Chapter Fourteen

Isee the sadness on her face as I stare down at her, my heart clenched in a vise, and I so badly want to jerk her into my arms and soothe the hurt I know I"m causing, but I can"t. I can"t fucking breathe through the emotion suddenly gripping me. It"s anger at her for keeping this from me and pure fucking terror for her.

She doesn"t belong in my world. She"s too sweet, too innocent, too fucking pure to live on the same continent with people like Jose Guerrero, let alone in the same city. The thought of something happening to her because of me rips me apart. The feeling is savage as it blasts through me, rocking me to my core. My heart thunders in my chest so hard I feel every painful beat. My throat feels like it"s going to close up.

I"ve been in some really fucking grim situations before. When I saw that motherfucker with his gun pointed at Brady"s two-year-old son"s head, I was afraid I wouldn"t be quick enough to save his life. I was terrified I was going to be too slow and that I was going to have to watch him die. He"s just a baby, and I wasn"t sure I was going to be able to save his life. That moment still fucks me up when I think about it. I think it always will. But nothing, fucking nothing, comes anywhere close to what I feel thinking about something happening to Mila because of me.

It"s the same terror I feel when I think about something happening to Tahani because of me.

I want Mila in Los Angeles with me so badly I can taste it, and that fucks me up too.

I grab a towel off the rack and storm out of the bathroom, away from her. Away from temptation.

I quickly run the towel through my hair and down my body, drying off as quickly as possible. Once done, I grab a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and throw them on, not even bothering with underwear. I"m shoving my feet into my shoes when I hear her crying.

The soft sound wrecks me. I want to go back to her and tell her I"m sorry, but I can"t. I"m on the verge of losing control completely, and I don"t know what I"m going to do when it happens. I would never hurt her; I know that much. But the emotion clawing through me is vicious, and I don"t know where the fuck it leads. I haven"t felt anything like it since the day I found out about Tahani.

Christ. I have to get the fuck out of here.

Steeling myself against her quiet cries, I grab my keys and phone and practically run from the bedroom. My feet pound down the steps. Only when I"m outside, sucking in fresh air like I"m starving for it, does the tightness in my throat loosen. My skin still feels too tight, like something is crawling all over my body.

I jog toward the beach, trying to focus on the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Seagulls caw as they circle overhead, watching the sand for hermit crabs to pick apart. The early morning sun shines brightly, beating down on me as I set a grueling pace down the beach. My feet hit the sand with even slaps. I feel my dick bouncing in my sweats with every step, but I don"t let it slow me down. I focus on my breathing, sucking air in and blowing it out in even pulls.

It takes a while before the sharp edges of panic begin to dull. I keep running, my mind racing ahead of me.

What the fuck am I going to do? Where the fuck did I think this was going to lead?

When I told her to let me in, when I told her that we were more than a two-week stand, what the fuck did I think was going to happen? That she"d stay in Santa Cruz? That I"d sneak away to be with her? That she"d wait for me, content to live her life on the sidelines, hidden away here like a dirty little secret?

I don"t want that for her. She"s…God, she"s perfect. She deserves to be shown off, not hidden away. And I want to give her that. I want to be motherfucker who can give her everything she deserves, but I don"t know if I am that man. I don"t know if I can be. Not if it means really sharing my life with her.

I"ve let her in as much as I can, but she doesn"t know a lot of shit. She doesn"t understand what I do or what that means. I"m a cop. In her eyes, that makes me a fucking hero. And maybe that"s what most people see when they look at me, but being the good guy? Doing the heroic shit? It fucks you up a little. It takes you to dark places beside even darker people.

I don"t just swoop in and save the day. I work undercover, slinking in like a gutter rat and doing whatever I have to do to gain trust. Gangbangers and cartel members talk to me because they think I"m just like they are. They let me into their world because I make sure they believe I belong in it. I lie, and steal, and cheat to make them believe it. And when I"ve gotten what I need, when they"ve given me everything I can get from them…I burn their fucking worlds to the ground.

Mila doesn"t know anything about that type of life. She deserves more than spending nights waiting up, worried about whether or not I"m going to make it home. She deserves more than having to constantly watch her back, not sure if someone I took down is going to crawl out of the gutter and come after her. She deserves someone a whole hell of a lot better than me.

I want to take her to Los Angeles with me anyway.

I want to keep her anyway.

So goddamn badly it"s killing me.

"Fuck," I pant, drawing to a stop. I place my hands on my knees and take deep breaths. My lungs are on fire. Looking over my shoulder, I realize that I ran a lot further than I expected. I can"t even see the condo from where I"m at, and the beach here isn"t empty like our private stretch is. People mill around, setting up chairs and throwing down blankets. Kids run back and forth near the water, laughing and shouting.

I watch them for a long time, letting my heart rate return to normal. My mind still runs a million miles a minute, but I don"t feel like I"m going to completely lose it anymore. I feel…fuck. I feel like giving her exactly what she wants.

"You"re in love with her," I mutter to myself, wanting to hear the words out loud. They"re true. Somewhere over the course of the last four years, I fell for her. Even when I couldn"t have her, she was mine. Even when I fought it, she was mine. Even when she was with that prick, she was mine. Every day since she"s been here, she"s been mine. I fucking love her. That"s the real reason I gave her what she wanted when she offered me two weeks with her. That"s the real reason I"ve been lying to Tahani. I"m in love with Mila.

That should scare me because I don"t even know what the fuck to do when it comes to love. I"ve never wanted that. I"ve never had it. I"ve always sworn to myself that I wouldn"t let it happen to me. I wouldn"t be like Brady, pulling a woman into this kind of life. But I fell for Mila anyway.

Because that"s the kind of power that gorgeous little blonde has over me. It"s not rational or right, but it"s true all the same. I"m in love with my daughter"s best friend…and I"m willing to do whatever I have to do—face whatever I have to face—to keep her.

Itake my time walking back to the condo, trying to work through everything in my mind. I don"t know what comes next or how I"m going to deal with the fear. I have no fucking clue what I"m going to tell Tahani about me and Mila, or what I"m going to do if she flips out. A thousand obstacles still litter our path, and I don"t know what to do about any of them.

All I know is that I want Mila with me for as long as she"s willing. We"ll figure out the rest as it comes.

For right now, all I want to do is get back to her and fix what I fucked up. If she lets me.

Christ. I can"t get the heartbreaking look on her face when I stormed off out of my mind. I promised her I wouldn"t hurt her like her dick of an ex did, and then I did it anyway. I flipped out on her and made her cry.

Never again, baby. It won"t ever happen again.

I fucking hate how sad she looked because of me.

Until recently, she never told me about her father, but Tahani did. I knew years ago what he put her through after her mom died, how he neglected and hurt her. She"s had more than her fair share of sadness in life. I don"t want to be another motherfucker who breaks her heart.

I want to be the man who carries the burden for her so she doesn"t have to do it alone. She"s carried it long enough.

Yeah, I love her.

By the time I make it back to the condo, the sun hangs almost directly overhead. The time on my phone shows it"s almost noon. I was gone a lot longer than I expected. Long enough to seriously fucking worry that she may have packed her shit and left me.

I rarely get nervous, but I"m fucking sweating when I let myself in through the door on the back deck. My mouth is dry, too. I"m almost thirty-nine years old, and I"ve never told a woman the shit I"m about to tell Mila. Nervous doesn"t even begin to explain how I feel as I pull the door closed behind me.

A quick glance around tells me that she isn"t in the kitchen. Aside from the coffee still sitting in the pot and the half-finished mug I left on the countertop when I carried her back to bed this morning, the big kitchen is spotless. I take a deep breath and pace toward the living room, praying like hell she didn"t leave me. The blinds in the living room are still closed for privacy. The television is off, and the couch looks untouched.

My feet freeze in place as I turn towards the stairs, my heart hammering against my chest like a battering ram. Panic consumes me as I see Mila lying at the bottom of the staircase, her damp blonde hair fanning out around her motionless body. A sickening fear grips me, squeezing my insides until I can barely breathe.

Mila.

Oh, God. No.

"Mila!" I roar. My voice echoes through the empty house as I sprint toward her without hesitation. For the second time in less than three hours, I"m terrified out of my fucking mind for this woman who owns every part of me. I collapse to my knees beside her, shaking. So fucking afraid I feel like I"m going to throw up.

I want to pull her into my arms, but I know better than to move her, so I fight the urge. My training kicks in, and I quickly lean over, assessing her condition. A relieved cry breaks from my lips when I see her chest moving and feel her expel a breath. I run my hands over her body, checking for broken bones and not finding any.

I don"t remember the last time I cried, but when she whimpers, and her eyes flutter, I want to sob.

"Baby?" My voice cracks as I try to hide the desperation in it, trying not to scare her. I lift her carefully into my arms, falling backward onto my ass as I pull her up against my chest. Once she"s in my arms, I check her over again. There"s a knot on the back of her head, but she"s not bleeding, and nothing seems to be broken.

She"s okay.

I won"t believe it until I see her looking at me.

"Mila, baby, I need you to open your eyes and look at me." My voice shakes. So do my hands when I run them across her again. I can"t stop touching her, can"t stop trying to make sure she"s okay. "Please, baby. Open your eyes and look at me."

"Roman," she whimpers. It takes her a minute, but her eyes finally blink open and focus on me. She looks confused, like she isn"t sure what happened. Fear rolls through her gaze, followed by pain. Tears well in her eyes.

"Where do you hurt?" I ask, pushing myself to my feet. I need to get her to the hospital. She needs a doctor and X-Rays and a bunch of shit I don"t have in the condo.

She cries out when I jostle her. The tears pooling in her eyes slip down her cheeks.

"Fuck, I"m sorry. I"m sorry," I whisper the words over and over as I carry her out of the condo and put her in the passenger seat of my truck. I"m not just apologizing for hurting her by moving her. I"m apologizing for everything that happened this morning.

She doesn"t say anything to me. Not even when I buckle her in.

My lips ghost across her forehead before I reluctantly pull back and slam her door. It takes me two seconds to make it around the truck to climb in. I drive well over the speed limit, my hands clenched into fists against the steering wheel. Thanks to the lunch rush, it takes a lot longer to get to the hospital than I"d like.

Mila doesn"t say anything the entire time. She doesn"t cry anymore, either. She just sits beside me, not making a sound. Her silence kills me. I want to fix everything, but right now, the most important thing is making sure she"s okay. The things I need to say to her can wait until afterward.

"I can walk," she mumbles when I pull up in front of the bay doors at the hospital and throw the truck into park.

I choose to ignore her and hop out before striding around to her door. By the time I get to her, it hasn"t even opened. She opens her mouth like she"s going to argue with me when I reach for her, but when she twists to the side, another whimper rolls from her lips, and her face pales.

"Let me help you," I whisper, cupping her face in my hands.

She searches my expression for a second and then closes her eyes.

I take that as acceptance and tuck her against my chest.

Three hours later, I get to take her home again. She has a knot on the back of her head, nasty bruises on her back, and a bruised rib. She refused pain medication, being fucking stubborn. When the ER doctor saw the cut healing on her foot from the broken wine glass, he gave her an antibiotic and a Tetanus shot just in case. She accepted those without objection.

She"s still not speaking to me. If she weren"t obviously in pain, that fact would piss me off. But it"s clear to me that she"s hurting, so I let it slide.

Every time I try to touch her, she tenses up. The nurse helps her into the truck when she refuses to let me pick her up. Seeing another man"s hands on her, even innocently, has me ready to lay him out.

She"s mine.

When I finally get her back to the condo, she hops out of the truck before I can get to her. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she hunches over and whimpers.

I want to bend her over and spank her for being so fucking stubborn. It's killing me that she'd rather hurt herself than let me help her.

Instead, I lift her into my arms, ignoring her protests. I shove her door closed with my foot and then carry her into the condo. I was in such a rush to get her to the hospital that I didn"t even lock the damn door. It doesn"t really matter.

"I can walk," she mutters as I carry her up the stairs.

Her body is rigid in my arms, and that frustrates the ever-living shit out of me. I hate that she"s not talking to me. I hate that she"s hurting and doesn"t want my help. I fucking hate that all of this is my fault.

"I can sleep in my room."

"This is your room," I growl in her ear. She"s been in my bed with me since the first time I fucked her. My arms tighten around her like she might jump out of them and run if I don"t hold her tightly enough. Her words piss me off.

I know I fucked up. I hurt her. But for a few minutes today, I thought I'd lost her forever. I saw her at the bottom of the stairs and my goddamn heart stopped beating. The world stopped spinning because she wasn't in it. So I need her to let me fix what I broke. It's the only way I'll ever forget the way that felt. But she"s not giving an inch.

"Stop fighting me, Mila."

She doesn"t say anything as I carry her into the bedroom. Her gaze sweeps across the bed, fixating on the ties still looped around the bedposts and the sheets twisted all over the place.

Mine lands on her bags, which are partially packed and sitting against the far wall. As soon as I see them, I see red.

I place her on the bed, being careful not to jostle her too much, and then I cage her in with my arms. She can"t go anywhere unless I let her, and there"s no way in hell I"m going to let her move until I say what I have to say.

Her eyes meet mine. She looks tired and sad, but I still see it lurking there…that innate need to challenge me. I swear to God, she was put on this earth just to fuck with me.

"You were going to leave me? What the fuck?" I growl, glaring down at her.

"I…" She opens her mouth and then closes it, swallowing hard. More sadness creeps into her expression. She blinks like she"s trying to keep from crying. "You"re the one leaving, Roman," she says quietly. "You"re going back to Los Angeles."

"Not yet," I remind her.

She doesn"t say anything.

"So, what was your plan?" I ask, still pissed. It"s hard not to be when her bags are by the fucking door, taunting me. I'm not losing her again. Fuck that. "You were just going to run away before I got back?"

"No. I was going to wait for you." Her gaze shifts across my face. "I understand why you don"t want me in Los Angeles with you," she whispers. "I don"t blame you for it, and I"m not mad at you."

"Then why the fuck were you leaving me?" I growl, leaning even further into her. I think she"s had a little bit too much experience walking away from the people in her life who hurt her. That fact fucking kills me, but I refuse to be like her father or her ex and let her go without a fight. Not happening.

I will never stop fighting for her.

When she licks her lips, her eyes dropping to my mouth, I want to jerk her into my arms and kiss her until she gives up and promises not to leave me, but I can"t do that. There"s no way in hell I"m going to hurt her any more than I already have.

"I don"t know," she lies, tearing her gaze from my face when tears well in her eyes again. She"s trying to shut me out and rebuild the walls I"ve spent days tearing down. She"s been trying all day, but she still wants this. She still wants me. I fucking know she does.

"Can we talk about this later?" she asks. "My head hurts."

I want to tell her no and make her talk to me now, but her voice is small. She looks fragile, and that throws me off. I"ve seen her look a million different kinds of beautiful. I"ve seen her sad, and pissed off, and so turned on she can"t think straight. I"ve even seen her hurt and afraid. But I"ve never seen her look like she"s on the verge of breaking. She looks…defeated. I"ve made her look like that twice today, and that scares me.

Mila"s one of the strongest people I know. She"s a fucking warrior. But she"s tired, she"s in pain, and I"m suddenly not so sure she"s ready to hear what I have to say to her. And I don"t mean that she isn"t ready to listen. I mean, I need her to really hear me and understand. I need her to want to fight for this thing between us, too. And I don"t know if she"s willing to do that right now.

Whatever she needs to work through first, I think I need to let her.

"Fine," I say, putting my mouth to her ear, "but you aren"t fucking leaving me, Mila. Not now and not ever, baby. You"re mine." I nip her lobe gently to punctuate my words and then press a soft kiss to her forehead before walking away, praying like hell the entire time that she lets me in again because I"m not letting her go.

No way in hell is that happening.