Twelve
What We Can’t Ignore
AUSTIN
THE ROOM IS QUIET except for the sound of her soft breaths. Our clothes are scattered around the room from our lust haze, and I’m lying here like a complete idiot, staring at my living room ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
I mean, I know what happened. I had my hands, mouth, and—well, let’s just say all of me on Mia Jameson.
In Mia Jameson.
And it was every bit as mind-blowing as I imagined it would be. No, scratch that. It was better. A thousand times better.
But now? Now she’s curled up on the sofa next to me, wrapped in a blanket, and I feel . . . exposed. Vulnerable. And me, vulnerable? That’s not a word I’m comfortable with.
“That was . . . unexpected,” I say finally, breaking the silence. It’s all I’ve got.
She turns her head and looks at me, her hair a wild mess, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses. God, she’s gorgeous. And the way her eyes narrow at me? That’s how I know I’m in trouble.
“That’s what you’re going with? Unexpected?” she asks, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
I smirk because it’s easier than admitting the truth. “What would you prefer? Life-changing? Earth-shattering?”
“Accurate,” she mutters, and I swear I catch the tiniest hint of a smile before she turns her face away.
Life-changing. She’s not wrong.
I prop myself up on one elbow, watching her like I’ve never seen her before. Because honestly, I haven’t. Not like this. Vulnerable. Soft. Naked in every sense of the word.
“You ok?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes flick to mine, and she nods. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Fine. Sure. If fine means I’m sitting here trying to process the fact that I’ve just had the best sex of my life with my fake fiancée who I’m now very much not faking my feelings for.
I reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering just a little too long. Her skin is warm beneath my touch, and it takes everything I have not to pull her back to me and kiss her senseless.
“Good,” I say, my voice low. “Because you looked pretty perfect to me.”
Her cheeks flush, and she sits up, clutching the blanket like it’s a shield. “We should probably . . . talk about this.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Of course, she wants to talk.
I groan, dropping back onto the cushions dramatically. “Can’t we just bask in the glow a little longer before we ruin it with talking?”
She glares at me, and I can’t help but grin. She’s so predictable, and yet, she surprises me at every turn.
“No basking,” she says firmly. “We need to figure out what this means. For us. For . . . everything.”
Her voice wavers on that last word, and something in my chest tightens.
“Mia,” I say, sitting up and facing her. “We just had the best sex of our lives. Can we at least agree on that before we overthink it to death?”
Her eyes narrow again, and I swear she’s fighting a smile. “Fine. It was . . . pretty great.”
“Pretty great?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “I think you mean mind-blowing, once-in-a-lifetime great.”
“Don’t push it, Conall,” she mutters, but her lips twitch.
And there it is—that tiny crack in her armour that makes me want to bust through the whole damn thing.
I lean closer, dropping my voice to a whisper. “Admit it. I ruined you for all other men.”
She rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of her head. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, you like me,” I shoot back, grinning.
She doesn’t deny it, and for once, I don’t push. Because in this moment, I know I’ve got her.
And the truth is, she’s got me too. More than I ever realised.
Mia exhales sharply, her shoulders curling inward as she pulls the blanket tighter around her like it’s some kind of shield. Her eyes lock onto mine—sharp, searching, and laced with something I can’t quite name. Fear, maybe. Or regret.
And then she drops the bomb.
“This . . . can’t happen again.” Her voice is quiet, but it slices through the room like a blade.
The gut punch.
I should’ve seen it coming. Hell, I did see it coming. But hearing the words out loud? That’s a whole other kind of pain.
I lean back against the sofa, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “You’re joking, right?”
“No,” she says, too quickly. Her head shakes like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. “It was . . . a mistake. A lapse in judgment. We got caught up in the whole fake relationship thing, and—”
“Mia.” My voice is sharper than I intend, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Stop.”
Her mouth clamps shut, but her eyes flare with defiance.
God, that look. It’s like she’s daring me to argue, to push back. And you know what? I’m going to.
“You can’t seriously sit there and tell me this was just some fallout from a fake relationship. What happened between us wasn’t fake. And it sure as hell wasn’t a mistake.”
Her lips part like she’s about to argue, but no sound comes out. Instead, she looks away, her fingers clutching the edge of the blanket so tightly her knuckles turn white.
“This was supposed to help me,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “This whole . . . arrangement was supposed to fix my reputation. Not . . . complicate everything even more.”
“Complicate?” I repeat, leaning forward, my elbows resting on my knees as I stare at her. “You think what happened between us is a complication?”
She doesn’t answer, but the silence feels heavier than it should, suffocating us both.
I reach out, my fingers brushing against hers. She flinches like I burnt her, her eyes snapping to mine with a mixture of panic and something else.
Something raw.
“Mia,” I say, my voice softer now, trying to break through that damn wall she’s building brick by brick. “I didn’t plan this either. But it happened. And it was real. Don’t sit there and tell me you regret it.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and for a second—a fleeting, fragile second—I think I’ve got her. But then she shakes her head, pulling her hand away like she can’t bear to let herself feel anything.
“I can’t do this,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I can’t let myself get hurt again.”
And there it is. The real reason. It’s not about me. It’s about every arsehole who’s ever walked into her life and left her in pieces.
Every scar she’s still carrying.
“Mia.” My voice is gentle now, my frustration melting into something deeper. “I’m not them. You know that, right?”
She swallows hard, her eyes locking onto mine with a desperation that hits me square in the chest. “It doesn’t matter,” she murmurs. “It never matters.”
Her words twist something deep inside me, and before I can think better of it, I’m moving closer. My hands reach up to cup her face, forcing her to look at me, to see me.
“It matters to me,” I tell her firmly. “You matter to me.”
Her eyes widen, and for a moment, the world stops. It’s just us. Her soft breaths, the warmth of her skin under my palms, the way her lips part like she’s about to say something that could save or destroy me.
But then, like a switch has flipped, she’s pulling away. Scrambling to her feet, clutching the blanket around her like it’s the only thing holding her together.
“I need to go,” she says, her voice trembling.
“Mia—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she cuts me off, her words clipped, final.
And then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
I sit there, staring at the empty space where she’d just been, my heart pounding and my mind racing.
What the hell just happened? And how the hell am I supposed to let her go when I’ve already fallen so damn hard?