Chapter 14 She’s thirteen, not MI6
AMIRA
I’m drunk on the rush of what just happened. My legs are still trembling. My pulse is slowly finding its rhythm again, but my mind is a mess.
I don’t know how long we stay tangled together, my body slumped over the desk, Henson’s chest pressed to my back, but I could melt into the silence for hours and not mind one bit.
Until…
Knock knock knock.
We both freeze.
“Uncle Henny?” a soft voice calls.
My heart plummets to my toes.
Henson straightens behind me, and mutters, “Shit. That’s my niece, Brianna.”
“Your what?” I hiss, stumbling upright as panic explodes in my chest. “Oh my God.”
I yank my sweater up over my shoulder and practically dive for my jeans, shoving my legs into them so fast I nearly fall over.
Henson chuckles behind me, entirely too amused as he zips his pants and runs a hand through his hair like he didn’t just rearrange my entire nervous system three minutes ago.
“This isn’t funny,” I whisper-shout, fingers fumbling with my button. “I’m your family’s guest. I just had sex with you in my client’s house. Do you know how many ways that’s a terrible idea?”
He grins, way too casual for the situation.
“Henson!” I bark, looking around like there might be security cameras that caught us in HD.
His smile only widens. “Technically, it was a… meeting. A very productive one.”
I shoot him a glare and rush toward the mirror on the wall, quickly patting down my hair, wiping at my lips, checking my sweater for wrinkles or any other evidence that I’ve just been fucked within an inch of my life.
Face flushed. Eyes wild. I look very much like a woman who just got thoroughly ruined on a desk.
Henson watches me fuss and laughs. “Stop. You look perfect.”
I scowl. “I’m literally about to meet your niece.”
“She’s thirteen, not MI6. Relax.”
I don’t get a chance to respond because he’s already unlocking the door.
His niece walks in with zero suspicion, bouncing along in a holiday sweater that says Sleigh All Day. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s holding a can of whipped cream like it’s a weapon. Her eyes dart between the two of us. “Why was the door locked?”
Henson answers smoothly. “We were just having a quick meeting about the New Year’s Eve party.”
Brianna’s face lights up. “Oh! Are there going to be fireworks?”
“If the town laws allow it, I’m sure we can make that happen,” I say.
“Town laws,” Henson scoffs behind me. “Us Millers do what we want now.”
I roll my eyes as his niece laughs. She already has his sense of humor. God help us all.
“I’m going to, um, freshen up,” I mumble quickly, before anyone else can walk in and smell sin lingering in the air.
Once in the bathroom, I close the door and press both palms to the counter, glaring at my reflection.
“You fell for it again. Stop letting him in. Literally.”
I’m still sorting through the wreckage of my last relationship, still not over the way it made me question everything about who I am, so I can’t let this happen with Henson.
And now, on top of that, he’s technically a client. A wildly attractive client who makes my brain short-circuit every time he looks at me.
I sigh, shake my head, and take a moment to get myself together. After using the toilet, I wash my hands and splash cold water on my cheeks, then head back out.
The lounge room is alive with music. I spot Henson’s mom near the far end, chatting with a few relatives. She catches my eye and waves me over with a warm smile.
“I hope you’ve had a nice evening, Amira.”
“Very nice. Thank you again for including me.”
Nadine leads me toward a quieter corner near the fireplace and lowers her voice. “I just wanted to apologize if Worth made you uncomfortable earlier. He can be a bit direct but he means well.”
“Oh no, don’t worry,” I say quickly with an awkward laugh. “Honestly, I’ve dealt with much nosier people.”
She smiles knowingly. “Well, I hope you don’t feel unwelcome. We’re truly grateful to have you.”
If only she knew how “welcome” I’ve already made myself.
We talk through a few party details—guest list additions, the adjusted timeline, her plans to have a hot chocolate bar with themed toppings. Then she leans in, her eyes glittering with mischief.
“I have a little surprise planned. Something I’ve been keeping under wraps.”
“What kind of surprise?”
Nadine grins. “Not telling.”
I laugh. “Now I’m even more intrigued.”
After another few minutes of chatting, I set my glass down and excuse myself. “I should probably get back to the cottage for the night.”
Henson appears at my side as if summoned by thought alone.
“Yes, of course.” Nadine says, then looks at Henson. “Walk her back, will you?”
“Gladly.” He grins, clearly pleased with his mom’s request.
“No. I’m okay, really. I can manage.”
“It’s dark and the path is a little icy,” he argues.
“I’ve walked in heels through Manhattan snowbanks. I’ll be fine.”
His mom intervenes. “Henson is right. It’s dark and we’d be terrible hosts if we left you alone. I remember how slippery those paths can get in winter.”
“I promise that’s not necessary.”
Henson just lifts a brow. “Mira.” A look that tells me I’m not winning this. Nadine widens her eyes slightly at the nickname, but doesn’t comment on it.
I raise my hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. You Millers don’t take no for an answer, huh?”
Nadine laughs. “He gets it from his father.”
I offer her a warm smile and say goodbye to everyone. Polite waves and a few last-minute holiday wishes follow me as I cross the threshold and step out into the chilly night, Henson at my side.
We walk the path in silence.
A thin layer of frost dusts the bare tree branches overhead, and the moonlight casts silver shadows across the ground. I keep my arms crossed for warmth, but mostly to have something to do with my hands.
When we reach the cottage tucked at the end of the trail, I stop at the door.
“Well,” I say, brushing my fingers over the doorknob, “this is me.”
“Go out with me on Friday.”
I blink. My head turns to him in slow motion. “What?”
Henson shrugs. “Go out with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be hungry,” he says smoothly. “You’ll be hungry. We should eat. Together.”
A surprised laugh escapes me. “I have a meeting that morning.”
“So lunch?”
I shake my head. “I’m meeting with your mom around noon.”
He groans. “Then dinner. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”
I lean against the door, biting back a smile. “Persistent.”
“Very.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip, then nod. “Okay, then. Dinner it is.”
Bad idea, Amira. I ignore my inner voice.
And against every ounce of logic and professionalism and self-preservation still left in me, I add, “Want to come in?”