For one thing, she screamedrelationship material.Which he did his best to steer clear of. When it came to the ladies, he liked them easy like Sunday morning.
Mia was a Monday morning for sure.
For another thing, she was a girly-girl, all sweet and shy and soft-spoken. Too refined, too wholesome, and far too good for a reformed gangbanger like himself.
Not that she’d give him a chance even if he were inclined to ask for it. Which he wasn’t—No, really. I’mnot—because while he might’ve worked his way around to ignoring that she was too damn good for him, or rationalizing a way to get her naked despite her striking him as the kind of woman who wouldn’t know the first thing about a one-night stand, he couldn’t discount she was scared of him.
Like, straight up panic-stricken. She shuddered every time he touched her. And nearly jumped out of her shoes when he opened his mouth to speak.
He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve her fear. They’d only had a handful of interactions. In fact, barring their short conversation in the emergency room and the two times they’d been paired as dive partners on the wreck and had been forced to do equipment checks together, they were looking at a big, fat goose egg.
Although, on second thought,a lotof things seemed to agitate Mia. Hospitals. Having a hair out of place. So maybe he shouldn’t take her reactions to him too personally.
“No.” She shook her head. Speaking of having a hair out of place, her new haircut was shorter in the back than the front, styled in loose, beachy waves. Even in the dimness of the hotel hallway it caught the light and shimmered with health. “It’s my cousin,” she explained. “When I come here and get cell service, he takes it upon himself to fill me in on the family drama I missed while I was out of range.”
Romeo lifted an eyebrow. “Must be a lot of drama.”
“You have no idea.” She rolled her eyes.
This time she succeeded in unlocking her door. He waited until she opened it and turned on the interior light before telling her, “I’m right next door if you need anything.”
It’d been one hell of a day, and he was beat. In fact, the last time he remembered being this tired, he’d still been with the Teams. The minute his head hit the pillow, he knew he’d be lights out.
He was halfway to his hotel room when Mia’s voice reached out to him. “Do you want to come in for a drink?”
He stopped in his tracks and considered the possibility he’d misheard her. Was exhaustion making him hallucinate?
Do you want to come in for a drink?He turned the words over in his head, replacing them, rearranging them, trying to come up with something thatsoundedlike them but wasn’t really them.
Nope.He was at a loss.
Okay, so shehadasked if he wanted to come in for a drink. And usuallydo you want to come in for a drinkwas a euphemism forI want you to come tear off my clothes and bounce me around on the mattress until the sun comes up, big boy.
But this was Mia Ennis. So…
He turned slowly and found her watching him with big, worried eyes. If she wrung her hands any harder, she might pull off a finger.
She certainly didn’t look like a woman who was itching for a little sumpin’ sumpin’. In fact, she looked like a woman who was two seconds away from losing her shit.
“I—” Her mouth opened and closed. She tried to shutter her expression, but he could read the message in her amber-colored eyes—those cat eyes that’d mesmerized him since the moment he caught sight of them.
Shewasagitated. But this time it wasn’t because of him.
“Breathe,” he instructed instinctively. The woman had a terrible habit of holding her breath. It made her anxiety worse.
Once she released a shuddery breath, he asked, “Is everything okay?” as he moved closer and closer to her, ignoring the urge to turn around and dart into his hotel room when it grew stronger and stronger.
Damsels in distress were his weakness. They called to the part of him that wanted to defend and protect.
“I, um.” She kept twisting those thin finger of hers and it took herculean effort not to reach out and grab her hands to stop her fidgeting. He had to shove his fists deep into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m keyed up after everything. I think some gin or vodka would help calm my nerves, but I make it a point never to drink alone.”
He watched her eyes cloud over. “My mom is an alcoholic,” she explained. “Like, the blackout drunk, smash things, hurt herself and those around her kind of alcoholic. According to Carter…” She lifted her phone. “That’s my cousin. The one who’s been texting? Anyway”—she shook her head—“according to him, she’s fresh out of rehab.Again.”
Her face contorted around a look of…he wasn’t exactly sure. Pessimism, maybe? Mixed in with a smidge of grief? Before he could respond, she continued.
“I’ve read enough books on the subject and been to enough Al-Anon meetings to take seriously the science that says it runs in families. Hence my hard and fast rule never to drink alone. Which is why I’m trying to convince you to come in and share one with me. What?” She cocked her head. “What’s that look for?”
“I’ve never heard you string that many sentences together at one time.” He shook his head in wonder. She had a nice voice when she wasn’t keeping it to barely above a whisper. It was low and raspy. The voice of one of those old film noir actresses.
