Miles Apart (Chance at Love #2)

Chapter 1

Emma

“ D o you have to go?”

I glance up at doe eyes in the mirror and bite back a smile. West waits for me to change my mind, and for a brief moment I allow myself to entertain the thought that he wants me to stay for more than my body.

He’s cute—adorable, even—but he has much to learn.

My attention falls back to the concealer in my hand. It will be a miracle if I don’t walk out looking like a yellow highlighter. This lighting is awful, even for a standard hotel room decorated in three shades of beige. I drop makeup into my overnight bag and adjust the strapless sweater dangling off my shoulder. “I had a good time last night,” I say.

Gracious tongue.

Steady strokes.

Four out of five stars.

West sits up in bed with a grin too big for a woman about to leave him. The tartan duvet pools at his waist, showcasing an array of lean muscles engraved into tanned ivory skin.

“So let’s do it again,” he begs, his lower lip dipping into a pout. There’s a lightness in his tone, one mixed with confidence and the hope that his ability to please is enough to keep me here. Firm hands tatted at the forearms push the rest of the decorative pillows to the floor. West leans against the wooden headboard and spreads his legs to stroke his length over the sheets.

Tempting.

Men in their twenties are wild cards. Most fuck with the intensity of a jackrabbit, which is why I keep them at bay. Not this one. West was a pleasant surprise who didn’t let direction hurt his ego. Guys my age could learn from him. Even at twenty-nine, five years younger than me, he took the time to discover what pleased me instead of what got him off.

West and I met at the kickoff mixer for the weeklong singles’ retreat. I’m not here for the hope of a happily ever after. I’m here for dick and to pull my best friend out of the fortress of her home back in Austin. She’s on her way to divorce, but that doesn’t mean life is over.

Justice’s night ended exactly as expected. She took one look at people on the prowl for love and lust before she headed up to our suite and spent the night with room service.

I had other plans.

West caught my eye behind the bar across the crowded room. It didn’t take long for our stares to linger before I sat on the stool in front of him. We exchanged names while he made my martini. His forearms flexed under the rolled sleeves of his white button-down. The lust in his eyes reflected in mine as our fingers touched on the stem of my glass. We went up to his room after midnight with the promise of orgasms.

A delicious welcome to Vail, Colorado, after a full day of traveling.

Hooded blue eyes pierce mine in a silent plea for me to stay. One night is all I’ll give.

There are the Joan Claytons of the world—women like Justice who color-code their linens and believe in soulmates. I never felt an itch to attach forever to a partner. I’m with the Toni Childs of the world—those who try you on for size before swapping you out with their outfits. Relationships slow you down and expose you to wounds. She tried the “I do,” and look what happened. I’ve seen a loveless marriage up close. Now, I’m witnessing the aftermath of a broken love story with my best friend.

I’ll pass.

The hiss of the zipper on my thigh-high boot breaks our stare. West moves to pull me down when I saunter over to the bed, but he isn’t quick enough. I meant what I said. Last night was enjoyable, but this eagerness for me to stay is why I don’t make a habit of sleeping over.

I saw.

I conquered.

I came—more than once.

“Now, West.” I straddle him for no other reason than to be a tease. “You were good.” My lips press to the shell of his ear. “Let’s see what this week holds. I know where to find you.” I ruffle the dirty blonde waves I gripped when he explored the depths between my thighs, grab my overnight bag, and make my exit without a last glance.

West is a fuck boy in its purest form. He reeks of it, much like his Old Spice deodorant. His boy-next-door good looks and pickup lines might leave others pressed, but not me. I’m not a woman to look for more out of a one-night stand. We take what we need and move on. No idling. No waiting by the phone. No pouting of any kind—a lesson for West to learn fast.

The best way to teach is by example, right?

The front door closes behind me with a soft click. I didn’t expect to sleep with someone this early into the retreat, but what can I say? West is good with his hands, behind the bar and in bed. He had the stamina to match my pace, but when I’m done, I’m done.

I like sex—love it, crave it—and enjoy the act with whatever flavor I want to taste for the night. Sleepovers are usually off the table unless I want seconds. I did with West, but now we can move on.

My phone pings with a text that pulls a smile at the Sister, Sister melody. No matter the years that pass—twenty, in our case—my best friend always checks in to make sure I’m okay. I don’t tolerate many people in my life, but Justice will never not be my person.

Justice

Hey, about to order room service for breakfast. Want anything?

A room service attendant smiles at my nod and stops in front of a door across the hall. The scent of eggs and French toast wafts from plates on the cart. Breakfast does sound good.

I shift my overnight bag on my shoulder to type out a message to Justice I’ll be up to our suite soon. Unlike the standard rooms, ours has two bedrooms, one on each side of the wide living space. There’s a fireplace and jacuzzi on the balcony with views of the surrounding valley. It’s rich in luxury and knotted wood flooring.

Hey, hon.

Another message appears once I hit send, stuttering my silent walk over plush carpeting to the elevator. My jaw tightens at the name on the screen, one that paints my cheeks the same color as my manicure.

Carter Davis.

Carter

You can’t ignore me forever.

The hell I can’t.

Doesn’t he have more important matters? A press conference? The rider that guarantees my father’s favorite almond brand will be at his next event? Annoying Senator Douglass’s daughter is not on his congressional to-do list, I’m sure.

I flip back to the text with Justice in a huff. The problem with a twenty-year friendship is that will see right through any attempt to act normal, and she will push for answers. It’s in her nature to care, the same way it is to hug for no damn reason. I’ll handle Carter myself. This week is about Justice, not me. She went through too much for me to pile on my mess.

In less than twenty-four hours, we discovered the estranged husband she left seven months ago is at this retreat, which I picked for our annual girls’ trip. She needed time away from drowning herself in work as a distraction from her separation, to meet new people and decide if divorce is what she really wants. Clearly, her ex is wasting no time getting back in the game.

Our trip comes with a week’s worth of activities I’d choose a colonoscopy over doing, but if snowmobiling and horseback riding put a smile on Jay’s face, I’ll grit my teeth. I slipped in a spa day and a whiskey tasting to lower her guard. Speed dating and the private date that comes with it will be a tough sell, but Justice will survive.

Carter

Call me. You have ten minutes.

This asshole.

I close my eyes and draw a deep breath. Why do you fight us? Carter’s words in my father’s study last Thanksgiving play on a loop. The way he whispered them while my mother argued with the kitchen staff about cranberry sauce in the hall still makes me shiver. How his hand crept up my arm to trace his thumb against my throat. He’s always been an arrogant prick, but he never touched me. Not like that.

I don’t mind a man who takes charge, but I prefer him not to have an affiliation with my family. My mother’s constant reminders that I’m not living up to our family legacy and am wasting away my “childbearing years” are bad enough. They’re the reason I keep myself on the opposite side of the country, with good weather, a lucrative fashion career, and access to all the dick I want without shame or judgment.

Juliette Douglass would pick out my wedding china tomorrow if Carter was serious about pursuing a relationship. He comes from money, is a loyal lapdog to my father, and is the only one in her eyes who could tame me out of my “wild ways.”

My defiance is a declaration of the love I have for myself and the life I create for me. I adore my body, feel empowered by the autonomy to share it, and have no desire to be a mother. It doesn’t make me less than or undesirable.

The elevator doors open to an empty car of mirrored walls. My fingers hover above the button to my floor. I can’t see Justice right now. She’s no stranger to Carter or my family drama, but, given her Terrence sighting, she needs her own space to process without distractions.

Worked up an appetite last night the menu won’t satisfy. See you at lunch.

Let Justice think I’m still in someone’s bed.

Now to deal with Carter.

“Emma.” My name is a taunt on his lips.

“What do you want, Carter?” My sigh travels between time zones and the thin fibers of my patience. This is fucking up my post-coital high.

“Did you lose your manners in the mountains?”

My eyes roll at his chuckle. I don’t need to close them to picture Carter seated in his leather office chair and bespoke suit. His ego matches his six-foot stature. It’s big enough to fill Congress and this restaurant.

I signal to the bartender for another Bellini. I’m at the end of the bar tucked between foliage and a wall of mirrors, the perfect spot to people watch and eat breakfast. If only I hadn’t lost my appetite because of this call and the person on the other end.

Carter is attractive, but I can’t stand him. My regard for him shifted over the years he’s worked for my father. No amount of fine can fix that awful of a heart.

“Does my father need something?” I push out the question to rush Carter off the phone.

“I need you,” he says, his husky tone licking my ear. “John has a fundraiser this weekend in Denver. His only daughter should make an appearance.”

“Is Blair not available to play poster child?” My cousin is everything the good senator wants in a daughter: obedient, vanilla. Throw in a ride on the private jet, and she’ll do a special cheer.

There’s a pause before Carter lowers his deep voice. “She’s not you.”

Silence dances between us with the intensity of a livewire, one I’ve reinforced since I met Carter when he interned for my father during his sophomore year of college. He ignored my high school crush until I graduated from Bodie University. I was no longer the same girl who made every excuse to stop by my father’s office, knowing one of Virginia’s senators was too busy to see his daughter. I became a woman who grew into her own, wanting more and no longer willing to chase after anyone in order to be seen.

It pissed off my family that I chose a lesser-known institution in California over my father’s Ivy League alma mater. They couldn’t control my desire to attend the same school as Justice, nor my decision to put the middle of the country between us. No matter their efforts, the money they threw at me to come back home to the DMV, nor the threats to take away the trust fund I never used, I held my own—unbought or sold.

Carter took notice of my rebellion, and so began the decade-plus game of cat and mouse. I became the unattainable trophy to acquire, driven by lust and his desire to please my father. Carter evolved into another desperate-for-power suit on Capitol Hill. He’s remained on my Do Not Fuck list, which is a testament to my willpower.

Low-cut fade.

Caramel skin.

Blue-green eyes.

Carter is Jesse Williams, a self-absorbed version doused in fine.

I love dick, but not everyone gets admission into this pussy.

“You are John’s daughter,” Carter declares as if I’m the one who needs the reminder. “You can afford a few hours to support the campaign.”

“I’m here to enjoy a trip with my best friend, not bend over backward for donors to make my father look good.”

“Saturday night. We’ll charter a plane to pick you up and take you back. As for how far you can bend”—Carter’s voice drops—“we’ll test your limits later.”

“I told you, I have plans.” I clear my throat after a long swallow. My boots rub to keep my knees from parting. The change in altitude is messing with my head because my Do Not Fuck list might make a liar out of me if he keeps this up. I’m strong, but shit, I’m human too.

“Cancel them.”

“Not happening.”

Growing up, Justice and her family welcomed me with open arms. I was the kid of an influential politician with access to privilege but without the one thing money can’t buy. Some fancy jet and a twenty-thousand-a-plate fundraiser aren’t enough to ditch my friend. Nothing is.

“Is that an invitation to come get you?”

I hang up without a second thought. It’s too early for all that. The devil is a lie, as Justice’s mother says.

“Someone’s testy,” a familiar voice says from behind, raising every hair on my neck.

Miles steps next to me, and I ask God what I did to deserve not one but two men tempting me to pose for a mugshot. “How in the hell are you here?”

“You want my flight number?” Miles rolls his thick lips between his teeth. I follow the wet path of his tongue and scoff at the grin forming.

My now-room-temperature parfait streaks my bowl as I take in the ripped figure in my private corner, the one with a smirk on his goatee-framed mouth and a gaze up to no good.

Of course, he came.

Miles is a threat in ways Carter will never be. I’ll dodge the latter without issue if I limit my trips home to Alexandria, Virginia, which I do. Miles is a different story. If Justice and I are a package deal, so are Terrence and Miles. They’ve been friends since they were damn near babies, and that pushes us together for obvious reasons. Our paths don’t always cross, but when they do, it’s this mix of sexual tension and contempt.

I’ve sidestepped Miles, those thick arms, and rich chocolate skin, for over a decade. We’ve been doing this dance since college, when Justice and Terrence started dating. He tosses a dig my way, and I toss it right back. The problem is, we both love sex, which isn’t an issue until you almost do it during a trip to your respective best friends’ house. We shouldn’t have come that close, which is why I’ve kept my distance and double-check before visiting to make sure he’s not there.

Test-driving the best friend of my best friend’s husband is out of the question. Miles hits too close to home, even if a juicy ass and solid chest deserve a look under the hood.

Miles assesses me from the corner of his eye before turning his full gaze on me. The soft arch in his brow lifts, and a smile ghosts his lips to show white teeth. He folds his arms crowded in thick muscles over his chest, pulling the black tee and outlining every muscle in his torso.

I tear my eyes away to look at anything other than the amusement flickering in his, and my gaze lands on the gray beanie covering the fade he keeps fresh.

Fuck him.

We cannot.

“It’s nice to see you, Em.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

“Is that how you feel after the last time we were together? What was it, two years ago?” His expression darkens, daring me to pretend the night in question didn’t sear itself into my mind.

Memories filter back to the long walk to my guest room, fresh from a cold shower to keep my vagina in check. I passed Miles’s room as he came out in sweats, headed to the bathroom that I left to soap down every hard muscle on his body and what lies between his legs, which left an imprint against the gray cotton.

We stood inches apart, no best friends around to force us to retreat to our corners. We argued as we always do. The source of our ire that evening? Movie trivia. But at that moment, I couldn’t stop my eyes from raking over the shirtless torso before me. It was at the perfect height with our size difference.

“Ready for a taste?” Miles teased. His words were playful but his tone was sharp. Hungry. The man matches energy, and his stare told me to run.

I locked my bedroom door behind me to keep from sleepwalking and sucking the skin off his dick. By morning, Miles left. Something about a work trip. I stopped visiting Austin at the same time he did since that night. The energy between us threatened to crush my lungs, and a bitch enjoys breathing.

Carter is a lot to handle at times, but Miles is a different force.

I unclench my hands and steady my glower. “Do us both a favor. Keep yourself and Terrence far away from me and Justice, or there will be hell to pay.”

If a single look could kill, Justice would choose my tombstone instead of an omelet from a room service menu.

Miles’s stare coasts down my neck to where my heart is drumming inside my chest. He considers me, the light from the bistro chandelier catching in his diamond stud. The cloud lifts from his eyes, and he winks. “Put your claws away, kitten. Junior must not have satisfied you if you’re still this wound up. Is he up yet for round two?”

“I am not wound up,” I say too quickly. “And stop watching me, stalker.”

Miles must’ve been at last night’s kickoff mixer. I saw Terrence, who made a beeline for Justice after a man in an Al Bundy outfit hit on her. Miles was nowhere to be found. But he clearly saw me. He always does.

His shoulder lifts to shrug off the accusation. “You’re hard to miss.” He nods to my phone on the counter. “When you’re ready for a grown man to take care of you, come find me.” Miles leaves with a casual strut, too unbothered to rush, and an ass that would make Calvin Klein billions.

The bartender returns with a folded paper bag he places next to my bowl. “Would you like another to-go box?” He motions to the untouched berries and granola sliding through low-fat Greek yogurt.

“Yes, thanks.” I frown at the bag. “Is this for someone else?”

“The gentleman settled your bill and asked us to rush an order.” He checks the taped receipt. “Pancake and eggs from our children’s menu. For Junior?”

A smile breaks.

Let the games begin.