Jane Porter - Mistress To a Latin Lover

And she wasn’t convenient anymore.

Battling tears, she pulled the duvet up over her head, covering herself entirely. Don’t think , she told herself. But the hot, humiliating tears wouldn’t stop falling.

How could she have loved him so much and he felt so little?

How could he take her, make love to her, for two years giving her pleasure, receiving such pleasure, only to let it all go away?

How could he just walk away? She’d given him everything—access to all her body and every millimeter of her heart—why hadn’t that been enough?

The questions burned her, returning now just to haunt her just as they had every night and day for the past six months. How could someone willingly give up something like what they had? Their relationship was different. Their desire was hotter, brighter, their satisfaction greater. They had everything .

How could that not be enough?

She sobbed into the crook of her arm, sobbing so hard there were moments she couldn’t catch her breath and finally she knew she had to stop. Pull yourself together . This isn’t the end of the world. You’ll get over him. It’s just a matter of time .

Pushing wet strands of hair from her cheek, Cass took a deep breath, and then another. Time heals all wounds .

Maybe. Maybe not.

She drew a shaky breath, and then another. This, too, shall pass. Nothing lasts forever .

And yet the clichés just made her angrier.

She didn’t want to get over Maximos. She didn’t know how to get over Maximos. Not when she still wanted him like this, not when she still needed him like this. Not when she was still so deeply, hopelessly in love.

Maximos Guiliano, love of her life. Maximos Guiliano, father of the child she’d lost.

Cass woke the next morning to brilliant sunshine and the sunshine confused her, tricked her. For a moment she didn’t know where she was or why she felt as though she’d been run over by a truck and left for dead.

And then it hit her. It all came back. What happened last night. Where she was today. Maximos’s house. Maximos’s guest room. The morning after…

The ache inside her was nearly intolerable. And the sunshine didn’t help, she thought, rubbing tiredly at her eyes, her eyes sore from crying herself to sleep.

But it was a new day, and Cass forced herself up. Leaving the bed, she began gathering her clothes still scattered on the floor—the silk hose, the satin garter belt, the torn panties and gown. And there in the tangle of clothes Cass discovered Maximos’s cotton undershirt, the one he’d worn last night beneath his dress shirt.

She picked up the cotton T-shirt and pressed it to her chest, still able to smell Maximos’s spicy fragrance on the fabric.

Maximos . The heartbreak hit her again, the heartbreak still so stunning, always unreal. And pressing the shirt to her mouth, a kiss of sorts, she breathed in the scent of him, breathed in the emotion before tossing the shirt back to the ground.

In the ensuite, Cass stepped beneath the shower, let the water stream down washing away all memory of last night’s lovemaking.

She dressed swiftly, not letting herself think, not letting herself feel.

She was on the stairs, carrying her suitcase down when a hard voice sounded in the stairwell. “Going somewhere, Cass?”

The sound of Maximos’s voice behind her made her jump, and she jerked around on the step. “You scared me,” she said, putting one hand on her chest to quiet the mad drumming.

He was dressed in khakis and a crisp olive-green shirt and with his dark hair combed and his jaw shaven smooth he looked coolly elegant and perfectly in control.

Unlike the man who’d taken her to bed last night.

Unlike the lover who’d made her so completely his…

Pain sliced through her and she held her breath, trying to stay calm, maintain control like Maximos.

“So where are you going?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

If she didn’t think and just allowed herself to be, she could feel the heat and strength of Maximos’s body against hers still. She could feel the way he took her. Loved her. If she didn’t speak and didn’t move she could smell his clean spicy scent, a combination of his amazing skin and expensive but subtle cologne. She could taste his mouth on hers, the warmth and the coolness of his tongue playing hers, his lips teasing hers, the scrape of his teeth, the bristles of his beard.

The sex worked so well. Why did nothing else?

Cass swallowed the lump filling her throat and shifted her suitcase from one hand to the other. “I’m going home.”

He just looked at her, a long level look that made her insides curl. He was angry. Angry with her. “I guess you finally got the closure you needed.”

“I did come for closure.”

“Is that a polite way of saying you wanted to get laid one last time?”

She flushed. “That’s not fair—”

“Then what was last night?”

“Don’t act like last night was so meaningful for you. You couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

“I’ve a house full of guests. Responsibilities—”

“It’s not just last night, Maximos. You never stay after you’ve finished making love. For over two years I asked you to stay, to spend the night with me, but each time you had to go. You always have excuses. But it’s lonely being left. It feels awful watching you dress and go.”

“So now it’s your turn to walk out.”

Defiantly she looked up, met his gaze squarely, reading the intensity in his dark eyes. He was still so hard. So fierce. He’d take her to bed again and again, but that was it. The extent of what he’d offer her. Outside the bedroom, he’d never give her more. He would take her body, pleasure her body, but he’d never love her. “Maximos, there’s nothing for me here.”

“There was plenty between us last night.”

“That’s called sex.”

“It works.”

It was exactly what she feared he’d say, what she didn’t want him to say. She wanted him to want her, fight for her, crave her the way she craved him. And for the longest moment she couldn’t speak because it hurt, this gap in needs, a difference that was now clearly insurmountable.

“I deserve more than sex,” she said finally, a terrible lump filled her throat. “I deserve more from you.”

“More?” He was toying with her, his tone downright mocking. “As in gifts? Trinkets? Tokens of my affection?”

Her jaw tensed, flexed. It seemed impossible that they’d been lovers for so long, that they’d actually believed their relationship worked.

How had so little been enough for her for that long? Cass couldn’t imagine ever settling for less now, not when she knew that she’d had her priorities all wrong, that she’d never known herself, who she’d been, and what she’d needed. Sex might feel good, but she wanted love. Sex answered certain physical needs but it didn’t satisfy the emptiness inside, the longing to be accepted, cherished, validated. “I’ve had enough trinkets and tokens. I’d like a real relationship, one based on trust and respect—”

“I trust you. And respect you.”

“One where both people give.” This was killing her, making all her frustrations and needs known. She hated being vulnerable like this, hated having to ask for anything. “You didn’t give, Maximos, you took.”

He shrugged. “I gave you what I could.”

She gritted her teeth at his tone, hating his calm indifference, that insufferable arrogance which set him above her, making him the mature, rational one and she the emotional, needy female.

It seemed almost inconceivable now that she’d given herself to him so freely, that she’d allowed him such access to her body, as well as her heart, because she’d given him her heart, too, and it was the one thing he hadn’t wanted.