Why? What had she done? Why hadn’t he stayed to explain or even to say good-bye?
Pretty much the story of your life, huh? Face it. No one wants you. No one ever did.
Beneath the pain, a raw, jagged anger lurked. Anger at all the people who’d hurt her, who’d left her, who hadn’t cared about her being alone on the streets at thirteen.
Shit, she didn’t need them. She didn’t need anyone. She was better off by herself, because she was the one person in the whole fucking world she could count on.
Screw the fucking documents. Screw this entire fucking apartment and everything in it. She didn’t want it now. Xavier and all his things and whichever flunky he’d gotten to help her, could go to hell.
Mia scrubbed the tears from her face and stood up, ignoring the pain in her heart.
It was going to take her a while, but if she tried really hard, she could put this behind her, could forget all about it. Forget about him and what he’d done for her. Forget about the warmth of his touch and the safety of his arms. Forget about the blue of his eyes and the sun in his smile. Forget about trust.
Forget about love?
Shit, if that’s what this feeling was then, yes, forget about love. She needed to forget about that most of all.
Mia reached out and grabbed the clothes sitting on the table, carefully taking off the blue beanie and the knife and laying them to the side. Then she stripped off Xavier’s shirt and dressed in her own clothes. They felt weird now, all stiff and wrong, but hey, at least they were dry and clean.
Returning to the bedroom, she pulled out her backpack with all her things carefully stored in it, and slung it over her shoulders.
Then she left the apartment without looking back.
Not once.
* * *
Wyoming was just as he remembered it. Wide-open blue skies and dusky hills, fields stretching out on either side of the long, low ranch house that crouched beneath Black Top Mountain.
His mother’s family had owned it once, before his mother had fallen in love and married Cesare de Santis. Before she’d been taken away from the place where she’d felt at home and made to live in New York, a place she’d hated and had never come to terms with.
But she’d stayed for her husband’s sake and for the sake of her children.
A mistake she’d never come back from.
Xavier stood in front of the huge mantle positioned over the cavernous fireplace, staring at the photos lined up along it. His maternal grandparents, now long dead. His brothers and sister. His father. His mother.
There was one photo in particular, of his mother on horseback with the sun in her hair and a mile-wide smile on her face. She’d looked so happy back then, back before she had to come to New York and changed her whole way of life for the man she loved.
Back before Xavier’d been born and made everything worse.
He looked away from the photo and turned around, staring around the massive space.
He’d spent two days looking over the place and talking with the manager, going over the financials with a fine-toothed comb and examining the livestock. The ranch as a whole was in dire need of attention, but it wasn’t the lost cause his father or his brothers apparently seemed to think it was. All it needed was a healthy injection of cash and some close managing to get things on the straight and narrow, nothing that six months of hard work wouldn’t help.
Which meant he should be feeling ecstatic that he was finally here and that he was finally doing something worthwhile. Finally making his mother proud instead of causing her pain.
Except . . . he didn’t feel ecstatic. He felt like he had a giant hole in his chest where someone had ripped out his heart.
Even two days of busying himself every hour of the day so he didn’t have time to think hadn’t helped. The pain was still there and it was still raw.
No matter how many times he’d told himself it was for the best, leaving Mia had felt like leaving a part of himself behind.
He stared at the massive bearskin rug in front of the fire, and all he could think of was how she would have loved this. How she would have loved curling up on that rug in front of the fire, and how he would have loved curling up there with her. How he would have loved teaching her how to ride then taking her out with him over the hills, showing her all the favorite haunts he’d had when he’d been a boy spending his summers here.
It was winter now, so there wasn’t a lot of riding to be had, but he still would have loved showing her around. And then taking her to bed at night and holding her while the snow fell and the cold bit deep . . .
No, he couldn’t be thinking about that. Sure, he would have loved to have her here, but leaving her in New York was the best thing he could have done. To start with, she was safe there, and he’d made sure she had everything she needed. Her documents would have arrived by now, and the contact he’d hired would have gotten in touch with her to start the process of looking for an apartment.
It was a good thing. A very good thing.
And leaving without saying good-bye? Was that a good thing?
His chest hurt like a bastard and he felt cold—even the heat from the fire in front of him didn’t warm him.
Okay, so leaving like that hadn’t been ideal, but he’d had to. Because he knew that if she’d tried to convince him to take her with him, he would have. All his resolutions would have crumbled, and he would’ve bundled her into the company jet and never let her out of his sight again.
And that couldn’t happen. She had to stay where she was, be safe in New York.
Christ, why was he thinking about this anyway? He was finally here, at Blue Skies, where he’d longed to be for years. He should be thinking about his plans for the place, not yearning for a woman he shouldn’t have.
Xavier turned back to the photos on the mantel, staring at the picture of his mother. At the smile on her face. The kind of smile he’d never seen on her in real life, because in New York she’d never smiled. She certainly had never smiled at him like that. And no wonder. He’d been a tearaway, always getting into trouble, always causing her grief. Always making her life so much more difficult.
Which was why he was here, trying to make it better.
The thought should have been reassuring but somehow wasn’t, and he found himself moving restlessly away from the fire, back to the low coffee table that had been carved from a giant tree trunk. On it was a tumbler of vodka, which he picked up and knocked back. The alcohol burned his throat, burned all the way down his esophagus, and sat burning in his gut. Making him feel even worse.
He stared blindly at the flames, his thoughts circling relentlessly back to Mia again. Was she okay? Had she gotten those documents? Had she managed to find herself an apartment? Perhaps he should call his contact, just to be sure.
He’d been trying to resist the temptation, because he was supposed to be concentrating his efforts on the ranch, but clearly he wasn’t going to be able to really settle in until he knew everything was okay with Mia.
So he dug into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, punching in the number of the contact whom he’d put in charge of helping Mia. He took forever to answer and when he did, it felt like someone had not only ripped Xavier’s heart out of his chest, but was stomping on the pieces in front of him. Because the contact didn’t know where Mia had gone. She’d vanished from Xavier’s apartment the day Xavier had left and no one had seen her since.
His hands shook as he ended the call, blind panic curling through his veins.
Why had she gone? He’d given her everything she’d needed. Everything. And still she’d left. Why? What the fuck had he done?
What if it was you she wanted?
Something closed around the remains of Xavier’s heart and squeezed hard, and he suddenly couldn’t catch his breath. He found himself looking around at the room again, looking at the place that he was supposed to fix, the ranch he’d spent years thinking about. And it was like a veil had dropped from his eyes.<
br />
Here he was, desperately trying to fix a place that wasn’t even terribly broken. And all for a woman who’d been dead a very, very long time. A woman who hadn’t appreciated him when she was alive. Who’d constantly told him over and over again what a disappointment he was to her.
What the hell was he doing here? What the fuck was he hoping to achieve?
Back in New York there was a woman who was alive. A woman who’d told him he was amazing. A woman who’d touched him like he was precious, who’d made him feel good about himself in a way no one else ever had. A woman who needed him like he needed her.
A woman he loved.
The fist around his heart squeezed tighter. Sure, this place was important to him, but fundamentally, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but Mia.
Whom he’d left alone in his apartment thinking he was doing the right thing, thinking he was protecting her. But of course he wasn’t. What he was doing was protecting himself. Because he was afraid. Afraid of the emotion that consumed him, the terrible need that clawed at him. The power of it, the sheer vastness of it. The feeling went beyond pity or sympathy or lust. It went deeper than mere possessiveness. It was somehow all of those things and yet none of them.
It was a terrible, awful, wonderful feeling and it scared him to death.
No wonder being here hadn’t worked. No wonder he still felt as shitty as he had when he’d first arrived. He was trying to fix the wrong thing. He was trying to fix the past, when what he should have been doing was creating a future.
A future with Mia.
A future you’ve just fucked up. Again.
His mouth went dry, his hand closing tightly around his phone.
No. Not again. That was an excuse he’d used to keep himself safe, to keep everyone at a distance, and if there was one thing he had to stop doing, it was that.
No more safety, no more distance. Mia was gone and he had to find her. Give her the one thing she truly needed in her life, the one thing she deserved most of all: love.
And maybe, just maybe, in giving her his worthless, cowardly heart, he’d finally fix himself too.
Xavier’s hand shook as he punched in another number. “Kelly? Get my chopper ready. I need to go back to New York ASAP.”
* * *
Mia pressed herself against the hot pipe at her back, huddling down and making sure the cardboard over her head was in place. It was snowing again and she was freezing, and it didn’t matter that she’d had two days of being back on the streets again, it was still hard to adjust. She’d gotten used to being warm, to being clean and not hungry. Used to being safe. Used to having someone to talk to, to touch. To hold her. Used to having Xavier.
Now she had none of those things and it . . . hurt.
But she’d tried not to let it get to her. She’d pushed away the pain and gotten on with the business of survival instead.
She’d been to the shelter and picked up some gloves. They were too big and didn’t retain heat very well, but they were better than nothing. Tony had asked her where she’d been, and she’d almost answered him, before remembering why she had to be wary. Why it was important to tell no one anything. So she’d just shrugged and moved on.
Luckily her position behind the Dumpster hadn’t been taken by anyone else, which was a blessing. Especially the first night when the temperatures had plunged and only that hot pipe had kept her from freezing to death.
She might freeze tonight, though, especially if it kept getting any colder.
Not that she wanted to die. Sure, she might not have Xavier but that didn’t mean she’d given up. On anything. She still wanted all the same things she’d wanted before she’d walked out of his apartment. Maybe the idea of ‘home’ didn’t quite mean as much to her now as it had when she was with him, but she wanted it all the same. And she would get it. Eventually. Life had no shortcuts after all.
The night was starting to close in, the temperature beginning its plunge.
A scatter of snow had crept under the cardboard and was now sitting icily against the back of her neck, melting down her spine. Shit. She was going to get wet and, without any way of getting dry, she’d be screwed. It might mean going back to the shelter tonight, which would be a bummer. She’d gotten used to sleeping by herself.
Or with only one other person.
A weight descended on her chest, pressing down.
She leaned against the pipe and shut her eyes, trying to breathe through the feeling. No, she wasn’t going to think of him. He was out of her life. He was gone and there was no point regretting it. She’d had those moments of happiness at least, and that was something to hold onto, wasn’t it?
“Mia?”
The sound of her name was faint in the darkness and at first she didn’t pay any attention, because whoever was calling wasn’t calling for her, she was sure of that. No one even knew she was here.
But then that same someone called again. “Mia!”
She opened her eyes, frowning. What the hell?
“Mia, where are you?”
Shifting on the cardboard underneath her, Mia leaned over, peering through the gap between the wall and the Dumpster, trying to see through the darkness. It was almost impossible to make anything out, just a tall figure moving slowly into the alley.
“Mia, I know you’re there.” A male voice. Deep. Rich. Familiar. “Tony from the shelter told me you’d be here.”
She froze, the weight sitting on her getting even heavier. Because it could not be who it sounded like. It just couldn’t.
The figure stopped right by the Dumpster and she realized he was holding something in his hand. “Mia.” His voice was quiet, hoarse. “You left your hat behind. Don’t you want it back?” She began to shake. Shake and shake and shake. She didn’t think she’d ever stop.
“Okay, so I’m not only here to return your hat. I need to talk to you. Please, sweet thing.”
All it would take would be for her to say something and he’d find her and then she’d be in his arms . . . and if he walked away from her again, she wouldn’t survive it. She just wouldn’t. The only way to protect herself was to stay here. To stay quiet and to not let him find her.
“I’ve come to say I’m sorry,” he went on thickly, addressing the night. “I’ve come to tell you I’ve been the biggest, most selfish fucking coward in the history of the world. I . . . was trying to protect you, not that it makes any sense, I know. But that’s what I told myself. I thought that being away from me would be the best thing for you. That you’d be safer without me in your life. And I didn’t even give you a chance to tell me what you wanted. I just left.” The sound of his footsteps, so close now. “But I realized that it wasn’t you I was trying to protect. It was me. I was trying to protect myself, Mia. Because . . . I love you. And I’m afraid.”
She felt crushed. Like the weight on her chest would continue pressing her down right through the concrete and out into the subway beneath her.
Love. He loved her.
“I’m afraid of hurting you, sweet thing,” he went on. “I’m afraid of not being good enough for you. But most of all, I’m afraid of losing you forever. I’m afraid I’ve screwed things up so badly you’ll hide from me, that you won’t want me, and I’ll never get to tell you how much you mean to me.”
Something rolled down her cheek, then another, and another, and this time she knew what they were because tears were something she’d gotten intimately acquainted with over the past couple of days.
He loved her. He was afraid.
But she was afraid too, and she didn’t know what to do.
“Mia.” His voice had gotten hoarser now. “Mia, please. If you’re here, say something. I don’t care about the fucking ranch. I don’t care about anything. The only thing I care about is you.”
She couldn’t breathe, the tears falling down her cheeks in an endless stream, and she knew if she wasn’t careful, they were going to freeze on her cheeks.
When has anyone ever c
ome back for you?
Never. No one ever had.
“There’s no fucking Mia here.” It was old Petey, the other alleyway inmate, his voice almost as broken and cracked as Xavier’s. “But I’ll be her for you if you want.”
Suddenly she was moving, as if her feet had a mind of their own, shoving away the cardboard over her head and pushing away from the hot pipe at her back, slipping out from behind the Dumpster.
Xavier turned sharply, his deep blue gaze meeting hers. He wasn’t in a suit this time, wearing jeans and a tee with a heavy leather jacket over the top. Her blue beanie was in his hand.
Beautiful. So beautiful. A god of a man.
A god of a man who’d come back for her.
She opened her mouth to say something, but he was already reaching for her, already pulling her into his arms, gathering her up against his chest and holding her so tight she could hardly get a breath.
Then she didn’t want to speak or even breathe, because the sheer relief of being exactly where she wanted to be, where she’d dreamed of being, was too intense. He was so warm, so strong, his familiar scent making her cry even harder.
He didn’t speak, lifting her up and striding out of the alleyway to where his limo was parked in the street. As he pulled open the door, she said, “My backpack. I can’t leave it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”
Depositing her in the car, he turned and disappeared into the darkness, reappearing seconds later with her backpack. Then he got into the limo, shutting the door on the cold and darkness outside, enclosing them in the warmth and safety of the interior.
He lifted the beanie she’d left behind and she didn’t protest when he put it on her head, pulling the soft wool down over her hair. “There,” he said quietly. “Fits perfectly, Cinderella.” Then he tugged her back into his arms without hesitation, holding her tight as if he was afraid of letting her go. She put her head on his chest, snuggling into him because she was cold, but also, she didn’t think she could bear to have any distance between them.
“You heard all that?” he asked softly.
“Yes.” She let out a shaky breath then inhaled, breathing in that luxurious, delicious scent of him.
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