Everything But Perfect (10 page)

“I have now!”

“Your father…” he started.

She pushed up on her elbow,
reacting badly to this. “My father…what? Told you I’m promiscuous? A dirty
whore?”

His dark brow arched high. “In a
way…yes.”

Cheyanne closed her eyes quickly.
Her groan was not about to stay hidden. “I haven’t seen my father in four
years. How the hell would he even know if I’ve slept with anyone?”

“He must have assumed…”

Her eyes reopened quickly. “Yes,
he must have! Same as you.”

She could not take the pity in
his gaze much longer. She bolted upright, scooted to the end of the bed,
grabbed her discarded robe and tread quickly for the bathroom, slamming the
door.

She could hear through the door
Mitch saying “Sonofabitch!” again.

Chapter Eleven

How in the world was he supposed
to get past the fact he just made love to a virgin? Well, had sex with one,
anyway. Mitch wouldn’t dare call what they had love. It would be like putting
the cart before the horse, and if anything, he knew love when he saw it.

Loving a woman was supposed to be
a two-way street, give and equal parts take. He was not supposed to force himself
onto her—then, into her. Jesus! What he did to Cheyanne was unforgivable.

With hope, she came out of the
bathroom not hating his guts, or tried to kill him in his sleep.

She had every right to be angry.
Hell, he all but thought her a whore, and boy was he surprised she hadn’t been.
The shock hadn’t stopped at her virginity, but at the fact Joe set him up,
Mitch thinking she’d been around the block a few times and this would be an
easy if not satisfying four months.

“Sonofabitch,” he repeated, and
even as the fifth time saying it, it still did not make him feel any better
about what he did to her.

The bathroom door opened, and out
walked a subdued woman. She would not look at him, but he could more than tell
she’d been crying.

He wasn’t a monster, nor was he
an animal. He felt sorry for her, knowing she would be sore and ridiculously
embarrassed about the forced copulation. It wasn’t his fault she was smoking
hot and he could not stop in time.

Dammit. Too late to fix the
course of events already occurred, he was going to do everything he could to
correct any further mistakes with her. He moved forward and she flinched,
seemingly afraid of him.

She then held up her hand,
stopping any momentum. “Please…let’s just go to bed.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” he gently
offered.

Her eyes met his. “Why bother
now?”

“Cheyanne…”

“No, Mitch. You get the left
side, I get the right. Those are the rules, aren’t they?”

He watched as the tears welled in
her eyes again.

“God, I’m so sorry,” he said
firmly.

Her cheeks turned crimson. “About
what? Forcing me into marrying you, or forcing yourself into me?” Yet her eyes
would not stay on him for long.

“Both,” he said. “It should not
have happened.”

“But it did,” she mumbled. “And
now I will have to deal with it.”

“Cheyanne…”

She raised her chin, squaring her
shoulders. “Did you really think I’d be on birth control, not knowing this was
my fate?”

“Oh, God…I never thought…,” he
began.

“I know. You never thought of any
future errors, did you?”

“I’m sure there’s nothing to
worry about,” he said. Jesus! He hoped there’s nothing to worry about. Nevertheless,
what if there was? He never thought of that. He just assumed she would be ready
for consequences.

He started moving toward her and
she backed away, but he was not giving up on fixing this. He literally backed
her into a corner, setting both hands on her upper arms. She would not look at
him, so he used one hand to force her chin up and her eyes toward his.

“I am sorry, even if you don’t
believe me.”

She opened her mouth, but closed
it again, saying not a word.

“As God is my witness, I’d been
told you’d been around, and I would never have done to you what we just did, if
told the truth.”

She gave a little hiccup, Mitch
knowing she was doing everything in her power not to give in to an emotional
loss of control.

“We will go to bed. In the
morning, we’ll leave. Is that okay?”

This time, her gaze drilled
through his soul. “The damage is done, Mitch. We might as well stay and pretend
this farce is real.”

“Is that what you want,” he
asked.

“Does it matter what I want?”

“It does now,” he said glumly.

“Why? Just because you…” This
time her pause was long enough to the point she could not recover. The tears
spilled freely.

Instinct kicked in. Mitch bent
and kissed her, but she was trembling under his touch. He did not blame her. He
hated the reaction, but he did not blame her. He drew back slowly, released his
grip on her and his heavy sigh burned through his soul.

“Left side, right side, line
drawn down the middle,” he said.

She took a deep breath, nodded,
then walked past him to the bed. He wasn’t going to comment on the fact she
climbed under the quilt still in her robe. Nor was he going to sleep as he
usually did—naked. He would just have to be uncomfortable for tonight.

Four hours later, Cheyanne faking
sleep next to him, Mitch wasn’t tired, either.

“Cheyanne?”

He’d never slept flat on his back
in all his life, almost afraid to roll over and have her bolt for the door.

When she did not answer him, yet
he heard the distinct change in her breathing, he said, “I know you’re awake.”

“I am now.”

“You were before,” he promised.

“What do you want, Mitch?”

He took a deep breath, flared his
nostrils, and told her the truth. “What I want, I can’t have, so I’ll settle
for just talking.”

“Jesus Christ! It’s…” she paused,
long enough to look at the bedside clock, “four in the morning. Can’t we talk
at seven, at least when the Robins are awake?”

“They’ve been awake for a half
hour. Besides, I usually take a run at this time, clear my head; get the blood
flowing to all the right places.”

She quickly rolled over, facing
him, so he rolled too, facing her. “You run?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“So do I.”

They stared at each other in the
dark room, moonlight barely filtering through the open window.

“Are you really going to pretend
sleep any longer?” he asked.

“Are you?”

“I wasn’t pretending.”

“Oh, really? I could have sworn
I’d heard a fake snore or two,” she quibbled.

“I don’t snore.”

She nodded. “Yes, you do.”

“Sorry about that. No one ever
said I did.”

“Likely because no one dares tell
you the truth.”

“Cheyanne?”

“What?”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Yes.”

“Let’s call a truce today.”

She drew in a deep breath, held
it, but finally agreed, “Fine. Truce.”

“Up for that run?”

“No.” She then released a genuine
yawn. “I would like an hour or two of actual sleep, if you don’t mind.”

“You could have had four hours,”
he teased.

“Don’t start with me, Mitch.”

“I’m just saying…,” he said,
smiling at her.

“I’m just saying…” she mimicked.

“Mrs. Lavede?”

“Yes, Mr. Lavede?”

“Truce?”

“Yes, truce.”

“Good.” He then leaned forward
and kissed her. She didn’t balk, she didn’t tense up; in fact, she kissed him
back.

Mitch eased back and looked at
her face. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Her smile slow in coming, it
formed, nonetheless. “No. I guess not.”

Two seconds later, he drew back
the covers and groaned. Her robe had lost its cinch sometime during the night.
She’d been half-naked lying next to him.

He did everything in his power to
keep his cock under control.

Climbing out of bed, heading to
his suitcase, he grabbed out a pair of sweats, clean underwear, and headed to
the bathroom. By the time he came back out, she was already dressed in sweats.

“I thought you said you wanted to
sleep.”

“Not possible anymore, so I might
as well run with you.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Mitch found his tennis shoes,
finished dressing and waited until she was ready, as well.

“Think we can sneak out without
waking Charlie and Laura?”

“I’ve been sneaking out of the
house for years. I can be quiet,” she replied.

“You weren’t last night,” he
mumbled.

His wife missed the words,
already halfway down the long hallway before he caught up to her.

An hour later, they came back to
the inn, drenched in sweat. She’d given him a run for his money, proving her
worth.

“Ever do marathons?” he asked,
taking off his soaked T-shirt once they were back in their room.

“No. Too long.” Cheyanne was
removing her tennis shoes.

“I did one, once. Thought I was
going to die at the end of it.”

“A little old marathon whipped
your ass?” she asked, teasingly.

“Hell, yes! And it wasn’t little.
I swear to God, there were mountains in that marathon. I think I made it up
only two of them before puking, wishing myself dead.”

“Mitch?”

“Yes?”

“This was nice. The run. Us being
civil to each other.”

His eyes reached hers. “It was,
wasn’t it?”

She smiled, the first time in two
days.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked.

“We’ll see,” she said, grabbing a
set of clothes to take a shower and change.

Mitch watched her go, his smile
unchecked. If running was something they had in common, perhaps there were
other things, and these next four months would be livable.

After her quick shower, she found
him at the table by the window. While she’d been in the bathroom, Laura brought
up breakfast.

“I don’t usually eat this early
in the morning,” she said.

“Neither do I, but apparently
neither of us are very good at sneaking out of a house quietly.”

“Oh, God! Did we wake them?”

“Just Laura. She thought we wanted
breakfast.”

Cheyanne sat down opposite him.
“Then I suppose we should at least try to eat some of it.”

“Cheyanne?”

She was about to pick up a piece
of toast off the plate. “Hmmm?”

“Are you ready to talk about last
night?”

Her eyes met his. “No.”

“Later?”

This time, she lowered her gaze. “No,
Mitch. Not at all.”

He took a deep breath, leaned
back in his chair, and said, “Sooner or later, you will have to.”

“I’d prefer later,” she said
firmly.

“How much later?”

Her brows rose. “What’s with all
these questions?”

“I’m concerned, that’s all.”

“About what?”

He drew in a deep breath,
releasing it slowly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why would you think
I’m not?”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t I look fine to you?”

His eyes darted to the bed. The
bed sheets told the truth. She wasn’t fine. He took her virginity and the
evidence was quite clear on the sheets. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it was
very noticeable now.

Cheyanne turned that way, as
well. She looked as if wanting to groan but sighed instead. “I’m fine, Mitch.
I’ll survive. She then looked at him, staring at his face. “You can’t possibly
think what we did will break me.”

“What we did was not meant to
break you.”

“Oh, then why did you do it?” She
was now staring into his soul.

He gathered the courage to tell
her the truth. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me so angry,
then so turned on, it’s all I can do to behave when around you.”

“If you call what you did last
night behaving, I’d hate to see you misbehaving.”

“You know what I meant,” he said.

“Yes, I do know what you meant.”

“And?”

“And…I’m fine. I’m not broken.” She
reached for a glass of orange juice on the tray and he could then see just how
broken she was. Her hand was trembling.

Mitch reached for it, grabbing
her wrist. “Dammit, Cheyanne.”

“Please, Mitch? Let’s just get
through today, then tomorrow, then the day after that, and before you know it,
our four months will be over.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I—” she started. “I don’t know.”

He raised her wrist, bringing her
hand to his mouth. Very gently, he kissed her knuckles, his eyes watching her
face. “I don’t know, either,” he promised.

****

Mitch may do things to her body
that she cannot control. He may be all-powerful and all knowing, but she could
easily walk away from all that, if trying hard enough. Can’t she?