My Summer in London (My Summer #1)(32)
“How easily you break my heart, Serena. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” He feigned hurt, clutching his chest as if he truly was in pain.
I had to hand it to him; he truly was entertaining to be around.
“You’re usually not back until Monday, so I’ll see you then.” Anyone in the house knew he went in and out, and on weekends, he was usually MIA and wouldn’t be back until later Monday afternoon. It only took one look at him to know how hard he partied over the weekend. He was the infamous wild child, and he lived it to its entireness.
“I do, don’t I?” he mused before daringly adding, “But you never know … Something tells me I might be coming home more often soon enough.”
“Ha. Don’t count on it, mister.” Getting up from my seat, I declined when he offered to walk me to my room. Instead, he settled for kissing the back of my hand, playing up the lothario gentleman he was.
“Pleasant, erotic dreams, Serena,” he said before sending me one of those teasing grins of his.
Oh, boy. This guy was pure trouble. The word was written all over him. God help the women who fell into his trap. They would probably never recover. Thank goodness I wasn’t … Well, had Cruz not been in the picture, I could have easily been persuaded by his amazing good looks and personable persona. What woman wouldn’t?
“Yeah, right. Goodnight, Archer. Be safe, yeah?” I bid him farewell before hurriedly striding towards the stairs so I could curl up in my bed and sleep this pang of sadness that had settled in and given me severe chest pains for most of the night.
It was already past eleven at night, and Margery had retired for the night an hour and a half ago. Thinking about her made me smile. She had done well tonight. She was in her element, socializing and mingling amongst friends.
Taking the steps, I basically sprinted so I could get onto the landing and take my shoes off. My soles were aching, my body was abuzz with alcohol, and my mind persistently raced like a damn broken video player, particularly focusing on the man who had eyes that seemingly melted me inside and out.
Sighing, I strode down the hall that led to my bedroom with half-closed lids.
Upon opening the bedroom door, I was about to throw my shoes onto the couch when I realized I wasn’t alone.
“Cruz! What in the world are you doing in my bedroom? I thought you had left. What the f*uk!” I screeched with my eyes popping out of my sockets while the deafening sound of my heartbeat echoed in my ears.
He remained still as he stood before the window with his back to me, staring at the darkness of the night.
Why wasn’t he acknowledging me? I silently worried.
How badly I wanted to walk across the room and demand answers as to why he was in my bedroom, invading my privacy, but I was too chicken-shit to do so. I knew this visit meant something. After what had happened downstairs, God knew what kind of backlash I would get after making out with his brother. Apologizing for it was out of the equation. He wouldn’t hear of it. Regardless, I did it in part to save us both, and I hoped I could convince him of that. Never in my life had I considered he would be waiting for me here, in my bedroom of all places.
“Say something,” I pleaded after minutes of nothingness.
He chose to remain silent, still with his hands in his pocket, seeming as if he was looking down into the world, plotting how to annihilate it.
I didn’t need to see his face to know how incensed he was. I could feel his anger rolling off him in waves, sending frightful shivers all over me. I supposed I had asked for this.
“Cruz, please say something.” I tried once more then took a few steps towards him, but I halted in the middle of the room. Call it guilt or whatever, but I couldn’t get close to him without fearing he would burn me in one way or another.
With his back still facing me, I heard him take a deep breath before uttering a command. “Whatever is going on with you and my brother, I demand you stop it immediately.” His words were delivered with precision, cutthroat and unforgiving, just like the very man himself, who to this very moment, remained an enigma to me.
His beautiful, silver eyes were just as mercurial as his mood. It was difficult to read him, let alone know what truly was going on with him or what he truly felt for me.
I understood his rage. Of course I did. However, I was my own woman with my own mind, my own heart, and my own decisions to make.
Lifting my chin in defiance, I counted a few times before responding to him. “At work, you’re my boss, but in my personal life, I’m in charge of it. Please don’t ever tell me what to do again.”
My hardheaded stance didn’t evoke any emotions from him, but when I finally decided it was time to hash this out, he then chose to show a little more of himself.
“You’re punishing me for pushing you away,” he accused in a soft, monotonous voice.
Why wasn’t he facing me still? Why couldn’t he look me in the eye and tell me this, instead? I wanted to see him. I craved to see those eyes that never failed to ensnare my common sense.
“No,” I vehemently denied, “that’s not true.”
“You did everything you could to get under my skin, and the moment you did, you scuttled away and latched on to the next man you encountered.” His hate-filled words echoed in the room and left holes in my once intact armor.
“That’s a vile thing to say.” I was seething with anger, with the need to explain my erratic actions, and all the other frustrations I hadn’t yet addressed. I was a mixture of it all, waiting to erupt and out for blood.