“I believed you were different,” she sobbed, wishing she could hold it back. “I believed it when you told me you were just friends with Sweet Pea. I let myself trust you. I fell in love with you. I’m such an idiot.”
Mystery stumbled away. She had to get out of here, away from him, before she broke down and succumbed to the urge to ask if there was any way she’d mistaken what she’d seen and whether Patrice really had been the aggressor, taking Axel by surprise.
But it was time to accept that no man was perfect, even the one who had once saved her life and starred as the hero of all her fantasies. At the end of the day, he was just a man, like her father, who was a fabulous director, friend, coworker, and dad. But he couldn’t be perfect at everything, and he happened to be a lousy mate. Axel had so many amazing qualities, she could have put up with some faults. Why did his have to be that he was a cheating asshole?
The question ripped her insides apart, and all she kept seeing in her mind was the waitress’s lips against his, her hands at his zipper.
“Let’s go.” Heath shot Axel a look of disbelief and disgust, then wrapped his arm around her.
Her aunt stood stock-still, looking too shocked to even breathe. “Oh, my . . . You poor girl.”
Mystery let the two of them tuck her between them and lead her away from the darkened hallway and the terrible nightmare unfolding.
“Don’t you leave, Mystery.” Axel came after her, his heavy footfalls resounding on the old flooring. “Don’t you walk out on me before we’ve talked.”
More tears stabbed her eyes. She covered her face in her hands. Yes, she’d promised they would talk things out from now on. He’d spanked her for leaving once before . . . then made love to her so masterfully. No, he’d fucked her body and her head all at once, and she didn’t owe him a damn thing.
Why would he bother cheating? Did he simply have a wandering eye? Did he get a thrill out of indulging in a little something on the side? Or had he viewed her as nothing more than a path to fame or a meal ticket? Maybe she’d never been remotely relevant to him at all.
The thought only made her sob more. And when Heath shoved her toward the exit, pausing only long enough to throw some bills on the table for their meal, Mystery didn’t fight him.
“If you do this, you know how I’ll take it,” Axel shouted after her.
Yes, if she walked out on him now, they would be done forever. He’d warned her. But what did they have to save? If he couldn’t love just her, then they had absolutely nothing.
Heath pushed the door open and gave her a nudge. She resisted for a moment, then turned to look at Axel one last time. He looked big, agitated, so damn masculine. And blurry. More tears spilled and scalded her cheeks.
Maybe they’d always been doomed. If everything happened for a reason, maybe this had transpired because she’d needed to see the real him to grow up, move on. Maybe she’d witnessed this so she could finally fall out of love with him.
“Go to hell!” she shouted.
Then she ran out the door, tumbled into the car, and refused to look back.
Chapter Seventeen
THAT motherfucker, Heath Powell, drove Mystery away before Axel could say more than a handful of words to her. He heard the last of the spinning tires and watched the black car disappear down the street. His guts fell somewhere around his toes and his heart broke open wide.
Why the fuck was he just now grasping the fact that he’d fallen completely in love with Mystery Mullins? Not that his stupid ass realization did him any good now.
Hell, she’d blindsided him. One minute the sex had been so hot she’d nearly melted him, but his need for more than her body had been something new. Axel hadn’t known how to interpret it. He’d never felt anything like that. So he’d avoided labeling it.
Wasn’t that biting him in the ass now? Maybe if he’d realized his feelings sooner, he could have simply told her he loved her and they could have avoided this stupid misunderstanding at the café. Instead, she’d seen him “cheating” and overreacted. But Axel kind of understood because when he’d seen her kiss Heath, he’d felt some weird red haze jack up his temper. Then she’d threatened to leave, and he’d totally overreacted, too.
So rather than holding her close, he got to watch Mystery skid out of the parking lot with the man she’d locked lips with behind the wheel. Axel tried to imagine spending his life without her. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to.
So what now? Chase after her like a damn puppy? Axel sighed at the picture that painted. But wasn’t that better than spending the rest of his life with his insides crushed and feeling as if he were missing the other half of his soul?
Put like that, the dog scenario sounded way better.
But would that be the end of it? Would she run out on him yet again because she wasn’t capable of the death-do-us-part, forever sort of love? He didn’t want to be gloom and doom, but for the third time in twenty-fours, she’d left him cold. How was he supposed to get over that?
Axel stood with his hands on his hips, gaping at the street, though the town car was long gone from view. He had no ride back to his rental at the farm. He’d have to find one, then wait for Mystery and her aunt to return so he could talk some sense into her. He’d figure out why he’d suddenly felt a pressing need to pee yet again and apologize for not taking the waitress’s overtures seriously until it was too late. If that didn’t work, if Mystery wouldn’t talk to him . . . he’d have to figure out what fucking tactic to take next, because he couldn’t give up. That only led to the bottom of a bottle and decades of misery.
“What just happened?” a woman asked behind him.
He turned to find Patrice looking brutally confused and grabbed her arm. “You tell me. Why the hell did you climb all over me uninvited?”
Grimacing, she yanked her arm free and removed the elastic band securing her blond tresses in a ponytail. “I was hired to. I’m an actress. Someone contacted my agent and paid my travel expenses out to this one-pony town to pull a practical joke on you.”
Axel heard her words—and she might as well have been speaking a foreign language. “What?”
“Yeah. I’m from L.A. My agent just told me that someone important wanted me to play a joke on one of his friends. I got your picture and some instructions . . .” She shrugged. “I’m so sorry. I really had no idea it would screw up everything between you and your girlfriend.”
Who the hell would do that? And why? Axel’s thoughts raced. Someone wanted him separated from Mystery and had figured out that she’d stomp away if she believed he couldn’t keep his pants zipped. He could only see two possible motives: Either someone didn’t like his relationship with Mystery—Heath came to mind—or someone dangerous wanted her to be minus a protector who would lay down his life to save hers.
“How much?” he demanded.
“What?”
“Money. How much were you paid to do this?”
“Ten grand, plus travel expenses,” she admitted. “I feel terrible. I really am sorry.”
Too late for that. “Call your agent and ask him who hired you.”
“I asked before I took the gig. He wouldn’t tell me, but I needed the money to make rent. The only condition was anonymity. Sal told me that whoever hired me swore you’d know who it was.”
So Heath was toying with him . . . or the killer was. Axel did some quick mental math. Could Heath come up with ten grand plus travel expenses in less than twenty-four hours? Since Joaquin had already given him the guy’s bank balance before Patrice had been hired, Axel knew the answer was no. Heath had investments, but none he could get his hands on right away.