Entrapment (Morelli Family 7.5)

I don’t show an outward expression, but I’m inwardly a little amused.

She’s jealous. Not shocking since Mia is one of the most jealous females I’ve encountered, but she’s been strictly friendly with me for months now.

Now that she’s spilled more than she intended, she’s shuffling her weight awkwardly and avoiding my gaze. Meg must have just said something before I walked in and Mia didn’t have enough time to pull it together. She already looks like she’s starting to regret the outburst.

I don’t regret it, though. I like to know what she’s really feeling. I don’t allow myself to get too pleased, though. Mia is a jealous person and this is the first time she’s encountered the possibility of me with someone else since our involvement. It’s only natural, given her disposition, she would be put off by the idea.

“I haven’t banged the maid,” I tell her. “Why would she ask you for tips, anyway?”

Mia shrugs, her gaze a little shuttered now with aggravation. “I don’t know. She thought I was your ex.” Barely missing a beat, she adds, “Are you going to bang the maid?”

I don’t bother stifling a little smirk at that question.

She immediately gets huffy. “I’m not asking because—” She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. Well, she does, but she can’t say it. She wants me to rush to assure her that even though she doesn’t want me, I won’t bang the maid, I would never bang the maid; I’m going to sit alone at dinner and keep my dick away from other women for all eternity.

Obviously I’m not going to do that, but I can’t pass up the rare opportunity for a status report. Instead of yanking my heart out, dropping it on a silver platter, and offering it to her, I ask simply, “Is there some reason I shouldn’t bang the maid?”

Her gaze locks with mine. “Do you want to?”

What I want to do is pin Mia against the wall and fuck her like a savage. I want to drag her up to my bedroom and keep her there forever. I want to fall asleep holding her tonight and spend tomorrow morning doing work from my bed while she paints her nails and attempts to draw more intimate details and personal anecdotes out of me.

Since I can’t say any of that, either, I ask, “How are things with Vince these days?”

Her blue eyes glisten with feelings until I ask that. Now she dims visibly, right before my eyes. My hands clench into fists at my sides. I don’t want her to dim. The whole reason I let her go with him instead of making her stay with me was so that I wouldn’t dim her; I’ll be damned if I let him do it.

“Are you unhappy?” I ask, more quietly. This isn’t about petty jealousy or idiotic pride. If Vince isn’t making her happy, I need to know that.

Mia shakes her head, her gaze dropping to my chest. “No. Things are fine with Vince.”

Before I can ask anything else, Francesca emerges from the kitchen. Her eyebrows rise at the sight of us halfway down the hall. I realize I’m right on top of Mia, but I can’t bring myself to care so I don’t step back.

“We’re fine,” I clip, displeased by the interruption.

“We’re done,” Mia states. My heart stalls briefly and my gaze darts to hers. Since the movement is so immediate, I catch her gaze. Her eyes soften, but she looks down. After a second, she looks back up at me, offering a forced smile. “If Meg makes you happy, you should be with her.”

With that, she slides along the wall to get away from me and heads down the hall toward Francesca.

“If you need another minute, I can…” Francesca trails off, pointing back to the kitchen. “I was just checking in. There was the whole dragging, and the…”

Mia doesn’t pause, so I start down the hall myself. I get a little more aggravated with every goddamn step. Somehow in the space of five minutes this night went from brimming with promise to “we’re done, bang the maid” and I’m not fucking happy about it.

Immediately upon entering the kitchen I seek out the troublesome newcomer, grabbing her arm now and dragging her back out into the hall. I don’t take her as far as I took Mia since I don’t especially care about privacy with her.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, planting her against the wall so I can stare at her.

Feigning guilelessness, she stumbles her way through an explanation. “I thought she was—I didn’t—”

I don’t have patience for this right now, so I skip to the first point. “Who told you Mia was my ex?”

Her mouth opens and I expect an answer to my question, another thing I need to deal with, but what spills out instead is, “Why won’t you have sex with me?”