Page 40 of Mistletoe Missus
Mitt turned his head to me. “I understand what it’s like to feel scared as a child. Afraid beyond belief but trapped inside a nightmare with no way out.”
I scooted closer to Mitt and propped my head up in my hand, tracing the scars on his chest I was sure were cigarette burns. “Are these from the fear you experienced?”
Something changed in Mitt’s eyes, and he winced as if I had caused him pain. The softness left him and he turned ice cold. Bitterness nipped at me as he retreated and closed off all emotion, leaving me with an empty shell of a man.
“No. Those are nothing,” Mitt snapped and pushed my hand away.
I pressed. “Who did this to you?”
A sliver of hope stirred in his eyes as if my words had affected him, but Mitt masked everything with a blank face. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does, Mitt,” I argued. “Didhegive you these cigarette burns? Did your father do this to you?”
Mitt simply pulled away from me and ignored my question. But his silence was all the answer I needed. Cyprus Morgan was far more sinister than I had ever imagined. He had abused his son, his only child, and traumatized him to the point he thought there was no way out. Mitt’s father continued to use him when he should love him unconditionally, not betray his already tainted trust.
I watched in silence as Mitt rolled over and didn’t speak a word. Cyprus had done this to him and made his son into a bitterperson. He had made a man as powerful as Mitt incapable of love. But as I closed my eyes to shut down the sadness inside, I wondered what else my father-in-law was capable of.
TWENTY-ONE
Frigid Pastime
Tinsley
The next day, I woke up to Mitt not in bed. He must’ve left early for work or didn’t want to be around me as soon as the sun rose because of my question about his scars. I already had my answer, though.
There was a note left on his side of the bed with a message in neatly written cursive.
Be at the Elegant Empire restaurant at six p.m. sharp for dinner. Don’t be late, Wife, or else.
Or else what, Mitt? You’ll have me endure another mind-blowing orgasm, and this time I’ll come all over your hand?
Well, there wouldn’t be a next time. I’d see to that. Mitt might have helped me overcome my fears, but that didn’t change the fact I still wanted out of this mess—this disaster of a marriage—and far away from my demanding husband.
I fumed with anger all morning thanks to Mitt and his orders about our dinner plans. He didn’t even ask me if I wanted to join him or invite me out to dinner like a gentleman. Mitt Morgan was possessive, and it had gone straight to his damn head. But it was such a nice, gorgeous face with high cheekbones sculpted to perfection and featherlike lips I wanted to kiss.
Oh, to hell with him!
I resembled a toddler stomping through my husband’s mansion to find my things, but Mitt had done as he had promised, and all of my belongings were at Morgan Estates. I didn’t have to do anything—the movers had done everything while we slept. My husband surely spent big bucks to order movers to do their job past business hours, but I didn’t care. At least I had my trusty makeup and hairbrush to deal with my wacky appearance. I wouldn’t dare go outside and reveal my scar, resembling Marv fromHome Aloneafter he got electrocuted. No way, not in this lifetime.
At least Mitt had done one thing right. Everything was prepared for me to start my morning instead of walking into work looking like a complete mess. My job was important to me, and another event was in the making. The excitement of the plans to unfold was on my mind as I made my way toward the front door to leave, but a text message stopped me in the hallway.
That better not be Mitt. I didn’t need another unwanted request, or help me God, I might have his head. Or sit on his face while he feasted on my pussy and made me forget about his overbearing behavior.
I cursed out loud at the naughty thought and peered down at the text message in annoyance.
Beau Kingston: I need to talk to you.
Great. An even bigger pain in my ass than my husband. My cheating asshole ex-boyfriend.
Me: I have nothing to say to you.
Another desperate text came through.
Beau Kingston: I’m sorry for everything I did. I was wrong. Please. I need to see you. Can you meet me at our special spot?
I shouldn’t give Beau the time of day. He deserved nothing from me after what he had done. I didn’t owe him a meeting, andI certainly didn’t have to hear any lame excuse for why he did what he did.
I ignored him. My heels clicked along the tiled floor as I made my way toward my exit and retrieved my black fur coat. I caught sight of a light snowfall outside, and there was a frosty design on the glass. I could see through it enough to see Albert awaited me. The chauffeur prepped the limousine, and it was ready to go, all warm and cozy inside to escape the icy chill Mother Nature had whipped up. I put on the coat as the fur wrapped me in warmth and threw the fuzzy hood over my head. I didn’t need snow to screw up my hair that I had worked hard to fix after Mitt had me screaming for him last night in bed.
