Page 51 of For Your Eyes Only
“Who says you would’ve been sexually frustrated?” He holds out his hands. “I would’ve taken care of my wife.”
I catch his fingers, pulling them down. “I don’t want that. I don’t want a husband who settles for me because he can’t have what he really wants. I don’t want to be a consolation prize.”
“You are so much more than a consolation prize.” His voice is warm, but I know it doesn’t hold the meaning I need.
Shaking my head, I continue walking. “Back to this man. We had an amazing dinner. He made me feel like no one ever has.” I exhale heavily. “Now he won’t speak to me.”
“Why not?”
My chin dips, and I study my fingers. “He has so many reasons. I’m not sure exactly which one is the problem.”
Pushing off the bench, I start to walk again. Maybe talking to Misha is a bad idea. How could he ever understand what Trip is feeling? Even if Trip weren’t my boss, even if I hadn't hidden my true identity from him, how could he tolerate watching me dance like that for other men?
Michele is with me again, catching my wrist. “Tell me one of his reasons.”
Squinting up at him, I watch his face closely as I ask, “If we were together, and you weren’t gay, would you care if I were a stripper?”
To his credit, he doesn’t flinch. “I wouldn’t like it. I would be worried about your safety. But if I loved you, it wouldn’t be enough to break that love.”
It’s entirely too soon for love to be on the table when it comes to Trip Alexander.
“Would it matter to you that I was a virgin?”
A teasing smile splits his cheeks, and his green eyes sparkle. “But I thought you were no longer a virgin.”
Damn him for being so good-looking. I’d never have let him string me along for a year if he weren’t. Oh, hell, or maybe I would have.
“Answer the question.”
His expression grows serious, and he nods, his dark brow lowering. “I never wanted to take that from you, not if there was a chance you might find a man who would love you better.”
“Better than you?”
We face each other, and a familial warmth is between us, this friend who holds so much of my history. “You always have a special place for your first. He is someone you’ll never forget, so if it can be special, it should be very special.”
Taking his arm, I lean my head against his shoulder. “You’ve always been so good to me, Misha. Thank you.”
“Mariposa,” he coos, moving as if to place his lips to my head.
We’re not paying attention to the path ahead, when a steel-gray Lamborghini screeches to a stop on the shoulder in front of us. It’s so sudden and unexpected, I jump in place.
The door opens, and my heart flies to my throat when I see who’s storming out of the vehicle. Trip slams his door too hard, stalking towards us with fire in his eyes.
Even angry. He’s also gorgeous as fuck (Maybe even moreso because he’s angry?) in a blue blazer over a cream-linen dress shirt. He’s wearing jeans and loafers, and the possession radiating from his face makes me shiver.
His eyes level on mine, the green smoldering like fire. “Who’s this guy?”
I’m ready to fall at his feet and kiss those damn loafers, but before I can say a word, Michele steps forward projecting a machismo he never shows.
“Who are you?” His chest is puffed up, and my jaw drops.
“Trip Alexander.” They’re standing too close, and if they fight, I swear…
“Michele Santorino.”
“He’s my friend.” I pull Michele’s arm so I can step between them.
The men don’t break eye contact.