Page 43 of Winters Heat

“Alejandro,mi amigo, if she’s to your liking, you may keep her as a reward for your continued excellence.” Without second thought to the tormented fate of the young woman, Juan Carlos returned to his desk to review a ledger.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Winters had a raw lump at the back of his throat since Mia had held Clara earlier in the day. And that kiss by the window didn’t help. Hell if he’d known he craved domestic bliss. Seeing her hold his kid knocked Mia intergalactic-style past the Milky Way.

He had made his way home in a flash, driving like a man intent on sharing his newfound revelation. Now, he towered over her freshly showered body, relishing the scent of his shampoo in her hair. He resisted the urge to finger-comb it. They were in his living room. An empty house, except for the two of them. Too bad he missed another shower with her.

“This could be complicated.” He rubbed a few dark strands of her wet hair between his fingers. “It feels complicated. It feels likesomething, and, doll, I’m not used toanything.”

He broke from her, scrubbed his hands over his cheeks, hoping to push away the sinking dread. He was saying the wrong things. Mia remained mum, and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Without his conscious permission, his hands found her tresses again. “I’m sorry I had to drag you into this. Into my home. Into my family.”

“It’s not that Idislikebeing here.” She tried to brush his hands from her hair, but it was no use. He couldn’t keep his hands off her.

“Oh, it’s not, huh?” He laughed, cupping her chin in his hand. “Tell me then, Miss Psychologist. Where does all your anxiety stem from?”And tell me the root of mine while you’re at it.

“From places you don’t want to know. Places I don’t want to share.”

“Why not? You know things about me. All my shit. You know all about Clara and how she came into my life. You know my biggest fear is an inability to protect my family. That my career could somehow hurt Clara one day.” He took a breath. He sounded like a chick. “I showed you mine. What about yours?”

“Truth?” she asked, dripping in hesitation.

“You want to stop now?”

“Well, no.” A grandfather clock shook the room. Tic. Tic. Toc. “I don’t do family…”

“You’ve established that.”

“Because, well, it’d be better if I showed you. Look at this beauty.” She turned, dropped the waistband of her pants, and pointed to an old scar on her bottom.

His eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. Were those scars?How did I not see that?She’d been below him and in front of him, but never bottom up. One line after another. They were definitely scars. Smooth and faded but very much there.

She lifted her chin, took his angry fist, unfolded his fingers, and traced a narrow line. “And over here. They’re cuts. Slices. Deep reminders in my flesh as to where I came from and what I need to avoid.”

He stood furious and mute, not knowing where to take his line of questioning. Kind words and coherent thoughts evaded him. It was his turn to go silent, despite the storm that thrashed inside his chest. He’d kill the motherfucker.

“And I have marks on the back of my legs, real high up. Right under my butt. Thicker. Wider.”

Thicker? Wider? He’d been so… distracted. He was a piece of shit. How did he not see this?

“Mia, baby. I didn’t—”

“You wouldn’t see them if you weren’t looking. They’re old. But nowhere near forgotten.”

Deep pools teemed on the edge of her bottom eyelids, threatening a flash flood. They never fell, forced back by what could only be a will made of steel.

“Mia…” What could he possibly offer this moment? He hated himself for not having a fucking hot spring of extraordinary things to say. For not knowing how to take away the pain she must’ve been feeling.

“My mother drank like a fish. Or a sailor. Or whatever the worse of the two is. She chased her liquor with her pills. Pint-sized pills. Big-dog pills. Pink and blue. Yellow and white. Square and round and rectangle. She loved variety.”

There were the walls. The sarcasm. It all made sense.

“She hurt you?” he asked but knew it didn’t matter what her response was. Someone hurt her, someone who should have to pay in gigantic proportions.

“Oh, no. She never hurt me. She just focused on laundry, or she’d watch television. Though sometimes, on the days I thought she couldn’t love me any less, she’d go for a walk. Come to think of it, that hurt more than any stupid cut.”

How could a mother hurt her baby? He’d never understand it. He’d spent his life fixing wrongs others couldn’t handle themselves. Mia was trying to keep it together in front of him. It shouldn’t have been this way. She shouldn’t have these memories and scars.

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