Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Hanna perched on a sofa that smelled deliciously like smoke and whiskey in the Baccarat, trying to breathe like a normal person. The previous two days had caught up to her.
Milo stood at the bar, waiting for drinks—not that she needed any more fuel on the fire. Logan’s accusations had been circling the drain of her mind, running down her spine and settling in her gut.
Was I just another project?
“I grabbed a cigar too. I don’t know if it’s your thing, but I can get you one.”
He set their drinks down on the glass table in front of them and sat next to her, careful to leave her plenty of space.
Goddammit, why does he have to be so considerate?
“I’ll try yours and let you know. I don’t think I’ve ever had one that didn’t come in a fruit flavor from a gas station.”
He laughed and struck a match, lighting the end. Hanna ran a thumb over the wrapper he’d left on the table. She had no idea what she was looking at, but it was embossed and felt nice to give her hand something to do.
She watched him take a slow drag, admiring the sight despite herself. She knew smoking was problematic in theory, but she also believed that living until ninety would be its own kind of torture.
Besides, her mother never smoked a day in her life, and look what that had gotten her.
Milo leaned back over the couch, his arm extended toward her, fingertips just a few inches away from her shoulder. She could have easily leaned a few inches in, just to see what he'd do, but she was cautious.
Instead, she grabbed the sweaty rocks glass from the table, not bothering to ask what it was. She knew it would be great and was beyond any ability to parse out delicate notes anyway.
She sipped, the amber liquid hitting her in the back of the throat with a thick, peaty punch. A scotch, probably?
“You like it?” he asked, smoke billowing out of the sides of his mouth. "Port Charlotte. It's just about the heaviest peated scotch I've tried. Thought you might want something different."
Something different, indeed.
She cleared her throat. “It’s like drinking a campfire... but not in a bad way?”
“Here,” Milo said and passed her the cigar. She held it between two fingers and tried not to look like it was her first time. She took a puff, holding it mostly in her mouth, afraid to cough like an amateur in front of him.
She didn’t hate the way it stung as it mixed with the scotch. She exhaled slowly, his curious eyes watching her every breath.
“I get why people enjoy this.”
She handed it back to him and let her head fall against the couch, stretching her neck and enjoying the lightheaded rush that came with a slow exhale.
They finished their drinks and Milo put out the cigar, a loaded silence settling over their chests as he offered to walk her back to her room.
The elevator doors closed.
Hanna could feel him watching her face, and she wondered if he could hear the questions rolling around in her head.
“So, we gonna talk about it?” His mouth was set in too sharp a line. The floor felt as though it was falling out from under them as it shot to the top of the casino.
“About what?” she deflected, buying herself time.
She stepped toward him and dragged her fingertip from his chest to the top of his suit pants, at war with herself. He straightened, a hand traveling across her back, pulling at the fabric of her dress.
“Hanna,” he whispered, lips just brushing her neck, and it set her soul on fucking fire.
She had questions. She wanted answers. She was sure he did too. But she knew that the moment they started the conversation, it would be game over. All the fun, all the distraction, all the heart-stopping touches and mind-melting texts.
They’d disappear. The thought of losing them a second time made her bones ache.
She fell forward, letting the entire line of her body press into his, his heart racing against her chest.
He leaned his head against the wall, eyes closed as she drifted a hand lower, her fingertips lingering just close enough to where he wanted her.
“Can we make it a problem for the flight home?” she asked.
The elevator stopped. The door opened.
“Fuck yeah, we can.”
* * *
“Where is everyone?” Milo asked between starved kisses and pulling at pieces of his suit.
“I don’t know,” Hanna gasped, breathless, kicking her shoes off.
He looped his arms around her waist and pulled her toward him, sliding both hands to her face and shoving his tongue between her lips in a way that made her knees wobble.
“Sara is staying with Matty tonight.”
“She’s a really good friend,” Milo murmured, his jacket and tie landing on the couch. “Which room?”
She turned him toward the main bedroom of their suite. No lights were on in any of the rooms, so the other girls were either asleep or still out. She fished for her phone.
It was a little after midnight. There was no way they had made it back yet.
“Eyes on me,” Milo said as he plucked her phone from her fingers and tossed it onto the pile of outfits she’d passed on while getting ready. He locked the bedroom door and turned back around, stumbling through his pants until he was down to just his boxers.
Hanna reached behind her, desperately trying to undo the zipper at the back of her neck. Milo sat on the edge of the bed and twisted her around, the room blurring. He yanked the zipper down in one fluid motion and just as she went to shimmy out of the black silk, his hands stopped her.
“You know, I’m supposed to be at a strip club.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, throwing the dress into the corner. “I need you inside of me now.”
He flashed a wicked grin, his hand splaying across her stomach and gently running along the curled edge of her bandage.
“Let me feel how badly you want it, Arizona.”
His hands reached around her back and pulled her into his lap, spreading her knees over him. He didn’t even give her a second to catch her breath before he slipped a finger between her legs.
“Oh my god, what would you have done if I said no?”
She pointed to her suitcase. “Same thing I’ve done every night since meeting you—drain a set of AAs and try not to scream your name so loud you could hear me.”
She leaned over him and pressed her lips to his, slowing down a beat so she could fully enjoy the way his hands explored her body while she tasted every inch of him.
“Get rid of these,” she whined, snapping the waistband of his boxers.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, lifting her off of him and tossing them to the side. There was no doubt how badly he wanted her too.
Milo pulled her back over his lap, holding her hips and pushing them in circles over the length of him, the most delicious bass notes rolling from his throat as she sucked on the stubbly skin beneath that laser-cut jaw.
“Hanna,” Milo said.
“Please, don’t change your mind,” she pleaded.
“As much as I love hearing you beg, we have a problem.”
She leaned back, resting her hands on his chest. “What?”
“All my condoms are in my room.”
She rolled her eyes. “Did you think Brendon was putting out this weekend?”
“Brandon,” Milo corrected. “And I planned on taking you back to my room when the guys took off for the club! I hadn’t factored Logan’s bullshit into the night.”
Hanna rolled her hips forward, a slow friction sparking between them.
“Am I an idiot if I say I don’t give a shit?”
Milo grinned against the side of her face. “Totally your call, Arizona.”
“I’m on the pill,” she amended.
“Aligned,” he chirped, digging his hands into her hips and lifting them over his lap. He hesitated for a second, the silence between them painful.
She twisted her fingers into his hair and pulled so his eyes caught hers. She could see all of the same thoughts that plagued her mind reflected in his half-lidded gaze, the same dread that pooled in her stomach.
They could fool themselves all they wanted into believing they could just be for the weekend. Just be there. That the heartbreak would be the same, so it didn’t matter.
She ran a thumb over his cheek.
“It’s already too late for us,” she whispered. “We can’t fuck ourselves out of it, Milo.”
It was the closest she could come to saying how she felt out loud.
His eyes closed, and he pushed into her palm, one hand crawling her back and tangling into her hair, still half-up from dinner.
“Flight home problem,” he mumbled, guiding her hips over him. The tension in her back melted as he claimed his space, sliding so far into her she gasped.
“I’m sorry for how fast this is about to be,” he said, his voice strained. “I promise I will make it up to you.”
His hands pushed her hips again, setting a pace that stopped any lingering thoughts that might have been rolling around in her head. She stretched around him, soft sounds slipping from both their throats.
It wasn’t the distraction she needed.
It was a whole new set of devastating problems.
It was a perversion of the highest order, a total betrayal of all their agreements.
It was—
“Where’d you go, Arizona?” Milo murmured. He reached up and tapped her forehead. “Get out of there. Get under me.”
It was so fucking good.
He twisted and rolled her onto her back, pulling the hotel quilt out from under them and shoving it toward the end of the mattress.
He didn’t untangle his arms from her back; he didn’t put space between them or whisper something filthy in her ear like she expected.
Instead, he wrapped her up in an endless kiss, moving against her slowly, edging her toward oblivion in ways she’d never pictured with him.
In ways she’d never let herself picture.
“Milo,” she gasped, his hips crashing into hers. She hooked her ankles behind his back, needing him as close as possible. Wanting him as close as possible.
“Let go, Hanna. Let me have it,” he said between biting her ear and sucking on her shoulder, the skin puckering under the pressure. “I’m not going to take it, I need you to give it to me,” he mumbled, fingers curled into her skin, leaving their marks.