Chapter 9
Penny
Holy fucking hell. Has Miles always been this attentive? He’s left me speechless a couple of times tonight, and I don’t know how to feel about that.
If he’d done it with his tongue between my legs, I'd understand. But the man hasn’t touched me, not even once, and I’m a puddle of goo at his mercy.
I fan myself at the thought of the one night he was mine. It was magical, whimsical, perfect. It was everything. My clit throbs at the memory of Miles running his calloused fingers over my sensitive nipples.
Great timing, girly. Now you’re going to be all hot and bothered while sharing the same air in the small cabin of his truck.
I look out the windshield, trying to find a distraction from my rowdy thoughts. But all that does is land me right back on Miles, working, focused, tidying up his hitch line.
He’s wearing a Carhartt jacket that hits right at the waist, giving me the perfect view of his ass.
Damn.
He’s fine. Fine as all hell.
Clearly not finding any help out there, I reach for my bag and start going through it, hoping I can at least get my mind on something else—like figuring out what I even have with me for this unexpected sleepover at Miles’s place.
I know it’s the right call, staying the night. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to survive being this close to one of the hottest men I’ve ever been with without completely losing my mind.
I dig through my bag slowly. Wallet, wet wipes, gum, phone charger, keys.
Then my fingers brush against something long, cold, and rubbery.
A cackle bursts out of me.
Why did I pack my vibrator for work? If someone who doesn’t know me found this in my bag, they’d think I’m completely sex-depraved.
They wouldn’t be entirely wrong. I haven’t had sex since Miles. Three months ago.
And yeah, okay, I’m starving. Desperate for some dick to play in my pussy—but not just any dick will do.
My gaze drifts back to the owner of the only cock that’d satisfy me, standing a few feet away with a smug look on his face. Like he can somehow read my thoughts and tell I’ve been wanting him inside me ever since that night at the beach.
Ugh, that night was the purest kind of torture. The way he stretched me, his thickness hitting exactly where I needed it with every thrust.
It was the most delicious kind of pain I’ve ever felt.
“Ready?” Miles asks as he gets back in his truck.
I nod, giving him a small smile, feeling weird as hell as I shove everything back into my bag and take a couple of calming breaths. There’s no way I’m letting him see how turned on I am just thinking about him.
“Thank you for the hot chocolate,” I say. “I don’t know how you knew, but it was exactly what I needed.”
He tips his head toward me as he slowly drives back onto the highway. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I just remember Granny would give us something sugary and comforting whenever we were anxious or had a big scare.”
Knowing that he remembers things his grandma taught him warms my heart in ways I’ve never let anyone before.
I wasn’t particularly close to my dad’s mom; she always held a grudge against Mami.
But my grandma, on my mom’s side, was an angel on Earth.
I remember her flying in from Colombia and staying with us for months at a time.
Mami was always happiest during those visits.
The two of them were arguing in Spanish over recipes while making arepas, empanadas, and sancocho, pulling me in to help while explaining what everything meant and where it came from.
It’s one of my favorite childhood memories.
“Hey, where did you go?” Miles asks, then gently squeezes my knee.
I nearly jump out of my skin. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through me.
“Whoa, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says, quickly pulling his hand away and placing it back on the wheel.
“Oh, no. It wasn’t like that. You just… electrified me,” I mumble, not really wanting him to hear the last part.
“Penny Levine.” He clicks his tongue, a smooth smirk spreading across his face. “Are you admitting I have an effect on you? Damn, hell really must be freezing over with this storm.”
I roll my eyes, inhaling sharply.
“And here I was thinking what a gentleman you were,” I say, though there’s no real bite behind it.
“I am a gentleman. That doesn’t mean I don’t call it like I see it,” he says with a shrug.
“Whatever. You’re just too full of yourself, Miles MacAllister.”
“Again, I see no problem with that,” he says without missing a beat. “I know my worth. I’m just my own best hype man.”
“You’re ridiculous. That’s what you are,” I say, unable to hold back a laugh.
He laughs under his breath, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
I can’t help but think about how easy everything feels between us. He gives me shit, and I throw it right back—no hard feelings, no expectations.
Miles drives at an easy pace, but somehow we’re at his place in no time. The first time I visited Gio and Ruin in Azalea Creek, this was their home. They stayed here until Miles and his crew finished building their dream home a few miles from here.
That was before Indigo and Sage were born.
“How do you like your place?” I ask, partly to move the conversation into safer territory, but also because I’m curious what it’s like living somewhere that used to belong to people you know.
“I love it.” That’s all he says before placing his hand on the small of my back.
I welcome the warmth that seeps from his body into mine. I should’ve worn one of my thick wool coats. I’m freezing.
When we walk in, every light in the house is on, including the one above the stove. A pot sits abandoned on the counter like he rushed out in the middle of cooking.
His house is tidy, almost untouched. I mean, it’s huge for a single person. I'm pretty sure Gio said it was close to four thousand square feet.
“I know you just had a hot chocolate, but maybe you want something to eat?” he asks. “I was about to cook supper when you called.”
Mortified isn’t usually a word I’d use to describe myself, but my face heats at the thought of making Miles rush out the door to help me, interrupting his whole night.
Like a fucking damsel in distress who had to call on her one-night stand to get her car out of a tiny snowbank.
“Hey, are you okay?” he calls from the kitchen.
I nod as I lift a foot to pull off my boots. I wobble a little but manage not to embarrass myself further.
“Yes, I’m sorry. I guess this whole ordeal really drained me,” I say as I shrug out of my coat and hang it by the door.
Slowly, I make my way toward the kitchen. My heartbeat picks up as I get closer to him.
What the actual hell? Am I really about to start having heart palpitations at thirty-six?
Calm down, girl. It’s just a guy.
Ha! Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that.
“I wasn’t planning on making anything fancy,” he says as I take a seat on one of the stools by the counter. “But if you’re okay with Mediterranean chicken, I’ll be more than happy to feed you.”
“That sounds amazing,” I say, a bright smile spreading across my face. “But please tell me how I can help.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he washes his hands, walks over to the end of the kitchen island, and lights up a candle. Nothing romantic. Just one of those three-wick candles that smell like heaven.
Then he says, “Play Miles’s cooking playlist. Random.”
Music starts pouring out of a tiny speaker tucked into the counter.
A smile spreads across my face as I recognize the song.
It’s one of the songs Miles and his siblings played at the fall festival.
“Beautiful as You” by Thomas Rhett fills the kitchen, instantly dragging me back to the memory of stuffing my face with greasy, sugary funnel cake just to avoid Joss interrogating me about what it’s been like working with Miles at the ice rink.
“Do you like cooking?” I ask, suddenly wanting to know everything about this man.
“I do,” he replies, heading to the fridge. He starts stacking all kinds of veggies in his arms before placing them almost meticulously on the counter. He sets a pan on the stove, adds a splash of olive oil, and gets to chopping.
I’m not sure what spices he throws in there, but his house smells divine within minutes. Once he has the food going, he grabs a bottle of white wine from a beverage fridge. I never pegged him as a wine guy, but when he shows me the bottle he’s about to uncork, I raise an impressed eyebrow.
“A glass of wine sounds really good right now,” I say, stretching my legs beneath the kitchen island.
He smiles and opens the bottle without effort. I shamelessly stare as the muscles on his forearms flex and shift, making me even hungrier for him.
Goddammit, why did I dare him that night? I have enough going on in my life without thirsting over a man I already know is off limits.
After pouring two glasses, he slides one toward me. I nod in appreciation.
“A toast,” he says, lifting his glass.
“To you, Miles, for offering me shelter and being gracious enough to rescue me.” My cheeks warm as I say it. I’ve never had trouble thanking people, but for some reason, thanking Miles feels different.
He clinks his glass against mine and takes a sip before setting it down on the counter. Then he turns back to the stove, stirring the food and adding more herbs. A splash of wine hits the pan, steaming up almost instantly.
“It smells delicious,” I admit after another sip of my drink. “Is this something you cook often?”
He flashes me a slow, sexy smile as he walks over to stand across from me. “It’s easy and tasty, so yeah. It’s part of the regular rotation.”
I press my lips together, trying to focus my attention on literally anything besides him. Unfortunately, he’s standing right in front of me.
“I guess tonight’s the night for confessions that won’t leave this house,” I say after a beat. “But I’m honestly impressed.”
“Really?” he asks, clearly caught off guard. “Wow.”
“Yeah. You’re… a layered man.” I shrug lightly. “Until tonight, I think I’d only seen the surface.”
He nods slowly and starts tapping his fingers against the counter.
His expression turns unreadable, like he’s deciding just how much of himself he wants to let me see.
My gaze drifts to his hands. They’re not ridiculously big, but they’re bigger than mine. Rough. Calloused. The hands of a man who works hard for a living. A man who builds things.
“What?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Nothing,” I say with a shrug. There’s no way I’m admitting I’ve been sitting here daydreaming about his hands.
“Oh, I forgot to ask.” He smiles, a little too pleased with himself for my liking. “Do you have anyone in Charlotte you need to let know that you’re stuck in town because of the storm?”
I narrow my eyes. “Is this your way of asking me if I’m seeing someone?”
His smile disappears. “What? No.”
The answer comes out so fast, I almost believe him.
“I was just curious if you lived with your parents and needed to let them know.”
He turns away, grabs a couple of plates from the cupboard, and starts serving the food. It smells so good, I’m half tempted to let everything slide and not call him out on his bullshit.
But I love bickering with him way too much.
“Really, Miles? I’m a grown-ass woman.”
He turns around with two plates in hand, and I inhale sharply at the sight.
The man is unfairly attractive.
A kitchen towel hangs over his shoulder, his tight jeans molding to his thighs and every sinful inch between them. I drink him in like the tall glass of water he is.
“Like what you see, sugar?” he says, that damn smirk on his lips.
I roll my eyes as I take a sip of my wine. “You’re insufferable.”
He laughs. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He takes a sip of his wine before grabbing a forkful of chicken.
“What’s with all the nicknames?” I ask, grabbing veggies with my fork. The earthiness of the artichokes hits my tongue, while the freshness of the tomatoes brightens everything.
Damn, this man can cook.
“I just want to see which one sticks.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
I frown. What exactly does that mean? Is he also thinking about me nonstop?
We keep eating in comfortable silence. Honestly, I’m enjoying the food too much to keep talking.
By the time I finish the last bite, exhaustion starts settling into my bones. The weight of the week is finally catching up to me.
“You and I both know one time wasn’t enough. But that’s a conversation for another day.”
He drops this bombshell casually as he picks up our plates and loads them into the dishwasher.
“Have a good sleep, Penny. I’ll see you in the morning.” He throws a wink my way before disappearing upstairs.
A few seconds pass before I realize I’m sitting there with my mouth hanging open.
Thank God he didn’t turn around and catch me looking like a boba. I would’ve been mortified all night. Hell, I might’ve even called Gio to come get me. I’d rather invade their family space than spend a night under the same roof as my—
Fucking hell, crush? What am I? Thirteen?
I down the rest of my wine and place the glass in the dishwasher—I can’t be a messy guest. Mami raised me better than that.
Then I head to the guest room Miles pointed out on the first floor.
I’m ready to leave this day behind.