The Billionaire's Virgin(59)

The look on her face softened. “I’ve survived the streets of New York. I think I can survive one jackass billionaire.”

She didn’t understand, that was clear. She thought she saw something in him, but it wasn’t there. He knew it wasn’t. All those things he’d done for her, he’d done because he’d been curious. Because he’d wanted to play with her, that was all. Not because he was some kind of great guy. And as for the “amazing” part, that was just the sex talking. People said all kinds of shit after sex like that.

He didn’t want to keep arguing with her though, so he let it lie, easing her gently away from him. “Hold that thought. This jackass billionaire has to go deal with the condom.”

Getting out of bed, he headed straight to the bathroom where he tossed the condom in the wastebasket then stood at the vanity, gripping the sides of the basin, something cold sitting in the pit of his stomach.

He didn’t know what the hell was going on with him.

Yeah, you do. Stop denying it.

Xavier let out a long breath, the sound hissing in the silence of the bathroom.

Of course he knew what was wrong. It was Mia. It was her, soft and warm in his bed. Her, touching him, giving him pleasure as if he deserved it. Her, reaching for him, telling him she needed him, that he was amazing.

It was her, reaching into his chest and wrapping her fingers around his heart.

Slowly, Xavier lifted his head and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He wanted to keep her. He wanted to keep her forever. He wanted to love her.

But he couldn’t, because he didn’t know how. Didn’t how to love someone without hurting them, without breaking them. Hadn’t his mother told him that over and over again?

These aren’t small things to me. They’re my life. You’re giving me a home, Xavier. You’re giving me everything I ever wanted . . .

This meant so very much to her. But no matter what she said, he’d screw it up. Because he was careless, because he didn’t think. Because he was just a fucking “redneck in a suit.”

Guys like him couldn’t be trusted with women like her. Oh, she’d said she was strong, and of course she was. But this wasn’t about surviving physically. This was about emotional hurt, and he knew—Christ he just fucking knew—how deep those scars could go.

He didn’t want that kind of pain for her. Which mean that all these ideas he had of taking her with him to Wyoming, of having her make her home with him, they were merely wishful thinking.

He couldn’t take her with him. He couldn’t risk it.

Before, it hadn’t mattered to him, because after this mother’s death, he’d made very sure not to care about anything or anyone. But that was before Mia had come into his life. Before she’d started to matter. And she did matter. She mattered so very much.

Then you know what to do, don’t you?

Ice moved through him, freezing everything except for what felt like a knife skewering through the center of his chest, blazing with heat, with pain.

Yeah, he knew. The best home for Mia wasn’t with him in Wyoming. It was here in New York. Away from him. She had her own life to live, her own goals to achieve. A home of her own and a man who’d be able to love her properly, not the clumsy careless love that was all he was capable of.

If he really wanted to keep her safe, he was going to have to let her go.

The pain in his chest blazed a little brighter, but he ignored it. Pushing himself away from the vanity, he left the bathroom and returned to the bedroom, pausing a moment in the doorway.

Mia was lying on her front, her head pillowed on her arms. She must have heard him, because she turned her head a little to see him. She smiled, and the knife in his chest twisted hard.

He would keep his promises to her, that much he’d make sure of.

But that’s all he could give her.





Chapter 11


Mia woke with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach and it took a minute or two of lying there with her eyes shut to figure out what it was. She was warm, but then waking up in Xavier’s apartment always meant she was warm, so it wasn’t just that. It was about more than just the warmth. There was also a jumpy, restless kind of sensation that went along with it, that made her want to throw back the covers and get up and just go do . . . something.

Idiot. You’re happy.

She took a quick breath, cautiously examining the feeling. Really? Was that what it was? Happiness? It had been such a long time since she’d felt anything like it, so she couldn’t be sure. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt it at all. Sure, there had been fleeting moments: that time in school when her teacher had told her she’d done a good job with a drawing; that summer afternoon when her grandmother was talking on the phone, leaving her alone for once, and she’d curled up in that patch of sun on her bedroom floor; finding the spot behind the Dumpster in the alley; discovering the overcoat in the clothing bin at the shelter.