Page 27 of Mysterious Mate

They sat there for a while longer, the silence between them filled with unspoken words. Cage felt a connection with Willow that went beyond mere attraction. He wanted to protect her, to be the rock she needed, but he knew it wouldn’t be easy.

As they finally went to their respective rooms, Cage couldn’t shake the feeling that things were changing between them. The walls she’d built around herself throughout her years with Frank were starting to crumble, and he was determined to be there when they finally came down.

Lying in bed, he listened for the sound of her crying, but all he heard was the soft rustle of the wind outside. He hoped that meant she was finding some peace, however fleeting.

Tomorrow was another day, and he would be there, ready to support her in any way he could. As sleep finally claimed him, Cage’s last thought was of Willow and the hope that one day she would realize she didn’t have to face her demons alone.

CHAPTER 14

WILLOW

I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of being one more victim of Frank Carlyle. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She no longer recognized the woman who stared back at her, and she hadn’t for a very long time. The fact that she was wildly attracted to Cage Weston wasn’t a question. The only question she had was why she had thought he would be attracted or even interested in her?

It was all well and good to be told she was doing the ‘right thing’ by stealing the information and that she was brave for having done it, but that was a crock of shit. She hadn’t been courageous at all. She had done it to secure help in getting a new life. She figured the information would be valuable to someone. Sure, she was glad it had been Interpol and the ‘Resistance,’ but if she was being perfectly honest, if it hadn’t been them, she might have just sold it to the highest bidder… including the Shadow League.

And just who was the Shadow League or the Resistance, for that matter? Why hadn’t she heard of either of them? If there was some sort of global conflict going on, should she have heard about it? And if she and the rest of the world hadn’t heard of it, were these people she could trust? She’d made these contacts because of Katie O’Neill—she was the wife of Con O’Neill, who was a mafia kingpin. Was she really trusting her life to these people? What was she thinking?

She looked down and realized she had a death grip on the edge of the countertop. As she raised her eyes, she could see in her reflection the reason she remained on the island—Cage Weston. He could be infuriating, secretive, and a lot of other things she didn’t like, but the other thing he was, was the man with whom she was falling in love.

The realization that her feelings for him was something of a shock. That she even had true, deep feelings for him was a shock as well. Even worse was the understanding that he had feelings for her, as well, and feelings that went beyond lust. He was a good and honorable man, and she wanted more from him than just an intense, but passing, affair. She would settle for that, but if she was being honest with herself, she wanted so much more. Which then begged the question, what did she have to offer him? Would Frank or the Shadow League ever give up trying to kill her? If not, did she really have the right to drag Cage into this?

The familiar dull headache and mild nausea rolled over her once again. Maybe this was why she’d never asked herself these kinds of questions—they literally made her sick. She smiled at her grim humor. She put on tinted moisturizer, pulled her hair into a messy bun and put on the most unflattering sweatpants and tank top she could find before trotting down to the breakfast table.

If she looked like shit, so be it. Her vivid dreams of Cage Weston and the pressure of living like this were starting to get to her. In most of the romance books he would have already swept her off into his bed, vanquished her enemies and they’d be living their happily ever after. That hadn’t happened. She’d done her part—she was most definitely the damsel in distress. He needed to step up and do his. Yes, it was definitely Cage Weston’s fault that she felt mildly sick, horny and scared. Perhaps she should point out his shortcomings to him.

She trotted down the stairs, planning to do just that, but when she walked into the dining room and saw that her place had been set, not at the opposite end of the table, but halfway down, she realized in his own way he was trying. For once in her life, Willow vowed to herself that she would give up control and let someone else run the relationship. Certainly her track record—not that there was much of one—pretty much sucked.

“Good morning, Cage,” she said, taking a seat as he held her chair.

“Ah, so I’m back to being Cage.”

“What do you mean?”

He chuckled. “When you’re feeling frightened or vulnerable, you call me ‘Cage.’ The rest of the time if you call me by name at all, I’m ‘Weston.’”

“You noticed that?”

“I notice everything about you, Willow.”

“You may notice, but I’m not sure you fully understand the dynamics.”

Cage took his seat at the end of the table. So, he noticed when she used his first name and when she didn’t? Willow supposed that was a bit understandable in that he did seem to be in charge of everything so he’d need to be observant, but she liked knowing she wasn’t so shallow that he’d figured everything out.

“Would you care to explain them to me?” he asked.

“No, I would not.”

He shook his head. “You’re a difficult woman, Willow.”

She sat thinking for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“You like being difficult?”

“It beats being vapid and shallow.”

The corners of his mouth ticked up. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

CAGE

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