12. Reed #3
I’m not sure how long we stay like that, locked in a silent stare off, as I pull him from the brink of his panic, but it’s long enough for me to register the thick length of him pressed against me.
Ignoring the jolt of desire it sends flooding through my system, I wait until I believe he is completely back in his control until I speak again.
“Better?” I choke out in question, and the second I speak, he snatches himself away from me as if I burned him.
“I need a drink,” he forces out, turning and walking away from me without looking back.
Sighing, I shake my head, more than used to his hot and cold act after spending so much time with him, especially considering I am always on the receiving end of the cold. So instead of taking it personally, I straighten my shirt and head back inside.
By the time I make it back to the table, he is sitting there, having already downed half my bottle of wine, and is looking at it in disgust. “What the fuck am I drinking? It tastes like spicy cherries,” he drawls, the picture of calm and serenity, and I know instantly what he’s doing.
He is trying to act like nothing happened, because God forbid Wilder Miles shows any hint of vulnerability to anyone.
I steal the bottle from him, topping off my glass again, before handing it back, as I take a seat beside him and reply, “That’s a thousand dollar bottle of wine,” I tell him, not trying to sound superior, but failing completely, making him snort.
“Of course it is, Prescott.” He tips the rest of it down his throat, not tasting the fresh palette of fruit and spices, before he swallows it and grimaces completely.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a heathen?” I glare at him, trying my best to look menacing, but he only smirks.
“Some people like that about me, pretty boy.”
A thrill shoots up my spine at his words, his tone so similar to that night we fucked, and it has very bad thoughts running through my mind. If only I were someone who could entertain such things.
“Could have fooled me,” I grumble in response, forcing my stare away from him, like I have had to do all night, and slowly sip my wine.
“What about you?” he asks, turning himself toward me, and I have to stop myself from immediately snapping my gaze back to his.
“What about me?” I ask, pretending I’m not interested in whatever he is about to say.
“Isn’t this the perfect hunting ground for you?” His question has me giving him my full attention, my brows knitting in confusion. “You’re far from home, and nobody knows your last name,” he continues in explanation. “Why aren’t you looking for someone to go home with?”
I don’t really feel like telling him that hooking up with someone when I am dressed like this, feels like I am cheating myself, so instead I settle with a shrug. “Maybe none of them are my type.”
That response only has him smirking wider. “Oh yeah, and what’s your type?”
Again I know what he’s doing, he’s trying to push us back into one of two areas we have come to exist in.
The one where we flirt and almost cross the line again, or the one where I work for his father and he pretends I don’t exist. Right now his father isn’t here, we aren’t on the clock, and he definitely isn’t pretending I don’t exist. I could easily let myself flirt back, knowing he knows my true self, so I wouldn’t be cheating if I hooked up with him again, but it would definitely complicate things.
Choosing to keep the line between us that I told myself I wouldn’t cross again, I change the subject. “Matt and I are going to Sirmione tomorrow, do you want to come?”
Wilder rolls his eyes, knowing exactly what I’m doing, and it annoys me that he knows me so well after only a few weeks. But we both know that whatever attractions we had that night, need to be locked away for both our sakes.
“Should I know what that is?” he asks, finishing off my bottle of wine and letting his stare finally leave me, to trail over the guys on the dance floor.
“It’s a little town about ninety minutes from here, it sits right on Lake Garda and has a historic castle, a church, a little library, it’s supposed to be beautiful.” It’s on my list of places to visit while on this trip, and I can’t wait to have a day off and soak up all the history.
“And what’s in it for me?” Wilder asks, cutting into my thoughts, and I focus back on him and find him watching me.
“You mean apart from everything I just listed?” I ask sarcastically, but Wilder only nods, his green eyes sparkling with so much mischief that I find myself adding, “I guess you’ll have to come to find out.”
This time his smile is nothing short of predatory, as he leans in so close that I can almost taste the red wine on his breath.
“Well we both know how much I love to come, Prescott,” he muses, stealing the glass from my hand and downing the rest of my wine.
“I’m going to bed. Don’t follow me, because with the mood I’m in, I’d ruin you for good. ”
I watch him leave, knowing there is clearly something wrong with him, but what’s worse is that his words make me want to follow him, so clearly there is something wrong with me too.