Loving The Temperamental Adonis
Chapter 165: Please don’t leave me (part 2)

Chapter 165: Please don’t leave me (part 2)

"You can’t. And if you know what’s best for you, stay out of this."

"But__"

"Drop it, Mia!" He warned darkly.

"I won’t drop it! I have a right to an explanation, Mr. Wayner!"

"You have no rights to anything, Harrison," Neil snapped. "And I don’t need or want your help."

Mia stiffened as if he’d hit her, she felt her heart tremble at his words. He didn’t need nor want her, but she’d gotten ahead of herself yet again because she’d somehow believed he loved her and wanted her as much she did. Mia managed to keep her fury and humiliation out of her voice as she muttered,"I see."

And she did—she saw now that he had no use for her at all except her body. She wasn’t supposed to get involved with him; she wasn’t supposed to feel anything for him; she was just supposed to amuse him while he was bored and spread her legs for him whenever he was in the mood. She did see, she was nothing but a fleeting amusement.

Reaching out, he put his hand on her cheek and said, "Let’s go to bed, it’s late."

"Take your hands off of me, Mr. Wayner!" Mia hissed, jerking away out of his reach.

Shaking with fury and anguish at her own stupidity, Mia wrapped her arms around her stomach, backing around the sofa and coffee table until she had a free path to her own bedroom upstairs. She didn’t want to be beside him when he had no use for her other than her body. It hurt so badly to realize the man she’d loved so much, so very much, would tell her to her face how much he didn’t want you. She was even willing to let go of her own life to stay with him, but he was now showing her how little she meant to him.

"What the hell are you trying to do?" He asked, frowning darkly at her as she backed away from him.

"I’m not trying to do anything, I’ve just realized what a heartless bastard you really are, Neil!" The freezing look on his face as he watched her moving away from him was nothing compared to her own fury. "I was willing to do anything for you, but you’ve just proven to me how much I am not needed here. And I think you have no intentions of clearing your name, do you?"

"That’s no concern of yours!" he snapped.

Mia smiled bitterly, "You are indeed a cold hearted jerk!" She taunted, too furious to tremble before the murderous look tightening his face. She walked up the stairs, turned back, and added scathingly, "I’m leaving here in the morning, and if you intend to stop me, you’d better be prepared to use that gun!"

He raked her with a contemptuous glance. "Stop you?" he jeered. "I’ll carry your bag out of here for you!"

Mis slammed the bedroom door on his last words. Fighting back her tears, she heard him go into his room as she stripped out of his clothes she’d been wearing and pulled on her own T-shirt from her suitcase. Not until she had turned off the lamp and gotten into bed, did she let herself lose control.

Dragging the thick blanket up to her chin, she rolled over onto her stomach, and buried her face in the pillow. She cried with shame and anger at her stupidity, her inexperience, and her humiliation. She cried until her tears were dried and she was exhausted, then she rolled onto her side, staring blindly out the glass wall at the moonlit winter landscape.

In his own bedroom, Neil pulled off his sweater, trying to calm down and forget the scene in the living room, but the effort was futile. Her words hammered in his mind, more agonizing each time he remembered the heartbroken look on her face when she called him a cold hearted jerk.

Before and during his imprisonment, he’d inured himself against feeling anything, but somehow Mia had gotten under his guard. He hated her for that and himself for letting it happen and taking everything to such a level where he’d feel guilty for refusing her something. He hated feeling vulnerable, he shouldn’t have allowed her get into his life to the extent he’d began to lose his senses for a woman.

Flinging his sweater onto the bed, he stripped off his pants. But a realization hit him then— the only plausible explanation for her ridiculous reaction to what he had said in the living room—and he stopped cold in the act of dropping his trousers on the bed. Mia must have thought she was in love with him. That’s why she thought she had "rights" where his life was concerned. And she probably thought he was in love with her. And that he needed her in his life.

Neil Wayner had never needed a woman in his life, and not even Mia could be that woman he’d ever need!

"God damnit!" he swore and flung the trousers onto the bed. He didn’t need Mia Harrison, and he sure as hell didn’t need the added guilt and responsibility for a naive woman who didn’t know the difference between sexual desire and that repulsive emotion called love.

She would be better off if she hated him. He would be better off, too. Much better off without her In his life. There was nothing between them except sexual desires, which they both wanted right from the time they’d met and now she was denying them out of it because he’d told her the truth of not needing her.

He had never loved her, never, he wasn’t the kind to do love, he was never born to be a bastard like his father who was blinded by that emotion; he was different, he was stronger without a woman, he’d lived fine without anyone in his life. He had never had any feelings more than amusement towards Mia. Never!

Never! He tried so hard to convince himself, and when he couldn’t, he thought of a way to prove it to her and to himself that the relationship between them was nothing but sexual. He yanked his door open and headed towards Mia’s room and pulled her door open without even bothering to knock.

Mia was dismally contemplating what to do tomorrow if he went back on his remark about letting her go when the bedroom door abruptly opened and Neil strode in, wearing only his shorts. "What do you want?" she demanded, sitting up on the bed.

"That question," he mocked, sweeping the blank off of her, "is almost as stupid as your decision to sleep in this bed alone because of some pointless argument."

Infuriated by his obvious intention to sleep with her when the last thing she wanted was to be close to him, Mia flung herself to the opposite side of the bed and hurriedly scrambled out of it, trying to bolt quickly for the door. But he caught her as she rounded the foot of the bed and pulled her against his bare chest.

"Let go of me, you psychopath!"

"What I want," he informed her, finally answering her original question, "is the same thing you want every time we look at each other, every time we touch!"

Flinging her head back, Mia stopped struggling, gathering her strength for her next move. "You brainless psycho! If you even think of raping me, I’ll murder you with your own gun!"

"Rape you?" he repeated with icy scorn. "I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing to you. You’ll beg me to make love to you in four minutes."

Mia attacked him just as his mouth seized hers: bringing her knee up hard, she aimed for his groin and then screamed as she missed and landed on her back beneath his heavy body on the bed.

Instead of retaliating for her missed blow to his groin by forcing himself into her, which she half expected him to do, she felt his fingers slide down to her intimate part, probing very lightly, starting to massage and caress with familiar, unerring skill.

He wasn’t going to force her, Mia realized; he wanted her full cooperation, and if she gave it to him, it would be far more damaging to her pride than being a helpless victim. Her body was already responding against her will, and she was so furious with herself and with him that she actually tried to force him to finish the act before she’d surrender completely and touch him back. "Get it over with, you bastard!"

His answer was a whisper as cold as his heart, "Why? So you can call me a rapist as well as a murderer and a jerk?" His fingers searched deeper into her, moving slowly. "Not a chance." His mouth closed over her nipple, tongue circling, lips tugging, and Mia swallowed a scream of furious protest as a surge of heat consumed her.

She arched her hips beneath his hand, and he laughed softly, sliding his finger deeper inside of her so that she rode it. She stopped abruptly when she realized her mistake, tensing every muscle in her body to resist what he was doing to her, and in silence, he forced her treacherous body to betray her, his eyes watching her face every moment of the time.

"You’re soaking wet," he whispered, and not even the calculating heartlessness of what he was doing to her could stop the quick, piercing, stabs of desire already beginning to jolt her body.

"Do you want me, Mia?"

She wanted him inside her, she wanted the climax she knew he could give her so badly she felt like she was going to die. "You will rot in hell!" she gasped.

"I am already in hell, sweetheart" he whispered, moving his body up along hers, and for the first time tonight he kissed her, forcing her lips to part. Abruptly, he gentled the kiss, his lips moving on hers with melting hunger as he slowly moved his hips, forcing her into vibrant awareness of his rigid erection pressing against her entrance. "Tell me you want me, Mia" he coaxed.

Trapped beneath the sweet promise of his aroused body and the driving persistence of his mouth, her own body began to shake with uncontrollable need to be one with him, and the words she desperately tried not to say tore out of her in a tormented sob. "I want you—"

The moment she surrendered, he drove into her instantly, thrusting his hips hard, driving her to a shattering climax within moments. And when he exploded inside of her, he pulled out while her body was still racked with shudders and lifted off of her, moving free of her embrace. "Four minutes was all it took. There is a difference between love and sexual desires, and I’ve just proven that to you," he told her.

Before Mia could react, he was out of the room. The door slammed behind him with the finality of his intentions and words. Mia lay there, physically exposed and freezing with shock, unable to absorb the proof that he was actually wicked enough to prove his point in such a way. He proved his point of not wanting anything from her but her body by humiliating her...

Emotionally exhausted, she crawled slowly to the head of the bed, pulled the blanket off the floor, and closed her eyes, but she did not cry, she would not shed one more tear because of him again. Ever.