The Billionaire's Matchmaker(43)

His lazy smile faded as the first licks of anger flared in his eyes. He didn’t lose his temper often, or at least he’d rarely done so in her presence. Not since the first argument they’d had after a month into dating when she’d sidled out of reach as soon as he’d raised his voice. The pity she’d seen in his eyes as realization dawned still had the power to mortify.

Well, he was mad now.

“Okay. I did. I changed the rules. But we weren’t playing a damned game, Mia. We were in a relationship, and relationships develop over time.”

“Or they end.” She swallowed, tipped up her chin. “And ours ended.”

“Are you over me, Mia?”

She couldn’t bring herself to answer the question, in part because saying yes would be a bald-faced lie, and he’d already called her a liar. So she turned the question around.

“Are you over me?”

He snorted before replying, “I want to be.”

“It’s not the same thing,” she murmured.

“Tell me about it.”

Gid stepped closer, crowding her personal space in a way only suited to lovers or enemies. She was no longer the former, and didn’t want to be the latter. Forget going on the offensive. It was time to retreat.

“About those flowers…” she began.

Before she could step back, though, his head dipped down, and he kissed her. The initial brush of his lips was tentative, the eyes that regarded her unblinking. He drew back a fraction of an inch, waited for her to tell him no or to stop—words she should have had at the ready, but they refused to be spoken. When she remained silent, his mouth covered hers again, and Mia closed her eyes on a sigh.

The kiss deepened. She rose on tiptoe, hands braced on his chest as their bodies drew flush. Underneath her palms she could feel Gid’s heart beating every bit as erratically as her own. She remembered this. Oh, yeah. And she missed it. Standing in the circle of his arms, she felt safe, cherished, loved. If those were the only emotions, everything would have been fine. But she also felt sick with fear that he would leave her.

She ended the kiss abruptly. She’d gone down this road once. It was a dead end. And that was for the best.

“Mia—”

She shook her head. When she started to back away, though, Gid grabbed her wrist. Nothing about his action was painful or threatening. His hold was loose and could have been broken easily. Charlie was on his feet and surprised them both by growling, the fur just behind his collar spiking up in menace.

Gid released her. “Looks like you have a protector.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say she didn’t need one. She could take care of herself. Gid knew it, too. She could tell by the way his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t.”

“What?” she asked innocently.

“Don’t give me more crap about how you don’t need anyone. It’s not you against the world, Mia. It might have been at one time but it doesn’t have to be that way now. It’s okay to let someone else have your back.”

Loner. Distrustful. Has difficulty forming meaningful attachments. The assessment she’d spied long ago in her caseworker’s file rang in her head.

“I know that.” At his raised brows, she added, “My friends have my back.”

Jenny, Marney, Gabby—they were the only people around whom Mia felt comfortable dropping her guard and even that had taken a long, long time.

Gid shook his head. His expression was resigned. “I was your friend, too, you know.”

She swallowed, both stunned and shamed by the accusation she saw in his eyes. She’d never thought of their relationship in those terms, but it was true, she realized now. They had been friends as well as lovers, which perhaps explained why she missed him so damned much.

“Gid, I’m sor—”

He waved a hand, silencing her. “I don’t want another apology. You’ve offered enough of those. What I want, what I need…” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “What I need are two dozen roses.”

Flowers. They were back to discussing business. Why did she feel disappointed? She should be relieved.

“Sure.” She worked up a polite smile. Stepping around him, she said in her most professional voice, “Let me just grab an order form, and we’ll get everything taken care of.”

…

Gid followed Mia out of the back room, irritated anew when his gaze was drawn to the subtle sway of her slim hips. If it had been only attraction, he might have been able to shrug it off. But it went deeper than that. Much deeper. God help him. He still loved her every bit as desperately as he had the night he’d proposed marriage and had received her “thanks, but no thanks” reply.

Actually, her response hadn’t been quite as tidy as that, but the end result was the same. She’d turned him down flat.

He wanted Mia out of his system, but she remained as much a part of him as the air he breathed and was seemingly as vital.

Naively, he’d thought that following through with his plans to sell the practice and move across the country would exorcise her. Then she’d walked into his clinic a week earlier and, ever since, he’d done nothing but think about her. The quasi peace he’d cobbled together had shattered once again.

Coming here had been a mistake. As she’d so annoyingly pointed out, he could have called in his order. For that matter, he could have used a different florist, one closer to his childhood home in Chicago. But he’d gotten in his Jeep and had come here because…because he was a freaking idiot.