Page 2 of Demitri

“Mia!” he yells back. “Mia, it’s me, Demitri!”

“No. No, you’re lying. Why are you lying to me? Get away! Stop touching me! You’ll never touch me again!”

I hit his chest with my fists, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t move.

“Mia,” he says in a low voice. “I’m not touching you.”

“But…” I trail off as I realize he’s right. His arms have dropped from around me. He’s standing still as a statue, but he’s not coming for me. I’m the one who’s clinging to him.

“I’m sorry, Mia. I’m sorry someone hurt you, but that wasn’t me.”

“Demitri?” I whisper, finally focusing on the man in front of me. “I know you.”

He nods, his face a mask of worry and pain. “You know me.”

“I thought?—”

“It’s alright. I know what you thought. And it’s okay. I swear I’m not going to hurt you.”

I take in the man in front of me, with his piercing blue eyes and tall frame. His body that’s strong without looking like a meathead. And while he’s gorgeous, it’s always his face that makes mefeel. And right now, after attacking him for being someone from my past, I just have to get away.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

Without another word, I turn, but he reaches out and grips my hand—gently. Always gently. In all the ways I need him to be, at least.

“This isn’t over, Mia. You know that.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want your friendship.” He moves closer, leaving space between us. “I want your body.” His free hand rises to my face, where he lifts my chin to look at me. “I want you to see me when I give you pleasure and make your body quiver.”

“Dem…I don’t…”

“Doesn’t matter. You know I’m right. You know we aren’t done. You know you still want me. We can do it on your terms. But we will do it again.”

I shake my head, but even I know I’m full of shit. I do want him again. And that terrifies me.

“Tomorrow night.” He grins, knowing I won’t turn him down. “I’ll meet you at closing.”

With that, he lets me go. What am I getting myself into?

CHAPTER ONE

MIA

ONE YEAR LATER

Tuesday nightsat the bar are usually quiet, but tonight we have a group. They’re taking up like three tables in the corner of the room, and they are serious about their drinks. They are also serious about their business.

One thing people forget about is the helpers—bartenders and owners—hear everything. We know so much about what’s going on in the towns we live in that we could write a book on broken promises, sins, and even the happy moments. These guys have been coming in for a few years now. I know they run a security company together and that they also plan and execute rescues of people needing out of bad situations. As someone who could have used their help once upon a time, I usually give them a discount. It’s something I can quietly do to let them know I appreciate it. I know Daniel, who runs the thing, and his wife Victoria, but I don’t know the others’ names. Just their drinks. Beer.

I only know Victoria and her husband because of my own personal past. I have a shared history with her sister Lizzy.

“Hey, Boss,” Brodie calls from the window between the bar and kitchen. “Food’s coming up. Want me to take it out?”

“Nah, I got it.”

Brodie has been with me for a little over six months. College kid, hard worker. He’s adorable in an annoying little brother kind of way, but I know he’s going to break some poor girl’s heart one day. He’s reaping the rewards of working at a bar next to a large college campus. He gets action more than I do—or did. I haven’t been taking anyone new home with me lately. Thinking about the why makes my stomach flip.

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