He’s not indifferent to me even in his silence. His eyes follow me everywhere. They stay on me when I disappear into his closet. They find me when I reemerge wearing nothing but one of his soft t-shirts. My hands tremble, and I want to explain that I’m not offering anything up to him, but the words don’t seem necessary, not even when it’s clear he can’t take his eyes off my bare legs.
He ignores the length thickening between his thighs. His body has reactions to me all the time, but he’s become an expert at ignoring it. We both have, honestly.
For all my bravado about wanting to confront him for not coming to me earlier, I keep my mouth clamped shut. I can sense that he wants to end things, even as his body responds to mine. I can tell he’s not entirely comfortable with me in his room in only a shirt, even though at the same time, he’s enjoying the view. He’s torn just like I am.
He wants to touch me, and he wants to keep his distance.
He wants to ask me to leave, and yet he’ll beg me to stay.
He wishes he’d never met me, and at the same time, he can’t imagine his life without me.
He’s not looking for anything serious, yet he knows once with me would never be enough.
I’m nothing like the women he’s been interested in before, and somehow, I’m all he’s ever wanted.
I’m off-limits.
I’m broken.
I’ll never be whole again.
Yet he’s looking at me with half-lidded eyes and a desperation that’s so thick it fills the room, swirling around us like fog in the wintertime. It’s as if I’m the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to him.
I circle him, trailing my fingers along the dips at his waist. Goosebumps pop up on his skin, but he remains silent. He doesn’t reach for me or ask me to stop. He’s a statue, a living breathing piece of art, and I take my time admiring him.
His breaths are rushing past his lips in rough pants of air, and mine are doing the same. I feel alive for the first time in as long as I can remember. I feel in control and powerful, and the heady scent of his skin wraps all the way around me. He doesn’t have to tell me I’m safe with him. I feel it deep in my bones. He doesn’t have to tell me that what I’m doing is okay. I know it by the way his eyes beg me for more.
The only problem is, I don’t have more to give. My body is singing, begging me to reach for his hand and put it on my skin, but at the same time, I know my limitations. Doing that would only make me shut down, so I let his arms hang by his sides.
I let a million things go unsaid. I let my lips linger against the soft skin of his back, even as he sucks in a harsh breath from the contact.
He still hasn’t said a single word to me since he came home, and yet I feel as if we’ve had an hour-long conversation.
He still doesn’t say anything when I clasp his hand in mine and urge him to get in the bed. He remains silent as I pull the covers over both of us and press my lips to his. He responds only by tightening his arm around me and holding me close.
He doesn’t deepen the kiss, and neither do I. He doesn’t make promises or explain what happened while he was away. He doesn’t flinch when I press my lips to each of his injuries. He doesn’t make a joke about his erection needing attention when I nuzzle against him, making no effort to touch him further.
And he isn’t in bed when I wake in the morning.
Chapter 23
Scooter
Leaving her in my bed when I snuck out like a coward this morning was more difficult than I’d like to admit. Breathing in the fresh, cold air when I stepped onto the front porch of the clubhouse was the first full breath I took since I arrived home yesterday.
The dichotomy of emotions is enough to drive me crazy. She read me like an open book last night. I could see it in the way she watched me, the way she touched me like she never had before. She’s well aware that I’m battling my own emotions, but speaking of them out loud didn’t seem fair. I’m not trying to convince her of anything one way or the other. She has to come to her own conclusions, figure out what she wants on her own without me trying to persuade her in a specific direction.
After this last trip, I don’t even know which direction I want to go.
Frigid air bites my face as I ride my bike in the direction of the hospital. Kincaid wasn’t joking about my evaluations, and he hit me with the news that it was happening today on the way back to the clubhouse yesterday afternoon.
I don’t even have time to pause, time to take stock of what I feel or how I want things to turn out. I know I don’t want to leave Cerberus, and being forced out would leave a mark not only on my employment history but also on my sense of self. I don’t want to be known as the man that would compromise his brothers for the sake of his own retribution, but that’s how I’m being treated. Most of the guys have talked to me when I spoke to them, but none of them are open and willing to strike up a conversation with me themselves.
I’m nearly frozen solid and just grateful to be feeling something other than numb anger as I make it to the parking lot of the hospital. I have an eight o’clock appointment with Dr. Alverez on the fourth floor. I’ve been to her office before. Every potential Cerberus member travels to New Mexico prior to getting hired to undergo a battery of testing and interviews. They have to make sure that we’re sane and capable of doing what is asked of us. They have to make sure that we’re a good fit with the rest of the team before we sign our contract.
I have ten minutes to kill before my scheduled appointment, and I hate that I decided to quit smoking. It wasn’t exactly a conscious decision, but I haven’t gotten much of a chance since Mia came into my life. I never wanted to smell like smoke when she was against me, and we’re always together.
I mark that under the pro column of my mental list of things where Mia’s concerned and climb off my bike. Maybe if I get to the appointment early, I can get out of there faster.
My leather cut catches a few eyes as I walk across the parking lot, but no one scampers away. Cerberus is known to help people in this community, and even though most people stay out of our way, they aren’t usually afraid of us either. Kincaid has spent decades fostering a relationship with many businesses in the area, and he takes pride in the positive reputation our club has.
The same disappointment I felt when Kincaid was talking to me in Venezuela weighs on my chest again, and I get the sense that people can see my shame as I walk inside. I receive a few nods, and one kid staring up at me the entire ride in the elevator, but no one says a word to me.
As usual, Dr. Alverez’s office is silent as I enter. I check in with the receptionist, but before my ass can hit the chair in the waiting room, Dr. Alverez is walking toward me with her hand extended. Her grip is strong for such a small older lady, and I know from experience that she’s a hardass who doesn’t have a problem calling grown men on their shit. It’s why she’s the best fit for Cerberus. I won’t be able to bullshit her, but at the same time, minus the issues I have keeping Mia out of my thoughts while I’m working, I don’t have any problems.
Let’s see if Dr. Alverez comes to the same conclusion.
Testing lasts all day. She starts with an IQ test, which is ridiculous. I think she only does it to make me feel stupid or to piss me off, so I flounder on the other tests. After a fifteen-minute break, where I spend the entire time pacing around a small room wondering how I got so bad at math since my last IQ test, she shows me to a small room and gives me a personality test.