Page 63 of Playing Hard to Get

I’d done it again. I hurt someone I loved. Hurt Frankie to ease the hurt inside of me. So I did what I do best.

I ran.

Pushing past Mitch and Vinny, I rushed through the condo to the front door and left without a word to any of the guests who likely heard my outburst. I grabbed the first cab I saw, unwilling to wait for my driver to come pick me up. When I got home, I slammed my door and threw the lock. Stripped out of my shoes and dress, leaving them on the floor in the living room as I passed. Pulled on one of Mitch’s old t-shirts, one he gave to me to remind me of him when he was away.

I fell into bed. Covered my head with my pillow and willed the world to disappear. Fought to hold some sense of purpose, hold on to the words Mitch whispered to me time and time again.

It wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t live my life trying to please her. I needed to let go. To stop worrying about how every move I made would affect her.

But it did. I couldn’t be what I wanted, be with whom I wanted, and not hurt her. And I couldn’t be anyone but who I was.

I couldn’t stop loving him.

The hours ticked by without my knowledge. Mitch crawled into bed beside me. His hands pushed at my body, rolling me over and pulling me against him. His fingers gripped me, caressed me, clutched at my skin. His mouth nipped at the flesh of my neck.

His hands pushed at my t-shirt, revealing my bare breasts. His tongue circled my nipple as his hands slid down my body. Slid my panties down until they fell to the floor. He parted my legs, touched me, slid his fingers inside, curling them as he watched me come undone.

Without a word, he removed his hand. Without a word, he pressed himself to me. Without a word, he thrust himself inside, fucking me hard, taking away all the pain I held inside by torturing me with the sweet pain of our unholy union. I screamed out his name as my body broke again. Clutched at his body as he pushed harder inside. Gave a little more of myself to him as he gave himself to me.

He grabbed the meat of my ass and squeezed hard as he spilled himself inside of me. Groaned my name like a curse. Collapsed on top of me, panting. Rolled both of us onto our sides. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into him as our heavy breathing filled the air between us.

“Can’t get enough of you, sweet girl,” he whispered against my head, his voice thick with emotion. “Won’t let you go, no matter what she says. You’re mine, you hear me? I’m not leaving you and I’m not letting you leave me.”

Turning my face to his, I allowed him to capture my lips with his. I kissed him like my life depended on it, like my heart would stop beating if he weren’t by my side. When his mouth’s assault on mine slowed, I pulled back and cradled his face with my palm.

“I’m not leaving you,” I told him as my eyes met his. “I love you, Mitch. I can’t live without you.”

“You ran,” he said, his hand caressing my back.

“I ran from her. I couldn't stand the hurt I put in her eyes. But I can’t do it, Mitch. I can’t let her pain trump my own. I need you more than I need her not to hurt.” I swallowed down the guilt that threatened to overwhelm me. I felt the quiet caress of my words against his skin deep within my heart. “I need you to love me.”

He pulled me tight against him, touching my soul as he touched my flesh. “I’ll never stop.”

* * *

The rest of my week was spent avoiding. Avoiding Frankie's repeated phone calls. Avoiding Mitch's insistence that I talk to her, tell her the truth. Avoiding my brother’s attempts to coax me out of my apartment. Avoiding the ache that was building inside of me with the thought of having to go.

I'd had my trip to New York planned for months. A few days of work. Finalizing and signing off on the designs before they went into production, all in preparation for New York’s Fall Fashion Week. Meetings outside of work, running through numbers, budgets, and investments with my financial advisors. I needed my ducks in a row. Needed to ensure that I was healthy and growing when it came to my wealth. Needed to weigh the pros and cons of a touchy situation that could either put my heart or my money on the line.

While I avoided everyone else, I indulged in Mitch. His schedule had been blissfully open, which gave us time to spend together.

After that night, when he came into my bed and fucked me, took my body and claimed it for his own, I begged him to do it again. Begged him to take me, own me, dominate my very being. I loved making love to him. I loved it more when his desperate need showed through, as he clung to me so hard it sometimes bruised, as he thrust so deep he broke me with his sex, only to mend me with the sweet words of love he murmured against my tender skin.

My need for him was just as strong, my appetite for him insatiable. He was mine.

I would never let him go.

Work in New York was productive. My meetings with my financial advisors went well. I got recommendations on donating to charities, something life with Mitch made me want to do. I made plans to do lunch with my friend, Jillian. But life kept getting in the way. Twice we had to cancel. Finally, we decided to meet for drinks at a bar instead.

Jillian wasn’t there when I arrived. I found a table in the center of the busy room and ordered a scotch and a bottle of sparkling water. The crowd around me pulsated with energy, like the Irish pub with Kelly green walls and dark lacquered woodwork was the kind of club where people stood in line for hours to be admitted into. I drank slowly while I scrolled through old texts from Mitch on my phone. After twenty minutes, I worried Jillian wouldn’t make it. After thirty, I was almost certain. I was about to text her, to ask if she wanted to reschedule, when a body filled the empty chair across from me.

“You get stood up?”

My eyes rose from my phone to the man who had invaded my table. My first thought, as I took in his high cheekbones, angled jaw, and solid, muscular body, was how sexy he was. My second, as I saw the wild look in his amber-colored eyes, was that he was crazy. Something about him was familiar and I looked him over carefully as my mind raced to figure out why.

“She's running late,” I told him with my finger hovering over the screen of my phone.

“Let me buy you a drink while you wait.”