Chapter 15
MILES
Iwake to a dark room, a soft mass pushing up against my body. My chest. My groin. Dark wavy locks are splayed over the pillow on the other side of my huge bed. But the body, now shivering against the low temperature of my air conditioner, moves closer still. As if chasing warmth.
“Lo—”
My voice is gravel.
I swallow against the driest throat known to man. Pushing off the bed with one arm, I turn to the bedside. A glass of water and painkillers sit there. London must have organized that—I don’t remember doing it.
I sit up and take the pills, my head pounding with the sudden movement. The glass is empty too soon. The bed vibrates with her shivers, so I turn off the air conditioner and pull the blanket over her.
A few minutes later, she’s still shivering.
Body heat would warm her up quicker.
Laying back down ever so slowly, I wrap my body around hers and tug the blanket up further.
A soft moan slips past her lips.
Fuck me.
I bury my face in her hair, forgetting temporarily who we are to each other. Just one more minute.
The tiptoe of soft paws closes in on us, and Petal is up on the bed, curling up beside London a moment later.
I tamp back the chuckle that wants out and soak up the moment I’m granted. One of blissful happiness that reality will soon shit all over.
When the bed is no longer vibrating with London’s shivers, I release her and roll onto my back.
She wriggles, her body hunting warmth again.
I glance at the time.
02:11
Too early for anything.
But I’m wide awake. Every little move she makes has her skin brushing against my own. The soft tender noises she makes in her sleep send fire through my veins. Thoughts of what she’d sound like if . . .
My cock tents my sweats a heartbeat later.
Fucking hell.
And when my gaze travels to the rise and dip of her ass, hips, and waist, I roll over, pressing my back to hers.
This was not how this was supposed to go.
It really wasn’t.
Part of me suspects Rawlins set this up. It’s so his thing. Meddling matchmaker. Always thinking he knows better.
This kind of thing could get London fired. Ruin my chances of promotion. Or have more dire consequences.
And still, the pounding in my head has sunk to my cock, the ache with every throb as I breathe her scent in now tangled through my sheets driving me past insanity.
I roll off the bed and make a beeline for the shower. Petal looks up but doesn’t move. Shutting the door behind me, I turn on the water and strip out of my clothes.
A wash of dizziness sees me slap a palm to the tiles as I step into the water. Recovering slightly, my hand drifts to my aching cock.
Every syllable of London’s moan plays on loop in my head.
I tug a hand down my cock, and a pearly drop beads at the tip.
“Oh, fuck,” I groan.
My forehead meets the tile next, my grip tightening as I send my hand over my cock in a punishing grip.
The woman lying in my bed wakes, wandering in to my shower, dropping to her knees. Her mouth swallowing my cock whole. I explode all over the damn tiles. The mirage of London on her knees fades with every squirt of hot ropey cum that splatters over my shower space.
I am so damn screwed.
Dark curls drape over my chest as London leans over, plucking up Petal from the bed. After my little early morning rendezvous with the shower, it took me hours to fall back asleep. Mainly because of the temptation spread starfish over the center of my bed.
I tried the sofa, but when my back started aching fifteen minutes later, I found myself back on the bed.
“You want me to make you some breakfast?” London asks, now standing by the bed, Petal in her arms.
“No, you don’t have to do that,” I rasp.
Her nipples strain against the T-shirt she’s wearing. The room temperature after I adjusted it to a warmer setting and turned it back on is still cold enough, apparently.
My mouth dries out with the need to close my lips over those buds I just know would be fucking incredible. My sweats rise with the swell of my cock. Again.
Fuck.
“Nah, I’m good.” I roll over, hoping she doesn’t notice the morning wood I can’t help with her in my room.
I’m seven-fuckin-teen again.
Christ.
I’m losing my damn mind. I watch her hips sway as she cuddles Petal and makes her way to the kitchenette. In my tiny-ass apartment. With a groan, I pluck up a pillow and slap it over my face.
Could this get any worse?
“You’re out of coffee, Miles. I’ll duck out and grab some, okay?”
My first thought is her bra-less, ample breasts.
Yeah, because that’s a normal boss thought.
Fucking hell.
“Um, you want to change first, we could go together?” I send out.
“It’s okay, I’ll be back in five.”
The door opens and closes, and I’m off the bed.
Ignoring the slightly spinning room, I make my way to where Petal sits, unfussed her favorite person went out with no bra for every man in New York to ogle.
Why the hell am I being so overprotective?
So . . . territorial?
I pace the length of the sofa for three minutes and forty-nine seconds before I check my phone.
Nothing.
No messages.
No calls.
Two minutes later, the door opens and London smiles at me, a paper bag in hand as she drops the keys to the front table and kicks the door closed.
“Why are you up?” her gaze travels my body, up and then back down. My breathing crashes out when her focus snags on my sweats that are still tented.
“You need to take care of that?” Her smile slips to one side, and she turns away, putting items in the fridge.
Christ above.
I head for the bedroom, but something stops me from walking away from her. “London,” I say, turning back.
“Yeah?” She bobs up, sliding the bag onto the counter.
I rub a hand behind my neck, holding her gaze as fire engulfs my fucking chest.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Never mind.”
“Okay, whatever you say. Coffee will be ready in five.”
“Thanks.” I wander to my bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed.
Exhaustion floods in, the sliver of dizziness I’ve been holding at bay coming back with a vengeance.
My ass hits the floor before I can grab onto the bed.
“Ah, fuck.”
Footsteps hurry into the bedroom, and then London is kneeling in front of me. “What happened? Are you alright?”
My head rolls back on the bed. “Yeah, feeling a li—”
A warm hand presses over my forehead.
“Just checking,” she whispers. “I don’t know what else to do to make you feel better.”
I moan, my Adam’s apple bobbing.
Apparently, all the blood from my brain dropped south. That explains the half faint. Her fingers brush over my jaw and I swallow, gaze tilting up to meet hers.
“You don’t have to take care of me, London. Not if it makes you uncom—”
A finger presses over my lips.
She’s shaking her head.
Why is she shaking her head?
Her hands cup my face, her gaze dips to my mouth.
“London . . . I—”
“It’s okay, Miles. Let’s get you back on the bed. It’s just the concussion talking, yeah?”
No, no it’s really not.
I’m on my feet a second later and being tucked into fucking bed like an invalid.
But the heaviness weighing me down doesn’t let up, and my eyes drift shut before the next heartbeat falls.
Someone is singing. Badly.
The shower is running, and the door is . . . wide open.
I roll out of—
I can’t move. The sheets are caging me onto the bed.
Arms pushing and legs kicking, I extract myself from the bed and stagger to the bathroom, following the off-key melody.
Blinking, I stare through the curls of misty steam shrouding the small space. The figure behind the curtain moves, arms up and bent, hand on her head as she belts out a tune.
She’s been here twenty-four hours?
And the place smells like London.
Sounds like London.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get her out of my space, let alone my head.
I’m not sure I want to.
“London?”
“Oh shit!” The curtain jerks as she spins back, arms flailing. She leans too far back and goes down with a thud in the old claw-foot tub.
Fuck!
I rush the shower space, ripping the curtain back. All thoughts of privacy lost to panic. To the sound of her body meeting the cast iron.
Her legs stick out of the bath, one dangled over the edge.
Her curves are on full display. Every inch of her is perfect.
Breasts I’m dying to sink my teeth into. Nipples that look like they need my fucking attention. Her waist narrows below her flat stomach, meeting her hips before a pussy that’s—
Her hands slap the bathtub, gripping the side of it as she looks up at me, chest heaving, eyes wide, face slack. “Ah, ouch.”
She moves to sit up.
“Fuck, are you alright? I—”
“No sneaking up on a girl, Miles. Jesus, you almost killed me.”
She sits up, leaning against the side of the tub, and her forehead meets the edge. “Can you pass me a towel?”
“Of course, sorry,” I rasp.
I swipe my towel from the rack, the only one in reach, and place it in her outstretched hand.
“Thank you,” she mutters.
I move to leave, but she groans, the squeak of skin against the tub echoing through the bathroom.
“Ca—can you help me up.”
I close my eyes briefly before turning back and standing by the tub. “Come on, your turn to be coddled.”
She chuckles. “Guess I deserved that. In my defense, that friend of yours, Lawson, put me up to it.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I hang both hands out for her, and she looks up and takes them. Her fingers slide through mine and the world has never felt more right.
I turn my head as she rises and steps out of the bath.
“Actually, can you run the water. I need to wash my hair out, but my hands are all slippery and wrinkly now.”
I turn back to find my towel wrapped around her body. Never before in the history of man has one wanted to be a towel so desperately.
I lean over and run the water.
When she steps back in and passes the towel out past the curtain, I take it. “I’m not leaving until you’re done. You’re a hazard, woman.”
She chuckles.
“Oh Miles, you have no idea.” Her hands work the shampoo from her hair, and my only regret is that it’s my shampoo and not hers.
Her hair will have lost the fragrance I have come to adore.
Even in passing at the station, it’s a familiarity I’ve come to expect.
A part of her my senses have become attuned to.
“Miles?” The shower curtain moves. “Towel, please?”
“Let me get you your own.”
I pad to the hallway and pull out a fresh towel. Wandering back to the bathroom, I see Petal rise and circle her spot on the duvet before huffing a sigh and laying down, her eyes closing. Right on the spot London was sleeping on.
Looks like I’m not the only one set on this fiery, sweet woman.
“Don’t get attached, girl,” I mutter before crossing the bathroom threshold.
London’s head is poking around the curtain when I reach the tub.
“Come on, Hammond. You’re supposed to be a first responder. Your response time could use some work.”
“Huh, for that, I think you’ll have to come and get the towel.”
Fire. I’m playing with literal fire.
By the look in London’s eyes, she understands the stakes as well as I do.
A beat passes before one long, elegant leg travels over the side of the bath, and she steps onto the mat. Dripping and fully bare before me, she holds out a hand.
I’m hard and breathless instantly.
Her fingers snap closed and open again as she whispers, “Towel, sir.”
Goddamn brat.