Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

Relief washes over me when Adrian pulls into the driveway. I’m home. I’m home and no one can ever make me leave again—unless Mateo doesn’t want me anymore.

My mind conjures images of that, of Mateo hurling horrible, heartbreaking words at me. The anguish of seeing him hurting and not being able to fix it.

I squeeze him a little tighter.

In response to the slight tightening, Mateo leans his head closer and asks quietly, “Are you okay?”

I sit up just enough to give him a kiss. Given I’m drained and we’re in the car with Rafe and Adrian, I only intended a light expression of affection, but Mateo’s hand moves up my back and around my neck to hold me close while he deepens it.

After a moment, he pulls back. He surveys me, checking on me, doing one of his reads. Finally, he rests his forehead against mine and tells me, “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Promise?” I ask.

Nodding once, he gives me a comforting squeeze as he guides me back into the safe haven of his chest. “I promise.”

Chapter Nineteen

Mia

When Mateo takes my hand and leads me upstairs, I expect him to take me to my bedroom, but we go to his.

Once we’re inside, he closes the door on the outside world. It’s the first time I feel like I can breathe again since coming home. This is where I’m safest—when it’s just me and him, carefully installed in our own little bubble, isolated from the outside world.

Mateo steps forward, his warm brown eyes moving over me, taking inventory of his property, making sure all the right pieces and parts are still there. His strong hands move to my hips, his signature grip, and it makes my heart flip over as he pulls me against him and presses his forehead to mine, closing his eyes and just soaking up my presence.

“I’m so sorry,” I finally say, my voice small. “I should’ve known better.”

He pulls me tighter, faintly shaking his head. “You’re safe now, that’s all that matters.”

There’s still so much between us, so much he doesn’t know. So much I need to tell him. I don’t want to, but it weighs on me. I have no idea where to begin. I swallow, hating the world, resenting Vince for taking me, furious at myself for letting any of this happen. Mateo deserves someone stronger. Someone more wily and less pliable.

Sniffling a little, I ask, “Where’s Meg?”

“With the girls.”

I nod, wrapping my arms around his neck and puling myself close to him. “I missed you so much it hurt.”

His hand skims my back tenderly. “I couldn’t find you,” he murmurs back. “I knew you were with him, but I couldn’t find you and it scared me to death.”

“Can we just lie together for a little while?” I ask. I’ve missed being in his arms more than anything. I need to feel him against me, to bask in his strength and control when I feel so opposite those things right now.

Wordlessly he moves his hands under my ass and lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist and he carries me over to the bed, dropping a gentle kiss on my lips before lowering me to the bed.

Finally something stirs. Finally something pushes through the murkiness in my mind, the heaviness of all my emotions, and the sight of him crawling across the bed toward me strikes a primal chord. Relief follows right on its heels because I still want this man so much, and I can see in his eyes he still wants me. He has to assume since Vince took me that someone else’s hands were on me, even if he doesn’t have verification yet. I wish we never had to discuss anything that happened. I need him to unleash himself inside me and blow away everything that isn’t him.

He climbs into his spot and pulls me into his arms. For just a few minutes, he gives me wordless comfort. He holds me, kisses me, caresses me—he gives me his love, letting me know I still have it. It doesn’t make me feel any better, though; he doesn’t know there’s any reason I shouldn’t—aside from fucking blatant stupidity, and the fact that he deserves someone smarter and more capable than me.

My voice is like tires over gravel when I finally get out, “I feel like I failed you.”

Mateo sighs, pulling me close for a hug, then pulling me back to look down at me. “Don’t feel that way, Mia.”

“I feel dirty.”

Putting a finger beneath my chin, he forces my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes burn with intensity, like it angers him I would even say that. “You are not dirty.”

I shake my head, my eyes moving away from his. “You don’t know what I did.”

“It doesn’t matter what you did,” he states, implacably. “Look at me.”