Miller
Istared at the bead of garnet, watching the droplet grow on the tip of my finger as if the roses I’d bought had turned sentient and mounted an attack against the innocent digit.
“Fuck,” I grumbled, sucking on the spot where the thorn had taken out its vengeance. The garish bouquet mocked me, and I squeezed the stems, taking my frustration out on the flowers. “You’re supposed to show her how a real man should act, not stab me. Freaking uncooperative nature.”
Perhaps I should feel bad about cussing at the roses, knowing they were only acting in self-defense, but it was difficult when I knew my hostile reaction was a symptom of my nerves.
Still, that stupid thorn hurt.
I gripped the railing as I navigated the stairs that led to her place, letting the cool metal seep into my skin to calm my racing heart. This was such a stupid idea. Emma could navigate the dating world fine without me showing up with flowers larger than her head to prove a point.
So, she’d had a few bad dates? What was that to me?
Everything.
Her happiness had become an integral part of my life, and seeing how little pieces of her personality had been chipped away because of those dates was maddening. I blamed Magnum; that idiot put the idea in my head about dating her for real. Right?
Nope.The idea had been stewing—burrowing under my skin like an irritating itch just out of reach. Like that song you sang in the shower one Tuesday, only to have it repeat in your brain five thousand times. She was my itch—my song. The more I thought about making her mine, asking her to be mine, the more I needed it.
It had become the thought always present, like a second pulse, thudding in sync with my own. The cellophane around the flowers crinkled as I shifted them to my opposite hand and rapped my knuckles on her door.
“Just a second,” she called through the closed door, and I leaned closer, listening to her shuffle around the living room. A quiet scratching came through the heavy wood, and I chuckled, knowing Minnie the Moocher was on the other side, desperate to greet her new guest. Where most cats cowered in the face of loud noises and strangers, Minerva basked in the glow of anyone who would give her attention.
“Court. You’re early—” Her voice stuttered, and she put a hand on her chest and tilted her eyes as a furrow appeared between her brows.
“Miller?”
I’d been leaning against the doorframe, holding the bouquet behind my back with one ankle crossed over the other—going for the perfect picture of nonchalance. That persona disappeared when the movement of air from her opening the door brought with it the scent of peaches. I groaned, suppressing the noise by pursing my lips and flourishing the flowers from where they were hidden.
“Miller?” she repeated, my name rolling around her mouth like the finest bourbon—like she was tasting both syllables to see how they fit. I wanted to haul her to me, pressing her back into the unforgiving wall, and own her mouth before demanding she stop the facade of dating other men.
That was a surefire way to scare her off, so my brilliant plan revolved around wooing her. Showing that her needlessly wading through every available douchebag within a fifty-mile radius was not something she ever had to concern herself with again.
“For you,” I said, watching as her stunned expression morphed into confusion and then happiness.
She’d never been good at concealing emotions, wearing her feelings as plainly as she wore her favorite turquoise earrings. It was nice not to have to guess, to agonize over what was flitting through her head. I always knew. Knowing her emotions as well as I knew my own made this situation all but unbearable. The subtle way she touched me contradicted her words, making me want to push the boundaries of our friendship to see what would happen.
“Me?” she asked, taking the offered flowers and lowering her head to breathe in the scent. She closed her eyes and pushed the flowers closer to her nose, letting the delicate pink hydrangea petals brush against her skin.
“Of course. Can’t a guy do something sweet for you on a random Thursday?”
Her mouth opened as she lowered the flowers, nothing but this tiny noise escaping her lips.
“It’s Friday, Miller.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. Are you going to invite me in?” I prompted, breaking my gaze from her as a fur tornado weaved between my legs. I bent forward and scooped Minnie Magoo from the ground, knowing she’d take the open door as an invitation to venture out and explore the hallway. She pushed her head into my hand, and I chuckled, supporting her belly and scratching underneath her chin.
“Right. Yes. Come in. Please. Sure,” she answered, the words running together as she stepped aside and motioned me to follow. She wore a bathrobe cinched high on her waist, and when I quirked a brow at her appearance, she tugged the garment tighter over the swell of her chest.
“What’s going on?” I set Minerva down on the couch, but she wasn’t having any of that. Instead, she jumped down and weaved herself back between my legs. Careful not to squish one of her toe beans, I walked to the kitchen, taking a vase from under the sink and filling it with water.
Emma leaned against the countertop, watching me. I reached forward and put my index finger on the edge of her mouth, popping it from between her teeth. My eyes widened, and I pulled my hand away, clenching my fingers into a fist before shoving it into my pocket.
“There’s a question I want to ask you, Em. It’s something I’ve been wondering about for a while.”
She placed the flowers in the vase and centered them on her kitchen table then plucked a daisy from the middle of the bouquet and put her other hand on her hip.
“All right. Come on, then. I have a date tonight, but we can chat while I get dressed.”
Another date? Fuck.
This possessive green monster awoke in my chest, growling pathetic words of jealousy and plaguing me with thoughts of being too late.
Easy there, I coaxed, rubbing my sternum as I followed her into her bedroom. It was oddly intimate, me perching on the bed while she disappeared into her closet, humming over her wardrobe.
Man up.
“So, listen. I’ve been doing some thinking.”
“Oh,” she said, sticking her head out of the closet.
“Mostly about you. About the stupid requirement from your boss. Some about me.”
“Listen,” she said, the frustration clear as she walked out of the closet with three dresses, tossing them on the bed and shrugging off her robe. The tan slip she wore covered her unmentionables, had thin straps, and lace trimmed along the cups of her breasts. A slit over her left knee was borderline indecent, making me want to pull her closer and inch the fabric higher so I could see what was underneath.
“My date will be here shortly. What’s this all about?” She grabbed one dress from the bed and pulled it over her head, smoothing out the creases before looking at herself in the full-length mirror. Sighing, she moved her hands to the bottom of the dress to tug it off when I snatched her hand, holding it captive between mine.
“Sorry if I seem tense. You’ve been the one bright spot in an otherwise shitty week.” The hand I wasn’t holding patted my cheek before she tugged the other away and pressed her palm to her stomach.
The doorbell rang, the sound echoing in the space, making us jump apart like we’d been doing something nefarious instead of this careful dance where nothing significant happened except my cowardice.
The noise chimed again, and Minerva lifted her head from her bed in the corner to let out an annoyed meow.
Wait.
“Hold on a sec. You invited a blind date here? To your house? After some of the doozies you’ve been on, you knowingly gave someone your address?”
I put my hands on her shoulders, moving her aside as I strode into the hallway, vision tunneling and turning red with anger. Her house! I stomped closer to the door, preparing to threaten, maim, intimidate, or any combination of those, when her hand closed around the back of my shirt, and she tugged.
I wanted to rip myself out of her grasp, to turn and stick my finger in her face, demanding a reason for her stupidity, but my breath stuttered when I turned and saw the cold of her glare.
This look could freeze the fires of Prometheus. The deepest core of the Earth wouldn’t stand a chance against the iciness of her eyes.
“How dare you—” she started, letting go of my shirt and pushing against my chest. The force of her palms connecting with my pectorals would usually send blood flowing south and my cock begging for attention. But this fierceness radiating from every pore in her body awoke something different inside me—something proud and feral—determined and loyal.
Something I want to capture and claim as my own. Not as a possession or a trophy, no. Something for me to cherish and nurture.
“How dare I?” I said back, pushing my wayward thoughts aside and cutting off her words as her eyes turned to storm clouds, and I imagined lightning crackling around her as her anger raged.
“You don’t get to come into my house and make demands of me,” she hissed, pushing me to the side and smoothing down her dress. Her hand rested on the doorknob, and she turned, squinting and pursing her lips. “You have no say in what I do with my time. If I decide to advertise my address and phone number on a plane banner flying over Folly Beach, that’s my decision.”
She shook her head, curls bouncing around her shoulders, and plastered on a smile. I scowled from the hallway behind her, knowing my anger wasn’t misplaced. Not when we had an ongoing text message thread about the number of dick pics she got a week. Emma could be one pervert away from a stalker, and fuck it all if I’d let that happen to someone I—
“Court,” she said, opening the door and speaking in this breathy, simpering voice that was eons different from the woman who’d fisted my shirt and tugged me into submission. “It’s good to see you.”
“Wow, Emma. You look great,” the nasally voice answered, holding a single sunflower out to her. I moved closer, peering around the door to take in her date. I already had a one-up on this imbecile, knowing her favorite flowers were daisies. He was several inches shorter and at least twenty pounds lighter than me, wearing a crisp blue button-down shirt, untucked, with khakis and cowboy boots? Yep. Cowboy boots.
I rolled my eyes, cracking my knuckles as he leaned closer, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. His eyes darted to mine with the sound, and his smile faded as he took in my appearance.
“Oh. Hey, man. I’m—” His hand was partway stretched to mine, but I shook my head, stopping his words.
“Just a minute, guy. We weren’t done with our conversation.”
I stared at his hand on the doorframe, and he slowly moved it so I could close the door in his confused face. Emma’s face dropped the placating smile and formed a frown, glaring at me.
“Seriously. What the fuck, Em? Why did you tell some guy where you lived?”
She grabbed a fistful of my shirt and dragged me to the kitchen, stomping her bare feet so loudly I could hear each footfall on the carpet.
“There are so many things wrong with what you just did, Miller.”
I balled my hands by my side as she thumped me on the chest.
“One. You’re the one who showed up unannounced.”
Thump.
“Two. This happens to be a date with someone who just moved into the building.”
Thump.
“Three.”
I watched her grab and twist a spare thread from the corner of her dress. Her tight shoulders were at war with the fieriness of her gaze, like she was waiting for me to argue. This was us—all passion and fire bound under the illusion of friendship.
“Three,” she repeated, squinting like her thoughts had been swept out from underneath her. Her hands dropped to her waist, and her gaze fell to the floor as I took a breath and then allowed my fingers to skate up her arms. My hands cupped her face, and I searched her eyes.
The last time we slept together—that moment we shared when she showed up, looking at me with so much vulnerability, my chest ached—had happened because of her. Her willpower had slipped, or so I thought, revealing deeper desires.
Her friendship would never be enough. There was too much temptation to storm the castle with a battering ram and mace, ready to destroy the carefully constructed wall she’d built around us—if she’d only give me one verbal hint that the feeling was mutual.
If she genuinely didn’t want to pursue our blazing attraction, I’d accept it—eventually. But judging by how her eyes kept darting to my lips and the visible pulse point in her neck, I was more than certain she’d prove me right.
I should let her have that little piece of feigned control, but focusing on her hands still pressed to my chest, I knew I couldn’t. She needed to know where I stood. The line in the sand had been blown away, decimated by a vortex of wind and lightning. All that was left was me. Me and this big, gaping hole directly above the center of my chest. A spot designed for her. That was what she had always been—my missing piece.
She was the reason I’d trudged through each day, drifting from subpar relationships to shitty one-night stands. She was the emptiness I felt down to my bones, knowing no one would—could fill it but her. My desire for Emma was a force of nature, as unrelenting as waves in the ocean. Sobering, ice-harsh reality crashed over me, slicing through my veins as I pulled her closer.
Her arms crossed over her chest, and her hands bunched into fists as her eyes darted between me and the door, likely thinking about her date. That was fine. The prat could stand out there and suffer for a few more minutes. Perhaps he’d used the time to look in a mirror and realize the gel-slicked hair look went out of style in the nineties.
I had no claim over her. No right to ask for anything. Not yet, at least. At most, she’d think I’d been sniffing paint fumes, and my obnoxious behavior was a direct result. But even if she laughed in my face—or punched me in the jaw—she had to know. It was only fitting, making sure she had all the available and accurate information before making a choice.
“I’m sorry. I assumed you gave your address to someone you’d never met, but I’m not sorry for how I acted. I’ll never apologize for caring about you.”
Her arms dropped to rest on my waist, and I counted to three, expecting her to pull away. When she didn’t, I pressed on. “Ask me,” I said, the words sounding harsh on my tongue. I watched her swallow, eyes darting to my lips as her grip tightened.
“Ask you what?” Her voice was a caress against my skin, a whimper of promises that had gone unsaid.
“Ask me when I started to see you differently, because I do.”
“Differently?” she parroted, shaking her head and stepping backward, breaking my hold on her. I hovered closer as she moved like we were dancing, only stopping when her back pressed against the kitchen wall. I placed one arm beside her head and used the other to trail my fingers against her jaw, leaving her with little choice but to stare at me and wait.
Her perfume was a drug I craved, and her body molded perfectly to mine as I closed the last inches that separated us and caressed the smooth, silky skin of her neck. My other hand splayed over her lower back as I drew her closer, brushing my fingers against her dress.
“Yes. Ask me. Please. Ask when I saw you as something—someone more. Someone I could fall in love with.”
Her breath hitched, and her mouth opened just wide enough for me to feel the warm air on my neck. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating.
“You need to know where I stand. Let me show you, baby, but please don’t make me wait too long before letting me know if you want this as much as I do.”
That was my only warning before bending closer to claim her lips. There were no gentle, teasing strokes, only liquid fire scorching my insides as her hands rested on my hips, tugging me closer. I took possession of her mouth, loving how she gave as much as I did. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Emma kissed me the same way she did everything, with unbridled enthusiasm, throwing herself in headfirst—knowing I’d be there.
I should be sweet and slow after baring so much, but bubbling underneath the surface was the rough, punishing need to burn every thought from her head, leaving her consumed.
The feeling of my tongue entwined with hers as my hand traveled across her stomach and toward the exposed skin of her collarbone had my cock straining against my zipper.
Our lips crashed again and again, little whimpers spilling from her lips until all coherent thought was lost, leaving nothing but a repeating word in my brain—mine.