Chapter 18
LONDON
Warmth spreads over my palm as I press it to Miles’s spine. My forehead drops to his shoulder, and I breathe him in.
God, my ovaries just backflipped. Certain of it.
He radiates warmth. His toned muscles are barely moving as he takes too-shallow breaths. But he doesn’t respond. Did I read this all wrong?
Shit, seriously . . .
I step back. “Sorry, I should go.”
He still doesn’t move.
Yeah nah, apparently, I was barking up the wrong tree.
I swallow as heat engulfs my neck and face. “I’ll hang out with Petal another day.”
I make my way down the hallway as the prickle behind my eyes turns to a burn.
I will not fall in a heap over a guy.
I will not.
Swiping at my hair now in my stupid face, I’m almost to the doorway to the living room when a hand wraps around my biceps.
I stop, shame rooting me to the spot, rendering me immobile.
How did I get this so wrong? Was he simply placating me in the watchtower earlier?
Miles doesn’t breathe a word, so I turn back.
His face is . . .
Wrecked.
I hold a shaking palm to his chest. “You said—”
“Fuck what I said.” His hands drop by his side. “Take advantage of me, London. Because I won’t—I can’t.”
His gaze drops to my mouth and still he doesn’t close the space between us.
It has to be my choice.
Huh. Who said chivalry was dead?
I take a slow step forward until we are so close there’s barely any air left but our breath mingling.
My hands track to his jawline as I drag his mouth to brush over mine. “Careful what you wish for, Captain.” The words are barely a whisper. I nip his bottom lip before brushing my lips over his.
With a low, heady grown he rumbles, “Thank fuck.”
Large, warm hands slide around my waist before they tug me closer still. His mouth works over my own, and I open for him.
He wastes no time, claiming every part of me I offer up.
Every limb goes slack.
Miles envelops me, his leg sliding between my thighs to hold me upright as he devours my mouth. I cling to him like he’s the last life preserver on a sinking ship.
My hands explore his neck, the angles of his face, and wander into his hair.
He moans, and my grip tightens, if only to keep myself from melting under his touch.
Oh, my fucking god . . . Miles.
His hand slides up my spine and behind my neck, the other pressing into the small of my back to inch me closer.
Breathless and lungs burning, I pull away. My hands shake as my fingertips trace over his temples, down his jaw, and over his parted lips. “I—”
His forehead drops to mine, and his eyes shutter closed. The silence is a softness between us that feels so natural, so needed.
“London, we’re going to have to put space between us . . . I—”
I press my finger over his lips, discovering, as a little thrill rushes through me, that I like shutting this stoic man up. I crave his presence as much as the tenderness that he leans into when I’m in his space.
I have no idea how we will take this as slow as I need to.
Or how we’re ever going to stay away from each other and keep things professional at work.
“Miles, we walked out on the party,” I whisper.
“They’ll get over it.” His eyes open as he straightens. “You need me to take you home?”
Home is the last place I want to be, surprisingly.
“No,” I utter.
“London . . .”
“Miles?”
“I don’t want to put you in a position you’re not comfortable with.”
If anyone looks uncomfortable right now, it’s him.
He looks set to implode, standing here in his hallway. Such an ordinary place for one of the most extraordinary moments of my life.
I feel it is . . .
“If you stay here, we’re likely to start a fire,” he rumbles, his hands curling around my jawline.
Fire sounds nice . . .
I could go out under the fire this man brings.
Dotting a kiss to my forehead, he drops his hands, sliding his fingers through mine. I’m led to the living room before Petal pushes her way between us.
I chuckle and bend down to love her up. Still dazed from the kiss that blew my mind, I’m at a loss for functional reasoning at the moment. I’m a whirring, idling mess of wanting to stay and knowing we should take this slow.
So, so slow.
“Let me take you home, beautiful.” I rise from showering my girl with love, and Miles wraps himself around me from behind.
“I can walk home,” I utter, laying my head back on his shoulder.
“I know, but humor me. I’m a selfish man when it comes to you, London Tennison.”
“It’s been like five minutes.” I huff a laugh, running my gaze over his neck and the angles of his jaw I want to explore . . .
“I intend on dragging this moment out as long as I can, so you’re riding with me.”
Riding? I swallow past the emotion closing my throat over.
“Miles, I—I need to take this slow.”
“Slow it is.”
Gathering our belongings, we step out into the corridor of the building, but instead of heading for the stairwell, we take the rarely used elevator to the basement.
“Okay, is this the part where you murder me in the dark?” I push out a nervous laugh.
Miles hits a switch by the steel door we walked through. The basement garage lights up, and a handful of cars sit parked in the claustrophobic space.
He takes my hand and leads me past them all. We reach the back of the space, and a black road bike stands leaning on the kickstand. Two helmets hang from the handlebars.
“Um, when you said ride, you actually meant ride?” I say.
“Yeah.” He slides a helmet off the handlebar and passes it to me.
“Miles.”
“I got you, beautiful. Besides, it’s quicker than walking home, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not in a hurry,” I whisper, rubbing my hands over my arms.
I’m torn between staying in this man’s orbit and not getting on the damn bike. Not going home and this evening being over before it’s only just begun.
“Good.” He swings a leg over and starts the bike. Reaching back, he flips the lid on a small compartment behind the seat and pulls out a black motorcycle jacket. “Here, so you don’t get cold.”
I shove the helmet on my head and tighten the chin strap before shrugging the jacket on. I have to roll up the sleeves to find my hands, it swims on me. He holds out a hand. “Come on, you can hold onto me. You’ll be okay, I promise.”
If anyone else had said that to me, I’d laugh in their face. Coming from Miles . . .
I swing my leg over and slide forward until my chest meets his back.
He dips his head, lacing our fingers together at his stomach. “Good girl.”
Oh fuck.
“Ride with me, London?”
“Isn’t that what we’re about to do?”
A soft smile flicks up on his face. “For a little while?”
His gaze searches mine.
How can I say no to him?
“Yes sir.”
He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “That mouth of yours will see you in trouble, one day.”
“I don’t mind if you’re the trouble I land myself in.”
“Christ, London.”
He revs the bike, and we fly out of the basement garage and I squeal. His back jostles with a chuckle. We burst into the street as the traffic streams past. Picking up the pace, we weave through the lanes, the many colors of the lit-up city racing past.
I tip my head back and release one hand from my hold. Curling my fingers around Miles’s shirt I hold my arm out, letting the breeze whip past.
This is what freedom feels like.
This is what happiness feels like.
“Hold on, baby.”
I snap my hand back to his front and reaffirm my grip as we lean right and take the next block. The Queensboro bridge lies ahead, a few blocks away.
“Where are you taking me?” I lean forward, resting my chin on his shoulder.
“Anywhere you want,” he says.
“Somewhere where there’s less people, please.”
With a nod he sends the bike faster, and we slip onto the Queensboro bridge, the grand arched structure lit and reflecting on the water beneath as we speed over it.
I haul in a lungful.
I take it in. The stars overhead, faint but still there. The city that seems to float beyond the river behind us. The warmth of Miles. The whooshing sound of the structure as we pass every towering section of it. The hum of the bike’s tires over the elevated road.
Tears prickle the back of my eyes.
This is the first time since Mama and I started to build our life here that I’ve felt light.
Weightless.
With the bridge behind us, we head southeast, and the traffic thins out. After a myriad of turns I’m never going to remember leaves me completely turned around, we zip into the parking lot of Forest Park.
I’ve seen the brochures. Mama and I have been meaning to visit since we arrived here. But life, it never stops.
We haven’t made the time.
The night air is chilly when Miles kills the engine. I step off the bike and pull the helmet from my head. My hair is a total mess, and I don’t even care.
Is that music?
A melody lifts through the darkness. The parking lot is lit by old-fashioned lamps, two rows of them flanking the path to the center of the park like dutiful soldiers.
Miles is by my side a beat later, and we hang the helmets on the handlebars.
“Dance with me?” Miles laces his fingers through mine.
What? No, I cannot dance. At all.
Reluctantly, I follow where he leads me.
When I shiver, he tugs me into his side, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, dropping a kiss into my hair.
I look up at him.
Blue eyes are stuck on my face as we move forward, neither of us paying attention to the path ahead.
It’s only when the brightly lit center of the park makes me squint that we both turn to take in the musicians and their folksy tunes. Couples dance while others sit at small café tables. A handful of stalls stand behind the center platform hosting the instruments.
“Miles,” I utter.
He holds out a hand.
The captain wants to dance . . . with me?
With a nervous laugh, I admit, “I can’t actually dance.”
“Need to stand on my feet, beautiful?”
The feminist in me just died a little, and I’m not even mad about it.
“Sure, but if I hurt your big clodhoppers, that’s on you, buddy.”
“Oh, Christ. On you get, but one condition,” he says as we move toward the dancing space.
“What’s your condition, Miles?”
“Don’t ever call me buddy again.”
“Huh, right. How about mate?”
His face pulls tight over a cringy grin. “Nope, that’s not going to cut it, either.”
“Okay,” I say, stepping onto his feet. “What, exactly, can I call you?”
His head dips until his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “You can call me sir, beautiful.”
Oh shit. Heat flings through my veins.
Too much, this close is too much.
On second thought, I think I’ll wing it.
I step down and let the music move my body as my hand stays wrapped in his.
Heat creeps up my neck and I duck my head, scrambling for my next breath.
My body is lit with something I’ve never felt before with his low tone, his warm hold on me as we move around with the music.
I slide my arms around his neck, and he smiles at me. “Well, in that case, sir. How is this for dancing?”
I twist, sway, and roll out of his hold before making a dramatic return to his space.
He tosses his head back, chuckling. “It’s good, London.”
“You sure I’m doing it right?”
“You’re exactly what I need.”
“Ah, a need, not a want.” My gaze drifts to the other couples. Most are much older than us.
“Baby, trust me, you’re absolutely a want of mine.”
The smile splitting my face is ridiculous. And I don’t even care. Nothing compares to the way this man looks at me. Has been looking at me since the day we met.
If we’re both being honest.