Page 22 of Mine to Tease

“No!” Ana yells, meeting my gaze once more. I shake my head, not believing her. “No,” she says again. This time she speaks softly as she brings her hands to my cheeks. Her touch helps to soothe some of the fury tearing at my insides. But I still need an explanation from her. Who is this guy and what is she doing with him? And if the pictures weren’t for him, then who the fuck is she taking them for? And she better not fucking say social media or OnlyFans, because I’ll be damned.

“The pictures,” Ana starts, in an attempt to avoid any more discussion of Christian. “They’re part of my marketing strategy. You know? For social media and my website. This is one of the pieces I’ll be selling,” she says, moving her hands to tug at the lapels of her robe. As she does, a sliver of black lace is revealed. The sight of it only makes me feel more possessive over her. “I have to have someone model them, so why not me? And besides, I can have the images blurred so that the see-through parts aren’t so see-through.”

“I don’t care, Anastasia,” I say, towering over her. Even with her seated on the countertop, there’s still a small height difference. “You are not posting those pictures. Over my dead body.” My face only inches from hers, Ana’s eyes do not leave mine. If she’s intimidated she doesn’t show it. She lifts her brow as if to challenge me.

“Well, that’s not really your decision, Damon. And, besides, I’m not breaking any of your rules. No man is touching me. And technically, this is a teddy, so it’s not even breaking the no-underwear rule.” Oh, she thinks she’s fucking smart, huh? No, princess. We don’t play the loophole game around here.

“You think I give a fuck? You’re mine.” At that, I move my hands to her thighs. Gripping her tight enough to elicit a gasp, I say, “No one gets to touch you or look at your even remotely close to naked body except me. Understood? And regardless of the technical language of our agreement, in what world do you think it’s okay for you to go on a date? In what world is it okay for you to be with another man while still?—”

“It’s not a date.”

“Ana, don’t lie to me or yourself,” I say, taking a step back from her.

“I mean, maybe it is. Maybe he thinks it is. I don’t know.” She runs her fingers through her hair, exasperated. “I don’t know what he thinks or I think. I just know that he seems nice and?—”

“Am I not nice?” I ask, cutting her off. My voice is sharp and quick, like a venomous snake bite, as my eyes narrow in on her. Her mascara-stained cheeks blush and her lips part. Unsure of how to respond, she lowers her head once more.

“It’s not that— It’s just…” As she fights to find her words, she turns her attention to her cuticles. I can tell my demeanor has made her nervous and that makes me feel like an asshole. I’m doing my best here to keep my emotions in check for her sake and her sake only. Yet, it’s obvious I’m failing. It takes everything I have not to pick her up and take her with me to the Compound this very second because I know exactly what that man wants from her even if she isn’t sure what she wants from him and like Hell. Like fucking Hell!

How the fuck did she have time to meet someone? And how did I not know about it? Not only as the man she’s engaged with, but as her protector? I’m furious—at her, at myself, at the bastard formerly known as Christian because he’s as good as dead. And yet, in all this, my strongest emotion isn’t anger, it’s betrayal. Was she ever going to tell me? We have an understanding. At least, I thought we did. And, even if we didn’t, the last thing I want to see is her with another man in any capacity. I don’t care if he’s gay and their relationship is completely platonic. Fuck him. A dick is a dick and mine is the only one allowed around my woman.

But, as my thoughts run wild, so wild they crash into a concrete wall, I’m forced to accept that she isn’t mine, not really. If she was, she wouldn’t be open to something more. She wouldn’t have said yes when he asked her out. Yet, I know why she did. It’s the same reason she left disappointed in me last week—the same reason she’s been distant this week. She wants something more, something I can’t give her. At that, I slam my throbbing hands against the countertop, gripping on to the edge to keep them steady as Ana flinches. Shit. I sink my head as I notice how close my palms came to her thighs. She should know by now not to be afraid of me. But, Hell, in this moment, I can’t blame her. I would never lay my hands on her, but my temper is a separate demon I must conquer—the Dupont in me.

I pinch my eyes closed then as I take a deep breath. My muscles clench and then relax as I repeat the process. Ana is quiet and still as I collect myself. The only sounds between us are her beating heart and the soft whirl of her breath, which tickles the back of my neck as I keep my head hung. Though, as all my emotions hit me at once, one sound overtakes them all—the pounding of my own heart turned to a sharp ring in my ear. It’s the same ringing I get after a close-quarters gunshot. And yet, these emotions, this pain is no comparison to a bullet piercing the skin. It’s infinitely worse.

I thought I was being smart. Well, stupidly smart. I never should’ve allowed our relationship to take the turn it did. Even before we became intimate, I had a certain interest in her. Over time that interest has only grown, and yet, like I do with everyone else, I’ve kept her at arm’s length because I never want to get attached. I never want to care enough about someone that losing them would hurt me. Though, this pain I feel lets me know rules or no rules, label or no label, sex or no sex, Anastasia Cross has my heart. I can’t deny it anymore. And she’s about to walk out that door with it while she gives hers to another man. My body feels as if I’ve been hit by a truck—aching and heavy—and yet, still I seek more pain, a wall to punch, a glass to break, a face to pummel to rid myself of the truest pain and that is of heartbreak.

“Damon, it’s not that you’re not nice,” she whispers. Bringing her hands to my shoulders, she massages my skin, and I continue to take more deep breaths. Her touch is everything, so much so I savor it, uncertain if I’ll ever feel it again. “I mean, look at what you did today? The snacks, they mean everything to me. And everything you’ve done to help me with my shop. But I…I just…” There’s a lump in her throat as she struggles to continue, but unlike before, I don’t push her to speak. In this moment, I don’t want to know the truth. Or, rather, I don’t want her to confirm what I already sense.

“Stop,” I tell her. “Stop talking and just keep touching me.”

“Okay,” Ana whispers and continues to massage my shoulders, then my neck. Next, she runs her fingers through my hair. All the while, I keep my eyes closed and steady my breathing. The tension in my body releases. My heartbeat slows. The ringing in my ear ceases. Yet, as she brings her delicate finger to my chin, prompting me to meet her gaze, I find a sadness in her features that I know mimics mine.

I care about Anastasia in a way I’ve never cared for anyone. I…I love her, even though I don’t want to, even though I don’t know how to. It’s because I love her that I can’t stand in her way. If she has the chance to find happiness with someone more stable, more kind, someone removed from this life of crime she seems desperate to escape, someone who can simply give her more of themselves, then I owe it to her to let her have it.

“Damon, I?—”

“You’re going to be late,” I say then. Ana lets out a soft gasp. Her cheeks become tight with emotion as her eyes flit between mine, searching for something—something she clearly does not find. She lowers her head and her lip begins to quiver. I know I’m pushing her away. It’s obvious from our conversation last week that her feelings have grown too. And so I know this hurts her, just as much as it hurts me. But it’s for the best that we end our arrangement and go back to the way things were. Or, at least, a version of that. I’ll be the guy downstairs, her pain-in-the-ass landlord, a frenemy. But, most importantly, I’ll be the guy in the shadows keeping her safe and letting her live the life she deserves.

As tears threaten to escape my own eyes, I move my hand to her neck and slowly bring my lips to hers. At first, she doesn’t kiss me back. She can’t. Emotion rips through her as she lets out a loud cry. Fresh tears fall from her eyes. But finally, she finds the strength to return my kiss and it is heartbreakingly magical. I can feel her care for me. I can feel her give up all control and submit. I can feel her melt into me as if we’re becoming one. It’s a kiss I wish could last forever. And yet, it is our last. We can’t continue the way things have been, not when there are this many emotions involved. I have to let her go and so I do.

It takes everything in me to break our kiss, but I pull my lips from hers and take a step back. Standing before her, I find she’s kept her eyes closed. She sits still, as if she’s savoring our last moment together just as I will. Slowly, her features change. She adjusts her posture, sitting up straight. Her lips press into a flat line. The tightness of her cheeks settles. When she opens her eyes, she does not look at me with love or even sadness. Instead, her eyes are empty, void of all emotion. It hurts to see her like this, but perhaps it’s for the best. Perhaps it’ll be easier for her to let go.

I lower my head as she hops down off the countertop. Quickly, she moves around her shop, grabbing her phone and her purse. She covers up the mascara stains on her cheeks, fixes her eye makeup, and applies a deep red lipstick. Next, she moves to the back of the store and reaches for a light blue satin dress hanging on one of the racks. I’m not sure how much time has passed since her alarm first went off, but I take it she doesn’t have time to go home and change before her date. Perhaps I should leave. Give her some privacy, or at a minimum, not torture myself by watching her get ready to see another man. Yet, I am unable to part from her. Aside from the small movements required to turn in place, my feet feel as if they are encased in concrete.

With her back toward me, she slips off her robe, giving me one last glimpse of her near-naked body, though I don’t take it. I keep my eyes focused on her long, tousled curls. I imagine their softness and do my best to remember her sweet scent. As she slips on her skin-hugging dress over her sexy black lingerie, I question if I can do this, if I can truly let her walk out that door and into the arms of another. Perhaps, more so, I question if I can still complete my duties as her protector, watching her from the shadows as she falls for him. She turns to face me then. Our eyes meet for only a second before she moves to the display table in the center of the room. In them I find a sort of disdain that reminds me of the day we met. As her hatred for me builds, I realize I don’t have a choice. There’s no going back. The damage is done.

Anastasia digs through one of the cardboard boxes on the display table and from it pulls a choker necklace made of large diamonds, or something that looks like diamonds, and a bracelet to match. She quickly puts them on and then slips into a pair of nude heels with straps that work their way around her ankles. Dressed to utter perfection, she stands tall and takes a deep breath. It’s the first sound she’s uttered since the sounds of heartbreak ripped through her. It prompts me to do the same.

Quickly, she spins and moves toward the door, grabbing her purse along the way. “I need you to watch Brinkley while I’m gone. I shouldn’t be longer than a couple of hours.” Ana’s voice is stern as she gives me my command without so much as a glance in my direction. With that, she leaves the two of us in dead silence. I stand still, listening to her heels click against the wooden stairs for as long as the sound carries. As I hear the door to the parlor slam shut behind her, a single tear falls from my eye.

“I’ll be right behind you, baby bird,” I whisper.

24

It’s a short walk from Damon’s and my shops to Brennan’s, which is where I’m meeting Christian, and yet, it felt like the longest walk of my life. With each step I took, my feet grew heavier and heavier and my emotions harder to repress. I contemplate them as I stand under the warm glow of the gas lanterns framing the front of the beautiful pink-painted building. It’s three stories of gorgeous French architecture and dates back God only knows how many hundreds of years. Formerly a residence, the bedrooms and various parlors have all been converted into dining rooms, some for private gatherings or large parties, most all decorated in shades of green, blue, and pink. I took the liberty of looking at the menu and aesthetic ahead of time so I’d know how to dress and what to expect. It’s the perfect place for a first date or a hundredth date. Yet, the mere thought of the word date leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

I’m angry at Damon, hurt and confused by him, but, most of all, angry. This whole thing with Christian began not because I wasn’t interested in Damon, but because I was becoming too interested. But how heartbreaking is that? The first man I’ve ever genuinely liked, perhaps even a bit more than liked, and now I have to replace him, forget him as if that’s ever going to be possible. There’s something about Damon that is stuck to me like honey on a hot day. His essence is sweet, a bit sticky, messy, but warm and…dare I say, comforting? As thoughts of our time together come to me, I pinch my eyes closed and take a deep breath, fighting the tears that threaten to ruin my fresh makeup.

---