Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) (24 page)

“I don’t want to see you hurting like this.”

“I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

Clearly he had no intention of allowing her to take care of him.

He set the paperback across his lap, open and face down. “Oh, before I forget, I’m leaving for Italy in the morning. I’ll probably be gone before you wake up. Should only be a few days.”

Angelina’s heart banged against her chest. “Italy?” There had been no mention of his leaving the state, much less the country. No mention, either, of her going along, even though he knew her passport hadn’t expired from the times she’d visited Nonna in Marsala. It wasn’t as if she had a job to tie her down either. Not even a nibble at a sous chef’s position.

“What’s in Italy?”

Was Marc going to look up his biological father?

“Evelyn gave me the number for Solari. I’m meeting him for lunch day after tomorrow.”

How long had this been in the works without him saying a word? And why did this surprise her?

Still, the thought of him going alone to confront the man who had rejected and ignored his own son wrenched Angelina’s heart. Marc was vulnerable right now. That bastard could hurt him. She wanted to be there to pick up the pieces, to comfort him—if he would allow her inside his inner sanctum.

Trying to sound casual, she continued to brush her hair. “Take me with you.”

“This isn’t a vacation, pet. I’ll take you on holiday to Italy another time.”

Stunned, she turned toward him. If he’d slapped her across the cheek, he couldn’t have hurt her more. She slowed her breathing to regain control, but it was a losing proposition. When he picked up his book again, Angelina slammed the brush onto the vanity. “I don’t want a damned vacation to Italy! I’m trying to get the man I love to let me be a part of his life again.”

Who was she kidding? She’d never been a part of his life.

His eyes widened in surprise. At least he noticed her. His gaze lowered to her bare breasts then back up to her eyes. He made her feel the only part she’d ever have in his life was that of a sexual partner. Sorry, the sex was great but not enough.

“You
are
a big part of my life,
cara
, but I don’t want you going with me. This is between him and me. You don’t need to be a part of that.”

The backs of her eyes stung. She spoke just above a whisper. “Too late, Marc. I’m already a part of it, whether you accept me there or not.”

Marc ran his hand through his hair. “Angelina, this is something I have to do alone.”

She saw the hurt in his eyes but what about her pain? They were supposed to be a couple, to share each other’s ups and downs. If he was cut, she bled.

She didn’t want him to get hurt while she wasn’t there to make it better for him.

“Stop shutting everyone out, Marc.” She came around the bed, and sat down on the mattress, reaching out to stroke his arm. When he shook her off, yet another rejection, she turned away. The dream of any future together with Marc blurred in her tears until it became impossible to see anymore.

He doesn’t trust me.

She stood and turned her head away, dashing the sudden tears from her eyes. She’d dreaded this moment since Valentine’s weekend, but it became clear to her there was no hope he’d ever change.

Angelina cleared her throat. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

“I won’t know unless I try.”

She faced him as he picked up his book again.

“I don’t mean meeting your birth father, Marc. I’m talking about us. I can’t love someone who is incapable of loving me back.”

He laid the open book on his chest, like an armor shield over his heart. “What are you talking about? You know I love you, Angelina. I just have a lot on my mind lately. If you want to go up to the playroom,” he said as he glanced at the clock on the nightstand, “we have an hour or so before I should catch some shuteye.”

He’d confirmed her doubts.

Angelina swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I don’t want to play or have sex. All I want is for you to trust me.”

He huffed his irritation. “I trust you more than any woman I’ve ever known.”

“That isn’t saying much, is it, Marc? What woman have you ever trusted?”

She had his attention, but his own Italian temper flared. “I let you tie me to the fucking bed, Angelina. I let you put a ball gag in my mouth and a blindfold over my eyes. What more do I need to do to prove I trust you?”

A lump lodged in her throat as she pictured the little boy who had been Marc being cast aside by his birth mother. He couldn’t have much of a conscious memory of those early years, but clearly they had made quite an impression on his emotional development.

What might he have been like if that hadn’t happened?

If wishes were horses…

Understanding why he couldn’t trust her didn’t make the knowledge any easier to accept.

Even with the scene he spoke of, he hadn’t let his defenses down the way she did in a scene when she submitted fully to him. He’d continued to shut her out then, just as he was doing now.

Maybe he needed time to sort this out? But
could
he do so without help? Sometimes he could confide better in his Marine buddies. “Have you talked about what’s going on with Adam?”

“No. He doesn’t need to be bothered right now with all that’s going on with Karla and Damián.”

“Marc, it’s not a bother for friends who love and care about you to want to help.” Had he ever relied on anyone to give him what he needed? “I need to know where we go from here.”

“Look, pet, I have a lot on my mind right now. I can’t deal with you, too.”

Angelina balled her fist and drew in a slow breath, initially wanting to pound on the door he’d metaphorically slammed in her face. They stared at one another in silence for a long moment, and she watched him withdraw further into himself.

She’d lost him.

Ha. Joke’s on you, Angie. You never really had him.

He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m just going away a few days. Why all the drama?”

Her throat constricted forcing her to clear it again. “Marc, I won’t continue in this relationship if you won’t trust me.”

An expression of pain crossed his face before the mask once again went into place before Marc sighed. “Look, it’s been a hell of a day. I’m tired.” He placed his book on the nightstand. “Let’s get some sleep. I have an early flight to catch.”

Without making some drastic modifications to his coping strategies, she held no hope he’d ever be able to change the way he dealt with life. That certainly wouldn’t come overnight.

He tossed the duvet off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Why don’t I take the spare bedroom tonight?”

His words robbed her of breath. Why had they surprised her so much? Marc had been running from her emotionally since New Year’s. The physical chemistry that had been there from the moment they met had all but disappeared. The emotional chemistry had been an illusion.

“No need for you to get up, Marc.” He halted, and she felt his gaze on her as she walked to the closet and pulled out her rickety suitcase.

Time for a reality check, Angie. Your fairy tale is over.

“I’ll take the spare, Marc. It’s too late for me to drive home tonight.”

Home? She didn’t have her own house anymore. The thought of moving back with Mama didn’t set well with her. All she knew was that she had to get out of here.

Oddly enough, no tears formed this time. Careful not to disturb where he lay, she threw the suitcase on her side of the bed, opened it, and walked to the dresser to grab the clothing from the top drawer. She left behind some of the sexy lingerie he’d bought her. She wouldn’t be needing them.

“Don’t leave.”

His voice seemed a million miles away. She wouldn’t look at him. He’d only weaken her resolve. From the night they’d met, he would allow her to come just so close but never
too
close before he’d push her away again. Marc had worn a real mask then. When she destroyed that one, he’d merely changed to wearing a figurative one.

Dio
, and she once had thought
she
was the one with the trust issues.

“Look, Angelina, I just need time to process this shit.”

Angelina’s heart hammered to life, and her hands became ice cold. Fight or flight?

After emptying the second drawer with her jeans and a few sweaters, she had reached capacity in her case. She glanced his way. His gaze silently pleaded with her for…something. Solace? Comfort? Her nurturing instinct kicked in, and she nearly moved to hold him in her arms.

Then his expression became shuttered again. “This trip is not about you,
cara
. You know who you are, where you came from. I have to figure this out on my own.”

He couldn’t have been any clearer.

Her voice came out in barely a whisper. “I hope you find what you’re looking for out there, Marc.” She closed and zipped the case, hauling it to the floor faster than he could get to it to help.

“Are you leaving me, too, Angelina?”

She flinched. Too? If he thought she
wanted
to leave him, he was so very wrong.

“Marc, I can’t stay if you continue to push me away, cast me aside. I have needs, too. And foremost is my need to meet
your
needs. That’s what love is, Marc.”

“No, that’s what being a mother is. I never asked you to be my mother, Angelina. It seems I’ve had no shortage of those in my life.”

She knew he was hurting, lashing out, but if he thought she wanted to be his mother they definitely had serious problems. She began dragging the case with its broken wheel toward the door before he wrenched the handle from her hand. His touch sent sparks up her arm, and she stepped back as if burned.

Marc pleaded, “I can’t love you any more than I do now.”

Angelina avoided eye contact. “That’s what I’m afraid of, Marc. It’s just not enough.”

Angry that he hadn’t even talked with her about the need to meet his birth father, she asked, “What’s going to happen in Italy to change anything?”

“I’m going to find out who the fuck I am.” The torment in his voice reverberated around the room.

Hating to hear the pain in his voice and watch him hurting like this, she wrapped her arms around his waist. He held himself rigid, not embracing her in return.

No more excuses, Angie.

“Per favore, cara,
I just need some time alone. Time to think.”

She let go of him physically, even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to let go emotionally for a very long time. He would always be the love of her life, whether he wanted to be or not. “I’ll always love you, Marc, but I won’t live this way. I hope you find the answers.”

Marc extricated her hands from his waist and pushed her away by her upper arms. “Listen, I’ll call you when I get back. We’ll talk more then.”

“Don’t call unless you’re ready to make some changes, Marc.” She opened the door. “I’ll carry the case downstairs in the morning.”

Walking down the hallway to one of the guest bedrooms, her legs felt weighed down with chains. He’d once put her in culinary bondage. Many times he’d restrained her. Those times, he’d always released her. This time, though, he’d shackled her
heart
in chains she’d never be able to break, and then he’d tossed away the key.

Ironically, he’d helped her regain some of her self-confidence in the months she’d been with him, which only helped her not to backtrack now. She crawled naked into the lonely, queen-sized bed and hugged the pillow. Still no tears. Maybe she’d cried them all out before she’d lost hope.

After a night spent tossing in the half-empty bed, she listened as Marc shut the door to the house and fired up his Porsche. He really was leaving without saying good-bye. She tossed the blanket aside and got up.

What now?

As her brother Tony would say, it was time to fish or cut bait. Frustrated at falling for the wrong man yet again and with no clue where she could go, she walked down the hallway toward the bedroom to retrieve her suitcase, but it was gone.

On her way downstairs to the kitchen for coffee, she found the bag sitting near the door leading to the garage. He’d carried it down for her, as if he couldn’t get her out of here fast enough. A part of her wished he’d have at least fought to keep her. If she didn’t know better, she thought he’d almost expected her to leave.

On the counter, she found a note stuck to her purse: “Be back in a week.” What happened to a few days, which he’d told her last night?

He must not think she’d leave. Or he expected her to be back by the time he returned.

Sorry, Marc. You’re going to have to run
to
me this time.

She carried her first mug of coffee to the living room. It was too early to call friends or family, so she clicked the remote and her comfort movie began showing on the screen. Maybe Luc Teyssier and Kate could show her that sometimes the girl did get the guy and her perfect little stone cottage with a happily-ever-after ending.

Okay, maybe her dream home was more a cabin in the woods—not the wilderness, though! She needed the assurance civilization was close by. She looked around the living room. This house had no charm or character. How did a “chintz sofa and ornate Italian iron bed” kind of gal come to be living in a bachelor pad?

Maybe she was a mismatch to Marc’s life, too.

Her attention once again on the screen, she watched Kate dressed in an adorable sailor-style boatneck top sitting on a beach chair on the Côte d’Azur, trying to make her boyfriend jealous by flaunting her pretend-boyfriend Luc.

Angelina realized that through most of
French Kiss
, Kate chased after her unfaithful loser of a boyfriend who had gone to France for a medical convention and immediately had fallen for another woman. A beautiful woman with a sexy body.

A woman like Melissa.

Stop it, Angie.

Marc hadn’t run off to Europe to be with another woman. Once again, he had gone off alone, shutting out everyone who loved him on some quest for an unattainable dream. Sadly, Marc had rejected her offer of love, family, and a sense of belonging. He might never be able to see what was right in front of his face all along—not only with her, but with the D’Alessio family.
His
family.