Chapter Four
Myles
The motel sits on the side of the highway, a squat, tired building with chipped paint and a buzzing neon sign that flickers between Vacancy and a half-dead glow.
The lot’s cracked asphalt is littered with empty beer cans and cigarette butts, and every window has a set of curtains drawn tight, yellow light leaking around the edges.
Not exactly five-star accommodations.
I kill the engine and climb out, scanning the lot out of habit. Two trucks. A rusted-out sedan. Shadows moving behind drawn curtains. Nothing that feels like a threat, but I stay alert anyway.
Paris climbs out from her side of the truck, tugging her hoodie closer around her like a protective shield. Her eyes dart over the place like she’s trying to convince herself it’s fine. She looks out of place here—soft, clean, too damn good for this dump.
“Come on,” I mutter, leading the way.
Inside, the office smells like stale coffee and damp carpet.
The guy behind the counter is balding, wearing a stretched-out undershirt, his chair creaking as he leans back with some racy magazine.
He doesn’t bother looking up until we step up to the counter.
His gaze drifts over Paris, slow and sticky. Then back to me.
“Well now,” he drawls with a suggestive smirk. “Need a room?”
“Two,” I say flatly.
His smirk grows. “Ain’t got two. Just one left.”
My jaw tightens. I glance at Paris. “We can try somewhere else.”
The guy barks out a laugh. “Good luck. Next motel’s forty miles out, and not much in between.”
Paris shakes her head quickly, cheeks pink but steady. “It’s fine. One room is fine.”
Her voice is light, but I catch the way her hands twist the strap of her bag. She’s embarrassed. Cute as hell, but embarrassed.
The man quotes the price, and before Paris can dig into her purse, I’m sliding my card across the counter.
“Oh, I can pay—” she starts, but I cut her off with a look.
“I’ve got it.” My tone leaves no room for argument.
The clerk swipes the card, still smirking like he knows something. He slides the key across the counter, and I take it, ignoring him completely.
“Come on,” I murmur to Paris, holding the door open for her.
She hurries past me, her face burning red, and I can’t stop the heat curling in my gut at the sight. The poor girl’s mortified, but all I can think about is how goddamn adorable she looks when she blushes.
Spending the night in one room just makes things much more complicated.
The room is just as I expected—nothing special. I look around, taking in everything in one swoop. Brown carpet with stains that’ll never come out, bed with a floral comforter that’s seen better decades, and a small couch shoved against the wall. A single lamp flickers weak light across the space.
I set my bag down and nod toward the couch. “I’ll take that.”
Paris blinks at me. “What? No way. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” she shoots back, planting her hands on her hips. “You’re already helping me enough. I’m not going to hog the only decent bed while you curl up on that…that sad excuse for furniture.”
I arch my brow, a smile tugging at my lips. She’s tiny, soft, all flushed cheeks and nervous energy, and yet she digs her heels in like she’s ready to fight me on this one.
Stubborn. I didn’t expect that from her.
I want to laugh. I also want to throw her on that bed and show her exactly what happens when she challenges me.
“The bed’s yours,” I mutter instead.
She narrows her eyes, unconvinced. “We’ll figure it out.”
I don’t argue further, because if I do, I might give in to the thought clawing through my head—the thought of sharing that bed with her, her body pressed against me, her warm breath on my chest. My blood heats at the image, my control already fraying.
Paris breaks the moment, brushing past me. “I need a shower.”
The words hit me like a punch. My jaw locks, because all I can see now is water streaming down her skin, sliding over her naked body, dripping from her hair. I force my hands into fists at my sides, shifting to hide the sudden hardness pressing against my jeans.
When I glance up, she’s watching me. Eyes wide, curious. And for the briefest second, there’s a flicker—heat, interest, something raw. Then she looks away, pretending like she didn’t just catch me imagining her naked.
Dangerous.
If I stay in here, I’ll do something I can’t take back.
“I’ll grab us something to eat,” I grunt, heading for the door before I lose what’s left of my control.
By the time I get back, she’s sitting by the window, damp hair spilling around her shoulders.
She’s changed into a baggy T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, but it doesn’t hide much.
Her legs are bare, smooth and pale in the lamplight, and my eyes catch on the curve of her thighs.
My throat tightens when I notice the way the thin fabric clings to her chest, her nipples pressing faintly against the cotton.
Innocent. Completely unaware. And it kills me.
I hold up the bag. “Kitchen downstairs is closed. I had to drive out, but the only thing open was a gas station down the road. They don’t have much. Sandwiches. Bottled water.”
She turns, smiling like I just came back with a five-course meal. “Perfect.”
When I set it down, she immediately starts dividing it. “We’ll share.”
“No.”
Her brows lift. “Why not?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s not true. You’ve been driving for hours. Eat.”
There it is again—that endearing little stubborn streak.
I lean closer, meeting her gaze until her cheeks flush. “You, eat.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue again, but she gives in to my command with a quiet “fine.” She unwraps the sandwich, takes a small bite, and for some damn reason I can’t stop watching her mouth.
She eats neat, careful, licking a crumb from the corner of her lips. Cute. Too cute. My chest aches with something I don’t even want to name.
She catches me staring, color rushing to her cheeks. “What?”
“Nothing.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend.
She ducks her head, smiling to herself as she keeps eating.
When she finishes, she yawns, stretching before crawling onto the bed. She burrows under the comforter, eyes heavy. “You’re really going to sleep on that couch?”
“That was the plan.”
She shakes her head, patting the space beside her. “Come here.”
The way she says it…in that soft, coaxing voice, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy…something punches me low in the gut.
I stand there, fighting myself, then finally move toward the bed. Her scent hits me first—warm, fresh soap, a hint of something sweet underneath. It wraps around me, clouds my head, makes every muscle in my body tense with want.
I lower myself onto the mattress, careful to leave some distance between us. But I already know that sleeping beside her tonight might be the hardest battle I’ve ever fought.
Sleep doesn’t come easy. My body is wound tight, the scent of Paris all around me, her steady breaths brushing my skin from where she’s curled on the other side of the bed. I fight it for what feels like hours, until exhaustion finally drags me under.
And then I’m on the war front. Just like every other night.
The dream is the same as always. Sand. Screams. My bloody gloves. A boy’s face—too young, staring at me as my fingers curl around the trigger because he’s strapped with a vest and if I don’t, my unit dies. His eyes burn through me. Wide. Terrified.
Just as I’m about to relive the worst part, a soft voice echoes through my consciousness, pulling me out. I jerk awake with a grunt. My lungs are burning, cold sweat forming on my temple.
For a few seconds, I’m disoriented, my head hazy from the dream. Then my eyes land on a hand, pressed gently against my chest. I look up slowly and into her soft blue eyes.
“Myles,” she whispers, leaning over me. Her hair falls around her face, her eyes wide with worry. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s just a dream.”
Her touch anchors me. It’s the first time in years I’ve been able to come out of that horrible place without being dragged under. It’s the first time I’ve ever escaped my demons. She saved me.
“Want to talk about it?” she asks softly, her eyes searching mine.
I drag a hand over my face, trying to shake it off, but she doesn’t pull away. She just continues to look at me, waiting…those blue eyes filled with something I’ve never seen pointed at me before—genuine empathy.
Somehow, I find myself speaking.
“Back when I was in the Army,” I rasp, “we were deployed overseas. My unit got pinned down outside Fallujah. There was a kid…” My throat works, but I force it out. “Eighteen. Maybe a little older. He was wired. I knew what it meant. If he got close, we were all gone.”
Paris covers her mouth, eyes glistening.
“I shot him,” I whisper, the words tasting like ash. “I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Just pulled the trigger. His face is in my dreams every night. Every damn night.” My voice cracks on the last word, something I never let happen.
Paris shakes her head. “Myles…”
I stare at her, jaw tight, chest hollow. “Now you know. What I am.”
She lifts her hand, trembling, and touches my cheek like I’m not something filthy. “No. You did what you had to do. You saved lives. You’re not a monster.”
The words hit me harder than any bullet. Because she believes them. She sees the parts I’ve buried under silence and blood, and she doesn’t flinch.
A tear slips down her cheek, and before I can stop myself, I catch it with my thumb. “Why are you crying for me?”
Her lips tremble. “Because I can’t imagine what you’ve carried. Alone.”
And that’s it.
With a growl caught in my throat, I grab her, pull her against me. My mouth crashes onto hers, all the hunger I’ve held back pouring out in a single, brutal kiss. She gasps, her lips parting, and I take everything she gives me, deep and raw, tongue sliding against hers.
Her lips are soft, sweeter than I ever let myself imagine, but the second she gasps against my mouth, something inside me snaps. I tilt her head and deepen the kiss, taking more. She moans, low and breathy, and it goes straight to my cock.
I fist a hand in her damp hair, tugging just enough to angle her face, devouring her like I’ve been starving for months. Because I have. Every look. Every smile. Every second I’ve spent holding back…I take it all now.
Her hands roam over me, desperate, clutching my shirt, sliding across my chest like she needs to feel all of me at once. The little sounds she makes—the whimpers, the shaky breaths—ignite me more than anything I’ve ever heard.
I slide my palm under the thin cotton of her shirt, dragging it up slowly, savoring the feel of her silky soft skin. She arches into me, eager, her body begging for more even as her lips stay fused to mine. My thumb grazes the underside of her breast, and she gasps into my mouth, pressing closer.
Christ. She’s driving me insane.
I slide my hand higher, finally cupping her breast, brushing my thumb over the hard peak of her nipple. She shudders, lips breaking from mine just long enough to whisper my name. Breathless. Needy.
“Myles…”
The sound wrecks me. I squeeze gently, rolling her nipple between my fingers, swallowing her moan with another brutal kiss. My other hand grips her thigh, dragging it over mine, pulling her body flush against the evidence of just how much I want her.
She melts into me, grinding against the hard line of my cock like instinct, her hands clutching my shoulders, nails digging into me.
I’ve dreamed of this—of her—every night since I first saw her. But nothing compares to the way she feels now. Soft. Hungry. Mine.
And I’m seconds away from losing control completely, but I can feel the weariness in her body, the way she’s half-drunk with exhaustion and in need of a good night’s sleep. Sleep that I’ve already interrupted with my nightmares.
I tear my mouth from hers, breathing hard. I press my forehead to hers. “You need to rest,” I rasp, my voice shredded with restraint. “We still have a long drive tomorrow.”
Her chest rises and falls against me, eyes dazed, lips swollen from my kiss. She nods wordlessly, like she can’t even find her voice, and curls obediently into my side.
I wrap an arm around her, holding her close as she tucks her face against my chest. She lets out a soft sigh, already drifting off to sleep.
I lie there, every nerve on fire, my cock aching, my body demanding I take more. But I don’t. I can’t. Not yet.
It’s going to be a fucking long night.