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Just how dumb had she been in her inattention to the words that spilled free from her lips?
“You were supposed to be protecting your emotions,” he said flatly as he sat at the side of the bed.
Mica opened her eyes and then wished she could close them back, because he was staring at her, those black eyes seeming intent on unlocking her very soul and slipping inside.
“It was pillow talk.” She cleared her throat cautiously. “I’m sure you’ve heard it before. You know how women can get.” Her throat tightened. Too emotional. That was what women were like. They were too emotional, and she was damned sure not as intelligent as she liked to believe she was; otherwise, she would have never allowed those words to slip past her lips. “Besides, you’re my mate, aren’t you? What does it matter, Navarro?”
It was too late to stop feeling it. She’d been feeling it since she was sixteen years old and she’d given up hope of ever tearing the emotion out of her heart. And she was supposed to love her mate. Her mate was supposed to love her. Wasn’t he?
His gaze was too intent as he stared down at her, and she had a feeling he was waiting for something, watching for something. What more could he want from her? What more could she give that she hadn’t already given him?
She breathed in slow and easy. Damn him. She didn’t need this. After all the warnings against loving him, about allowing him too close.
“It matters,” he growled, tension emanating from him as she stared back at him in confusion.
“Oh yes, I forgot, the mate that isn’t really a mate,” she mocked painfully. “So sorry, Navarro. Please excuse me for complicating your delicate little life.”
“Don’t push me, Mica.” There was a roughness to his voice that sent a shiver of awareness chasing up her spine.
“Don’t push you.” Pursing her lips, she nodded slowly. “I’m you’re mate, but I’m not supposed to love you. Mating lasts forever, but for some reason you’re escaping what you’re doing to me.” She shook her head as she watched him intently, pushing back the anger and pain as she always did.
It was harder th
is time. This time, the pain was rising so sharp, so hot inside her that battling it back took every ounce of control she possessed.
“That’s not the way it is, Mica,” he began to protest.
She lifted her hand sharply, palm outward. She didn’t want to hear his excuses. She didn’t need them. “I have things to do. Thank you so much for relieving the pain though. It was becoming a bit of an irritation. And do forgive me for that lack of discretion in the emotion department. I won’t let it happen again. You can leave now, Navarro. I’ll let you know the next time I need you to perform.”
She was so glad Cassie wasn’t here. If the other girl ever learned she had said anything so corny, then Mica would never live it down.
And on top of it, she had just asked her mate to forgive her for promising him her heart. Before she knew it, she would be promising him his freedom if she could give it to him.
It was killing her though. The pain was driving a wedge so sharp and deep inside her soul that she swore she could feel herself splitting apart inside.
“A bit of an irritation was it?” he murmured. “I don’t think I meant to simply scratch your itch, Amaya.”
She almost shivered at the rough quality of his tone. It wasn’t a growl, but the rumble was a distinct warning.
Her teeth clenched until her jaw hurt. It was a warning to stop whatever she was doing to irritate the animal, to awaken it inside him. She could feel it, like a premonition, an instinct, and it demanded she submit to him. A demand and a submission as primal as the genetics that went into his creation.
“A bit of an irritation,” she agreed as she rose from the bed and grabbed her robe. “And if you’ll excuse me now, I believe I have things to do.”
She could feel adrenaline racing, surging through her. That primal demand for her submission was just pissing her off. Where the hell did he get the nerve to demand she not love him, to demand that she not be a true mate to him, while inside it felt as though she were still dying for his touch?
Her pussy was still heated, still aching. She felt as though her flesh was desperate for his touch. Not so much a sexual touch, but a touch. A stroke.
She wanted that touch so desperately she knew that if she didn’t get the hell away from him, she was going to end up begging for it. To keep that from happening she pushed herself from the bed, her movements jerky, the emotions tearing through her threatening what little control over revealing them she had left .
“Where do you think you’re going?” He caught her wrist, his look domineering and so sexy in its arrogance that she sincerely wished she could find a defense against it.
Whether he was pissing her off, breaking her heart or making her scream out in need, he still had the power to make her want to laugh with him, to hold him, to feel his arms around her.
“I have a few things to do,” she told him. “And spending twenty-four-seven here in my suite isn’t exactly my idea of a fun time to be had.” Especially when he was so rarely there with her.
“You appeared to be enjoying it enough,” he stated, that dangerous calm intensifying.
The look of wounded male pride that flashed for the barest second in those deep black eyes had the feminine side of her almost giving in with a weakening gentle amusement.
