Page 79 of Mistletoe Missus
Once this meeting was through, I’d be glad to get out of here and eat some lunch. I was starving, and my tummy growled as I hit the key fob, making the car chirp. The orange lights blinked and flashed on someone close to the vehicle. I squinted my eyes to get a better view because he had moved and was down on his knees in the middle of the parking garage, but he faced me.
Mitt crouched down in my direction.
I blinked my eyes repeatedly, afraid I was seeing things, and rubbed them. My imagination must be running wild and had got away from me. I was going crazy. Mitt wasn’t here. He was with her, another woman I had never seen before Mitt broke my heart and stomped on it.
“I’m sorry, Tinsley,” Mitt voiced as his echo bounced throughout the parking garage and he held up traffic behind him.
“Mitt?” I questioned, unable to believe my eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I fucked up,” he answered.
I ambled forward. “How did you find me?”
Vehicles honked behind him, and he ignored them all. The man who had ruined my life kneeled on his knees with something in his hand that I couldn’t see. Until he held the object out in front of him.
“I followed the compass you gave me, which led me straight to you.”
Unbelievable. Mitt had not only gone crazy; he was corny as fuck. He could take his cheesiness and shove it up his cold-hearted ass.
“I don’t have time for this. Go back to your mansion, Mitt,” I huffed bitterly. “Your new whore needs you.”
I walked toward the passenger side door, but the son of a bitch blocked my way. Before I could formulate how much I hated him, Mitt clenched the compasses chain between his teeth and his hands met the concrete. Mitt Morgan crawled to me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked with panicked wide eyes. “Get up! Leave!”
Mitt shook his head. My husband continued his act of begging for forgiveness down on his hands and knees as he worshipped the ground I walked on. His gorgeous hazel eyes weren’t emotionless, they were brightly lit with devotion andtears. Affection peered straight at me, tugged at my heart, and begged to be one with my soul.
Suddenly, I heard a commotion and glanced up to see arms flailing in the air. Car lights hit the figured shadow and I couldn’t make out who it was. Until I heard him yell out, “Mr. Morgan! Mr. Morgan!”
Mitt muffled, “Not now, Albert.”
“But I have something—”
Mitt ripped the chain from his mouth.
He shouted, “Not now, Albert! I’m groveling for my wife, and I’ll beg for the rest of my days to have her forgive me.”
Mitt’s eyes locked on me.
“I’ll pine for you forever,” he whispered.
“Why do you keep doing this to me?” I asked through trembling lips. “Just leave me alone.”
I went to stroll past Mitt, but he grabbed my wrist. Electricity fused from our connection, and he stopped me right on the spot. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe and I was afraid to look at him because if I did, he’d see how weak I was for him. How vulnerable he made me and how much I wanted him back. But Mitt had cheated on me, and we were over.
“I can’t... I can’t fucking stop the pain prying away at my hollow soul,” Mitt said, breathing heavily, his tone full of regret. “I want you, Tinsley. I need you to stop the hurt I’ve caused and fix the broken man I am because I’m nothing without you. I need you to make me whole.”
Finally, my eyes met his, moist with tears, and his cheeks were all wet with remorse. I felt his plea deep inside of me as my pain mixed with his, and I wanted nothing more than to forgive him, but I couldn’t. The damage was done.
“No, I can’t ever forgive you. Once a cheater, always a cheater,” I breathed with disgust and ripped my hand from his. “Goodbye, Mitt.”
I went to walk away from my husband and leave him down on the ground. Flee from the grip he held over me and get away while I still could, but the two-timer clung to me. Mitt wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, and he wouldn’t let me go.
Mitt cried out, “No, my sweet angel! I’ll never let you go!”
“Mitt, please, don’t do this,” I whispered and peered down at his dark-haired head.
So badly, my fingers ached to crawl through each strand and touch his smooth waves again. To run over the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck and gently tug on them. I wanted to hear Mitt groan for me as I made my way to his whiskers and down his neck, falling to his pulse racing. I wanted my husband to make me feel alive, complete and his again.
