Unraveled (Unwrapped and Unraveled 2)

She turned and started walking again, but Mitch held on to her hand.

"Some dreams aren't attainable," she said.

"You can do anything you set your mind to do."

"Easy if you already have money."

"Not everyone starts with money, Greta. You just have to figure out what you want, then determine how you're going to get it. Then let nothing stand in your way until you do."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Having something that really matters to you is never easy. But it's not impossible."

"Sometimes it is impossible."

He stopped, reached for her shoulders, his fingers warm against her wind-chilled skin. "It's only impossible if you give up your dreams."

"My dreams died a long time ago."

He slid his knuckles against her cheek. "They shouldn't have. You're way too young to give up on what you really want."

"I don't know what I really want anymore. I stopped thinking about myself a long time ago."

"Maybe it's time you started again."

She shook her head. "I don't need or want anything."

His slight smile made her belly quiver. "Don't you? Are you sure there's nothing you want?"

He wasn't talking about her motel. She knew it, and he knew it.

Waves pounded the shore, sending water across her feet. But she stood rooted to the spot, her toes digging into the wet sand as Mitch moved in, erasing any space between them.

Now her own blood rushing through her veins obliterated the sound of the crashing surf. Mitch leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. She tasted wine, the salty spray of the sea, and she raised up, twining her arms around his neck to press closer, hungry for more.

Mitch obliged her, sliding his tongue inside her mouth and licking against hers, then pressing his lips more firmly, tightening his hold on her, bringing her closer to him so she could feel every hard inch of his body. He was well toned for a man his age--hell, for a man way younger than him. His body was all hard muscle as she slid her arms across his shoulders and down his arms. He palmed the small of her back and brought her against the rock hard plane of his chest, his abs, the prominent erection she couldn't--didn't want to--ignore.

Her breathing shallowed as his kiss deepened, and she forgot that his hands were on her ass, that they stood at the water's edge, right there in public. Could someone see them? Did she even care? Her brain was fuzzy--too much wine. She wanted to feel his skin under her fingertips. She had sensory overload and her synapses weren't firing correctly. She needed to think, and yet this one night she wanted to give up thinking. All she wanted to do was feel, and she was doing a pretty good job of noticing that one of Mitch's hands had cupped the cheek of her ass, the other gripped her hip and was now traveling over her waist, her ribs, and when he covered her breast she gasped into his mouth. His groan against her lips made her tremble.

She rocked against him, her pussy wet and quivering with awakening. It had been so long. She needed a man--just for tonight. Then she could take off the Cinderella ball gown, toss on her shorts and T-shirt and go back to cleaning the castle once again. But tonight, she really wanted to be the princess and enjoy the prince, knowing that she and Mitch were worlds apart, that in a week or so he'd fly off in a corporate jet somewhere, and she'd have wonderful memories of a night spent in his arms, without commitment, without strings. She demanded nothing, and neither would he.

"Please," she whispered, breaking the contact with his delicious mouth.

He pulled his head back. "You sure?"

"Yes." She loved that he asked. Cody had never asked. He'd demanded, he'd taken.

No, she'd promised herself she wouldn't think about him anymore. Ever again. And especially not tonight.

"Come on." He took her hand and led her back toward the bungalow.

She was a little nervous about being so exposed. But he surprised her by bypassing the cabana and taking the little stone steps to the walkway leading back to the hotel.

"My shoes."

"I'll have someone grab them and deliver them to the suite in the morning."

Her stomach fluttered. In the morning. They were spending the night? "Uh, Mitch..."

"I already told your mother I was kidnapping you, and that we might decide to stay over and enjoy an overnight tour of the area. She'll take care of picking up your kids in the morning from Don's and taking care of the motel."

She should be angry that he'd assumed. But she wasn't. He didn't intimate that she was a sure thing, only that she might want to enjoy the sights. He led her into the lobby, then stopped at the desk for a key, thanked the person on duty and they moved toward the elevator. He slid the key card in a slot in the elevator and they rode to the top floor.

"Penthouse?"

He smiled. "I have a suite on the top floor."

She shook her head. Of course he did.

The elevator opened directly onto the suite, which was incredible, luxurious, in blacks and creams with floor to ceiling views of the city and the ocean that she barely had time to gape at because they hadn't moved more than halfway into the main living room before Mitch swept her into his arms again and planted his mouth on hers.

She lost her breath on the first kiss, her body firing up on all cylinders as his hands roamed over the straps of her dress, rolling them over her shoulders then down her arms. Trapped, her arms pinned to her sides, time stopped. She suddenly found herself unable to breathe, her mind lost between the present and the past, remembering all too well that feeling of being unable to move, of being held, of having choice taken away from her.

No. Don't think about that. This isn't at all like it was with Cody.

But her damn mind wouldn't cooperate. She was breathing too fast, getting lightheaded, her fingertips going numb.

Shit. Not now.

"Greta? Is something wrong?"

Mitch stepped away and she hastily jerked the straps of her dress up right before her knees buckled, the room spinning out of control. He was there to catch her before she crumpled to the floor.

Idiot. Moron. Dumbass. How could she have an attack now, and at this moment?

"Whoa. What's wrong?"

She fought for breath, tried to form words but all she could do was concentrate on sucking in oxygen. Too much oxygen. Slow down. Her face was numb. She wanted to die of embarrassment, to crawl into a hole and disappear.

Mitch's voice was soft and tender as he spoke to her. "Come on. Let's sit you down." He picked her up and carried her to the sofa, set her down and then sat next to her. "Put your head down below your knees."

She knew the drill. Apparently, he did, too.

"Breathe slow, in and out. Concentrate. That's it."

His coaching helped. She followed his instructions, focusing only on the sound of his voice instead of her erratic breathing and shaky body. Soon, she could feel her fingers and toes again. It was working.

"You're not going to fall over, are you? I'm going to get you a glass of water."

She waved her hand and nodded. He left and was back not more than a minute later.

"Drink this."

Now that her head wasn't spinning, she lifted it slowly, took the glass of water and sipped, letting Mitch hold the glass since her hands were still shaking. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I brought this, too."

He swept her hair away from her neck and pressed a cold washcloth to her nape. God, that felt so good, swept away the cloying heat her cold sweat had brought on. She spent a few minutes with her hands pressed together in her lap, letting the washcloth ease the overwhelming warmth from her body. When she had it all under control again, she turned her gaze to him. "I'm really sorry, Mitch."

"Don't be. I've seen panic attacks before. Can you lean back now?"

"Yes."

He stood and opened the sliding door to let the cool breeze sweep in. Greta sucked in giant gulps of ocean filled air. With each breath, she felt more normal again. As normal as a mor

on could feel anyway.

So much for her planned evening of sweet seduction and sex. "Mitch, I can explain."

"I don't think you have to explain anything," he said, his arms folded in front of him as he looked down at her. "He held you down and forced you, didn't he?"

Okay, so she didn't have to explain. She swallowed, not wanting to admit it but figuring she owed him an explanation. "Yes."

He sat next to her on the sofa. "And I got too close, held you too tight, went too fast, and it was just like him. I'm sorry, Greta."

She turned to face him, pulling her legs up on the sofa. "You did nothing wrong. When you pulled my straps down it just triggered a memory of being pinned."

"Shit." Mitch dragged his fingers through his hair. "He tied you up?"

"Sometimes. Only if I wasn't cooperative. Which was a lot toward the end because I wanted nothing to do with him."

Mitch blew out a very loud sigh. "Why didn't you press charges?"

She let her lips curve. "It's never as easy as it seems. Pressing rape charges against your own husband is very difficult to prove. And he wasn't always like that. Just the last year or so, when the drugs took over..."