Chapter 29
“Miles,” Tabitha said late the next afternoon after finding him on her doorstep. “What are you doing here?”
Her eyes were narrowed. Her tone flat. Her body angled to make it clear that yes, she was blocking any attempt he might make at entering her cramped, too-warm apartment.
She, too, could be cool, distant, and rude when warranted. And it was absolutely warranted.
She’d meant every word she’d said last night. Had been so freaking proud of herself for speaking her truth. For standing up for what she deserved.
For walking away from him when a big part of her had wanted to stay.
But even after she’d marched to her car, high on indignation and fueled by righteousness, even after she’d gotten back to her apartment, even after knowing, with a bone-deep certainty that she was right, she’d still thought of him.
Of how he’d looked when he’d come in her mouth, his expression fierce and raw and animalistic, as if his pleasure bordered on pain. And just because she could still taste him on her tongue, sharp and salty and musky, and her scalp was still tender from where he’d gripped her hair, her throat sore from taking him so deep, did not mean she wanted him to show up at her door.
Although, if she had magically made him appear, she’d done a damn good job.
He wore a pair of snug faded jeans and an Ohio State T-shirt that clung to his chest, the short, tight sleeves accentuating the definition of his arms. His dark hair was wavy and damp from the rain that had been falling steadily all day, and mussed as if he’d run his fingers through it. The whiskers on his cheeks and chin thicker and darker and sexier than they’d been last night.
He wasn’t helping matters, either, standing there looking nervous, his dark gaze scanning her face as if he was committing her features to memory.
As if he was worried this was going to be the last time he’d get the chance to see her.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
She wanted to refuse him. She really did. Despite all evidence to the contrary, she wasn’t a glutton for punishment, a masochist, or an idiot.
But she was foolish.
Foolish enough to still want something out of her reach.
Smart enough not to admit it. To tell herself the reason she stepped aside and opened the door wide was because it was hot in the stairway, and standing there with the door open was letting out the air her A.C. had worked so hard to cool.
The relief on his face was so pronounced, so grateful, she had to shut her eyes against it lest she soften more than she already had.
If this kept up, she’d be nothing more than a puddle of goo on the floor.
He picked up a red canvas tote she hadn’t noticed next to his feet then brushed past her, stepping into her narrow kitchen, his big, broad body and the woodsy scent of his cologne invading her space.
Taking it over.
Part of her wanted to shove him right back out into the hall and slam the door.
Another part wanted to drag him through her apartment, force him to roll on the floor, flop to and fro on the couch, and lay spread eagle on her bed to capture his scent even more.
To keep it for herself for as long as she could.
She shut the door then leaned against the counter. Wished she’d taken a moment to pull a brush through her hair before she’d opened the door instead of leaving it in a messy bun. That she had on mascara and lipstick and was dressed in something other than a pair of short, snug bike shorts and a boxy, faded Steelers tee that fell off her shoulder and covered her ass.
And she really, really wished she had on a bra.
Her nipples were altogether too happy to see Miles, tightening to stiff peaks. Poking the soft, thin material of her shirt.
She crossed her arms.
“Here,” he said quietly, holding out the red tote to her.
She frowned at it. Kept her arms crossed. “What is it?”
“A retractable fire escape ladder.”
“What?”
He blushed, pink washing under his skin, giving him a rosy glow.
It was one of the most appealing sights she’d ever seen. Almost as good as the way he’d looked down at her after he’d fucked her mouth, like a man possessed, his lids at half-mast, his mouth slack with lust, the lines of his face etched with need, his breathing ragged.
His expression a mix of awe and gratitude. Tenderness and reverence.
“It’s a twenty-five-foot retractable fire escape ladder,” he said, as if adding more detail about the ladder somehow made his intentions clear.
“Okay. And you’re here, with a twenty-five-foot retractable fire escape ladder, because…?”
“I want to apologize. For last night.”
“Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t try and make what happened last night into something you regret. Don’t try and take back the power you gave me. That you trusted me with.”
He looked stunned. “I’m not.”
“You literally just said you’re here to apologize for last night and you even brought me a bribe—albeit a strange one. Most men would’ve just sent flowers.”
His gaze darted to the floor, then back up to meet hers. “I keep fucking up with you.”
Her skin prickled at his soft tone. At the sincerity in his eyes. “What?”
“I keep fucking up with you. I keep doing and saying the wrong things when all I want is to do what’s right. To say what’s true. But then I let my fears take over and I just fuck things up again.” He took a breath. “But I’m trying to work through the fears. And all I’m asking for is a few minutes of your time and your patience while I do.”
She nodded slowly, her heart lodging itself in her throat so tightly, she had to clear her throat twice before she could speak. “I’m listening.”
“The ladder has nothing to do with what I’m here to apologize for. I got it so you could keep it under your bed. I thought it might help you feel more secure knowing that if you needed to get out through the window, you could do so safely. So you don’t feel trapped.”
She gaped at him, her stomach fluttering with nerves.
The ladder wasn’t a bribe.
It was proof he cared.
“While I appreciate the sentiment,” she told him, keeping her arms at her sides even though she wanted to grab that stupid ladder and hug it to her like it was a fluffy kitten, “I’m not comfortable accepting gifts. They often come with strings attached.”
She was way too tied up in this man as it was.
Watching her, he lifted the tote in his hands. “I bought this the day you moved in here. I’ve had it in my trunk ever since. I kept telling myself I was going to ask Harrison—Greer’s brother—to deliver it to you with some half-ass excuse that the MLFD gave them out to all new tenants in the city.”
Tabitha had never met Harrison, Greer’s older brother, but knew from the younger woman that he was a local firefighter.
“Didn’t want to lie?” she asked.
“I didn’t want you to meet him. He’s good-looking, ripped, and as sunny as Greer is. He’s like a giant fucking golden retriever and I’ve seen firsthand how hard women fall for him. It only gets worse when he lays on the charm.” One side of his mouth curled up in a self-depreciating grin. “I didn’t want to take the chance of you falling for him, too. And if you did, I sure as hell didn’t want to be the reason why you met him. So I’ve been driving around with it in my trunk for almost a month trying to work up the nerve to give it to you.”
She sighed. “Miles…”
“You don’t have to accept it,” he said quickly, taking a small step toward her. “But if you do keep it, I promise there are no strings attached. You won’t owe me a damn thing.”
She believed him. And it wasn’t because he was so good, so honorable and righteous and perfect. Not when he’d proved to her plenty of times over the past few weeks just how imperfect he could be. How human.
It was because he was here, when he could have stayed away.
Because he was giving her more of his truths, when he could have kept them to himself.
But mostly, she believed him for the simple fact that she wanted to.
And she really, really wanted that ladder. Not so much for what it was, but for what it represented.
When she finally held out her hands and accepted it, he looked like he’d just received a gift, too.
He took yet another small step toward her, which was when she realized that those tiny steps of his had added up and he was now so close, she had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact. So close, she could feel the warmth from his body. Could make out a few strands of silver in his whiskers.
So close, that if she lifted onto her toes, she could press her mouth to his.
It hadn’t escaped her attention that he hadn’t kissed her. Not that night at his house and not last night.
While she may have softened a bit and believed he had good intentions in coming here, while she may still harbor just the tiniest bit of hope that things could be different between them, she would not kiss him first.
She’d already given him so much. Too much.
And he hadn’t given her nearly enough.
“For the record,” he murmured, scanning her face intently, “I don’t regret what happened last night.”
She licked her lips and his gaze went hot and hooded as he followed the movement of her tongue. “No?”
He lifted his gaze back to her eyes. “No.”
Then he edged back an inch, and before she could tell herself the twinge in her stomach was relief and not disappointment, he lowered himself into a crouch before her.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, her fingers twitched with the need to thread through his dark hair. She clutched the tote against her chest, needing something solid to hold onto.
“I probably should,” he said mildly, just a man squatting in front of a woman in her kitchen, mesmerizing her with his low, gravely tone, his words unhurried, as if perfectly content to kneel at her feet, his mouth inches from her pussy, for as long as it took for him to say his piece. “I should regret keeping you on your knees so long while I used you that way. I should feel bad about these,” he continued as he skimmed his fingertips across the faint red marks on her knees. “But I don’t.” He looked up at her his mouth curved in a sexy smirk. “Not when you looked so pretty on them for me, your lips wrapped around my cock.”
Her breath stuttered out. Her nipples tightened almost painfully, and she hugged the tote harder, but that only made them want more contact.
Preferably of the pinching, licking, sucking, or biting kind.
And only if those things came from the fingers, lips, teeth, and tongue of the man crouched in front of her.
“I should regret fucking your mouth like I did,” he went on, still in that slow, easy manner, tormenting her with his words. Teasing her with those light touches on her knees. Tempting her simply by being him. “I should regret being so rough. Going so deep. Pushing you so hard.”
Watching her, he slowly stood, somehow even closer than he’d been before, his shoulders brushing her forearms, his thighs pressing against hers. He kept himself angled to the side, giving her plenty of space. A way out if she needed it.
“But how can I,” he murmured, all silky tone and knowing, confident gaze, “when you took me so well? When you liked it so much?”
A moan rose, unbidden and unwelcome, in her throat and she bit her lower lip to keep it from escaping.
But, oh, God, yes, she’d liked it. She’d liked it too much.
“I should, at least, be sorry for coming in your mouth,” he continued, unyielding in his torment. He skimmed the pad of his thumb against her lower lip, forcing her teeth to let go. “But I’m not.” Sliding his hand around to the nape of her neck, he slid his fingers into her hair and gently tugged her head back. “Because you, greedy girl, swallowed every last drop.”
“Good girl,” she corrected, unable to stop herself.
He froze at her low, husky words. “What?”
“I wasn’t a greedy girl. I was a good girl. I was your good girl.”
His nostrils flared, his fingers tightening in her hair, his expression turning possessive. “You were my good girl. So good, I can’t regret any of the things I did.” He paused, the slight hesitation proof he wasn’t nearly as confident as he might like her to believe. “Unless you do.”
“I don’t,” she said, once again unable to stop herself. Unable to give him anything but the truth. “I don’t regret any of it.”
He searched her eyes, his fingers now loose in her hair, his thumb rubbing back and forth under her ear in the exact spot he’d marked her with his precum. “If I did anything that made you feel threatened or unsafe…”
She couldn’t let him think that. Not even for a second. “You didn’t. You were right. I liked it.”
He traced the curve of her collarbone with his fingertip. She shivered, her nipples beading tighter. Her core clenched as she grew damp.
Hadn’t she realized this man was a danger to her? That he held too much power over her?
She was wet and aching and practically panting because he was touching her collarbone for the love of God.
“Did you make yourself come?” He kept his gaze on his finger as it continued its back and forth along her newly discovered erogenous zone. “Last night when you got home?”
She shook her head and he stopped, curling his hand around her shoulder. Brought his other hand around to cup her chin as he nudged her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“Why not, baby?”
Hearing him call her that, in his deep, rumbly tone, had another shiver going through her, this one accompanied by a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the sense that her heart had somehow expanded in her chest. Growing bigger and bigger, feeling fuller and fuller, until it threatened to burst.
It was the endearment he used to call her, but he’d only used it once since she’d moved to Mount Laurel. That day on the sidewalk when he’d tried to cajole her secrets out of her.
He still wanted her secrets.
But now, she was brave enough to give them to him.
Her truths deserved to be heard and cherished. Her secrets to be shared. And kept.
“I was going to,” she told him, her throat tight with a mix of nerves and desire that had her voice coming out thick. Husky. “I even started to, but I knew that even though I would come, it wouldn’t bring me any satisfaction or relief. I knew I’d still be left aching for you. That I’d still be left wanting you.”
His chest swelled on his deep inhale, his eyes flaring with heat, the fingers on her chin twitching.
“Poor baby,” he murmured, dragging the pad of his thumb across her upper lip. “Do you still ache?”
She swallowed. Nodded.
He made a humming sound, but instead of it sounding pleased and arrogant, like her confession was his due, it sounded like praise. Like he was complimenting her on her honesty.
“Do you still want me?” he asked.
Her mouth was so dry, she had to work moisture back into it before she could speak. “I still want you.” She paused. And gave him her whole truth. “But I don’t want to.”
He went still. All but the expressions crossing his face, one blending into the other. Sadness. Disappointment. Understanding.
And finally, acceptance.
“Can you give me your time and patience for just a little bit longer?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.”
Ever since she’d first arrived in Mount Laurel, she felt like she’d been climbing up a hill—a steep, rocky hill with narrow paths that twisted and turned her around again and again until she landed in the exact spot she’d started.
At the bottom looking up. Lost and alone.
But last night… last night she’d finally gained some ground.
She didn’t want to backslide now.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he said softly, repeating her words from that first fateful night in the parking lot. “If you let me ease the ache. It doesn’t have to mean you don’t deserve all those things you want. Everything you told me last night. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”
With him standing so close, his hands on her, she could almost believe that was true. That she could separate what her body wanted from what her mind and pride needed. Sex had often been nothing more to her than a means to an end.
No feelings needed.
But with Miles, she was all feelings. Every look between them, every word spoken, every touch meant something. Each encounter they had changed things between them. Brought them closer and closer to what would either be their final end.
Or a new beginning.
She wasn’t sure which one scared her more.
But she knew for certain which one she wanted.
And maybe, just maybe, he wanted the same one.
She just wasn’t sure that would be enough.
“Miles—”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he repeated quickly. Quietly. “If you let me touch you. If you let me make you feel good.” He slid the hand from her chin around to cup the back of her neck, his gaze earnest. Intense. “It doesn’t have to mean a goddamn thing to you.” He stopped, his throat working as he swallowed, his voice gravely when he spoke again. “But it would mean everything to me.”