance department.”

  I give him an exaggerated eye roll. “Prove it, Moran.”

  “Hi, Mom.” Its midmorning the next day, and I’m once again cooking breakfast while Cruz showers. “How are you?”

  “Good, good. And you, my sweet girl?”

  My heart melts as it does every time I speak with my mom. “I’m great.” We shoot the breeze and talk briefly about my job and hers. My mom’s been teaching second grade since before I was born and will continue to do so for years to come. “How’s Dad?”

  “He’s good, working a lot. We thought we’d come see you next weekend if you’re free.”

  I make a quick mental perusal through my calendar. “Sure, that would be great. Do you want to stay with me?”

  “No thanks, sweetheart. Your space is small and you know I don’t sleep well.” My mom has suffered with insomnia for years. Half the time I don’t know how she functions on such little sleep. “I’ll make a reservation.”

  We spend another few minutes talking and making plans for their visit here and once we hang up, I consider whether or not I should approach the subject with Cruz. Even after all we’ve done together, neither of us has come right out and said that we’re an item, or anything official for that matter. Meeting my family will definitely move us up the relationship ladder, and I’m simply not sure whether or not Cruz is ready for that.

  I’m still stewing about my decision when he comes into the kitchen, wraps his arms around me from behind, and nuzzles my neck. “Smells good.”

  I give the potato and egg dish a stir, turn the fire off, and fill our plates. “Thanks. Just a mishmash of stuff I had in the fridge.” I hand over his plate and a steaming cup of coffee. Once we’re seated out on the balcony, I gather up strength and dive right in. “So my mom called. She and my dad are coming for a visit next weekend.”

  “They’re in St. Petersburg, right?” Nodding, I nibble on my toast. “How long will they be here?”

  “They arrive Friday morning and will leave Sunday.”

  “Take Friday off so you can be with them.”

  Grinning, I kiss his cheek. “Really? Thank you.”

  His intense gaze meets mine. “Family is everything, Mia.”

  “I agree.” I shovel in another few bites, although it tastes rather like sawdust. Nerves have a way of completely overtaking your senses. I should know; my nerves and apprehension have been a constant companion since the first day I met this man. And even though I hate to upset this careful balance we’ve reached, I also want my heart to lead the way. “Um, I’d like you to meet them.”

  He stops chewing, sets down his fork, and gazes out at the other buildings on my street. “Why?”

  Puzzled by his odd question, I stammer, “W-why? B-because … because you mean everything to me.”

  His face is unreadable when he finally looks at me. “Won’t that be … odd, though?” At my confused expression, he continues. “Won’t they wonder why you are introducing the boss to your parents?”

  Don’t react, Mia. Don’t react. “Um, I was hoping to introduce them to the man I love.”

  He frowns, unmoved by my heartfelt declaration. “I don’t know. Let me think about it.”

  Stunned, I can’t even dignify his dumb comment with one of my own. Have I really misjudged him so badly? Is this really nothing more than a sexual thing we have?

  Gathering up my still full plate and cup, I head inside the kitchen and toss it all down the drain, give the dishes a quick rinse, and stow them in the dishwasher. My head is spinning over our conversation and surprisingly the idea of having to spend time with him irritates me.

  This roller coaster ride of emotions is becoming exhausting. And while I do understand there is painful history on his part that drives most of his decisions, I’m worn out from all the unknown and the constant unpredictability.

  Cruz is silent when he makes his way into the house and into the kitchen, ignoring me while he takes care of his dishes. I can only stand there seething, arguing with myself about whether or not to start screaming at him or let it—like so many other things—slide by with an excuse that this is his fear talking.

  But since I’ve been to this rodeo a time a two, I’ve finally lost patience with it … and him. I’m sick and tired of the excuses, the apologies, and frankly, I’m a little ticked off at myself for all my easy forgiveness of him each and every time he treats me like I’m nothing more than a bed warmer. “What the hell is your problem?”

  He lifts a dark brow. “My problem?”

  “You’re such a jerk, Moran. Just when I think you’re starting to be a decent guy, you spout off some crap that reminds me how much you piss me off.”

  The cocky bastard gives me a smirk, leaning against the fridge with his hands in his pockets. “I’m not a decent guy, Mia. You of all people should know that.”

  My hands clench into fists. “Why do you do this? Why can’t you just accept that what we have is good? Why do you constantly question whether or not this is even real?” The anger continues to surge. “Why do you always doubt whether or not you deserve to be happy?”

  He glares at me. “Life is not one big romance movie. Grow up.”

  Tears
fill my eyes. “Just go. I don’t want you here.” He starts to move past me and I whisper, “Do you enjoy hurting me all the time?”

  The color fades from his face. “No, I don’t enjoy hurting you. But I think you live in la-la land sometimes.” When I don’t respond, he states, “I don’t have any clue where this is headed. But meeting the parents is a big deal to me. I sure as hell don’t want to give your parents false hope.”

  I chuckle, though it’s anything but amusing. “God forbid you’d ever do that.”

  With a shake of his head, he pulls me into his arms. I resist, pushing and pulling until he refuses to let me go, finally settling stiffly into his embrace. “I need a few days, Mia. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “I don’t get you. Have you been like this with other women you’ve dated?”

  There’s a long, tense moment of silence, then he replies, “What other women?”

  I tip my head back to look at him. “The women before me.”

  An odd, uncomfortable look crosses his face. “I didn’t date women before you, Mia. I fucked them.”

  Cringing, I shove the image aside and reply, “Yeah, but you had to work up to that. Dinner or a drink perhaps. Have you always treated women like you treat me, blowing hot and cold all the time?”

  I can feel his entire body tense in anger. “I’ve never had to work to get women in my bed.” His well-defined, stubbled jaw tenses. “I paid them to be there.”

  Ice fills my veins and with a gasp, I push out of his embrace. “Wait a minute, you … you what?”

  “You heard me. I paid for sex, Mia. I paid so I wouldn’t have to deal with all of this …” He gestures to me, then himself with one long finger. “I got what I wanted, so did they, and there were no hurt feelings, no expectations, no romance. No love.”

  Sickened by his revelation, I stumble back against the counter and pray that I can remain upright. Revulsion sends bile pooling to the back of my throat when I consider the enormity of what he’s just dropped on me. The idea that he’s been as intimately involved with a multitude of women who are paid to service him, just as he’s been with me, leaves me breathless.