I didn’t feel that at all.
Not even when dinner was over and Mitch scooted his chair close, wrapped his arm around the back of mine and idly played with a lock of my hair while he talked to Brock.
Not even then.
I felt like this was real, it was mine and I liked it.
It felt freaking great.
So I stayed there.
* * * * *
The next morning started like the last and, except for Mitch letting me into my apartment to get my stuff to dress for our date, was mostly the same.
But it wasn’t going to end the same.
And it wasn’t until I was dressed, made up, ready for our date and staring at myself in Mitch’s mirror that I realized my mistake.
And this was when the silken cocoon that was crafted snug, safe and warm around me made from Mitch’s warmth and kindness completely shredded.
And when it did, the harsh, bright light of Mara World glared in, reminding me who I was, who he was and how this was all likely to end.
I blinked at myself in the mirror as I heard Mitch come through the front door.
And it was then I knew, for the kids’ sakes, my sake, Mitch’s sake and mostly the sake of all of our hearts, I had to yank all of us back into the glaring light of Mara World before it was too late.
Chapter Twenty
Before It’s Too Late
“Mara, sweetheart, you ready?” Mitch called from his living room-slash-kitchen-slash-dining area.
It was on unsteady legs in silver, strappy, stiletto-heeled sandals that I walked out finally determined to explain to Mitch about Mara World and his place in it.
In other words, he didn’t have a place.
My dedication to this task took an instant and direct hit when I cleared the mouth of the hall and saw Mitch standing at the edge of his bar wearing an espresso-colored tailored shirt that looked hot on him, a matching espresso-colored sports jacket over it that also looked hot on him, a fabulous, dark brown belt and somewhat faded jeans that definitely looked hot on him. His head was tipped back and he was taking a slug from a bottle of beer while I lamented the fact that I was in his bathroom getting ready while he was in his bedroom changing clothes. Therefore, I’d missed seeing his gorgeousness (and thus would have been prepared to see his returned gorgeousness) before he’d left to take the kids to his sister’s.
Instead, I was thunderstruck by just how beautiful he was from top-to-toe.
His eyes slid around the beer, his chin tipped down and I absorbed my second direct hit right after my first when his beer hand dropped and his dark brown eyes went from warm to scorching in a nanosecond.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
I stopped four feet away, pulled myself together and announced, “Mitch, we have to talk.”
It was like I didn’t even speak. He set the beer aside as his burning gaze traveled me top-to-toe and back again, slowing on occasion but roaming me randomly, lazily and it made me feel a kind of funny I’d never felt before. A beautiful kind of funny. A kind of funny I’d not even felt when I was in his arms so, obviously, it was a seriously beautiful kind of funny.
“Jesus,” he murmured again.
“Mitch, did you hear me?” I asked, powering past that beautiful funny feeling.
His eyes finally moved to mine.
“Come here, baby,” he ordered in his gentle voice but this one had an additional rumble that felt like a physical thing. A warm, sweet, infinitely sexy physical thing.
Another direct hit.
“Mitch, I asked if you heard me.”
“Come here,” he repeated.
“We need to talk,” I said quietly.
“You need to talk, we’ll talk at dinner,” he returned. “Right now I need you to come here.”
“Mitch –” I started and he moved.
He lunged, reached out a hand, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. He lunged back and I went flying forward, colliding with his body and his arms clamped around me.
“Fuck,” he muttered and I tipped my head back to look at him as I caught my breath at suddenly finding myself in his arms which was definitely not, in any way, where I wanted to be when I said what I needed to say. “I knew your hair looked good down but, Christ, not that good.”
Wow. That was super nice.
No, no. I needed focus. Fo…cus!
“Mitch, I need you to pay attention to me,” I told him.
His hand slid up into my hair as his eyes roamed my head and he murmured, “Oh, I’m payin’ attention, sweetheart.”
“Mitch!” I snapped, my hands, which had landed on his chest, curled into the lapels of his jacket and his eyes cut to mine.
“Don’t,” he said suddenly and I blinked.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“Mara, I see you’re screwing yourself up to say somethin’ that’s likely gonna piss me off and ruin my plans for tonight so, I’m askin’ you, don’t.”
I blinked again. Then I informed him, “We need to talk.”
“Do you think we need to talk about how nice it felt, lyin’ together watchin’ baseball?” he asked.
I stared up at him and felt my brows draw together. “I didn’t watch baseball.”
“Okay, do you think we need to talk about how nice it felt, lyin’ together, me watchin’ baseball and you zoned out?”
I sucked in an annoyed breath because he was ruining my plans by talking at all and his talking meant he was reminding me how good that did, indeed, feel and I snapped, “No.”
“All right, then do you think we need to talk about how great every kiss was that we’ve shared from the first to the last?”
My body grew tight and I bit out, “Absolutely not.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to know how good I think you taste?” he asked.
Oh boy. Mitch saying that felt like a warm, sweet, infinitely sexy physical thing too.
Crap.
“No,” I repeated.
“And how f**kin’ great you feel when you press into me and hold on tight.”
He was totally ruining my plans!
“No!” My voice was getting louder.
“And you don’t want to tell me how much you like it, just as much as me.”
“Mitch –”
“Best kiss I ever had,” he went on. “Every single one.”
God, God.
That was nice.
I closed my eyes, opened them and whispered, “Stop it.”
He didn’t stop it. “Best kisses you’ve ever had too. You told me, baby. That first one you told me straight out and I know the rest felt the same.” His head bent nearer to mine and his voice got lower when he said softly, “Especially when I had you on your back in my couch.”