Page 119 of Beneath Her Skin

With deliberate planning and anonymous shopping, I was able to collect all the items I needed for my revenge. I sent Princess to spend the night at Auntie Brooke’s house for a sleepover. Better to have the little fur ball out of the way to avoid any unnecessary casualties. Now all I need to do is set the stage for Miles’ demise.

That’s what tonight is for.

The table is set with a romantic dinner. Candles strewn about the house to set the mood. A steaming kettle of hot toddy resting at the center of the table. It’s our date night. Of course, I’m going to be the best wife ever and make it memorable, even at home.

Lounging in the love seat, I sip my own mug of hot toddy as I wait for Miles to get home. I’m dressed head to toe in a black, lace slip dress and matching patent, black heels. My hair is pulled back into a messy bun held together by two hair picks that resemble knives.

I’m mid-sip when I hear the tumblers from the lock on the front door. A smile presses against the warm ceramic. Placing my cup at the table, I make my way to Miles. He’s shaking off the rain from the day, oblivious to the approaching threat.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” I purr, taking his jacket to hang next to him. I’m careful to slide my newly manicured hand across his chest, gently dragging my nails over the soft fabric. A chill runs through him and he grabs my hand before I can pull away.

He brings my hand to his lips, kissing the soft part of my hand.

“And what,” he says in between kisses, “might this occasion be for?”

I lean in, allowing my body to sink into his. My heat seeps into his chilled skin, causing goosebumps to raise across his neck. Breathing in his scent, I kiss my way from the base of his neck, nipping occasionally as I reach his chin. Meeting his lips, I hover, letting our breath mingle. Two people lost in lust for each other.

“Tonight,” I whisper, dropping my voice an octave, more seductive, husky. “I’m giving you a fancy dinner before you have dessert.”

I place my lips to his, giving him just a taste of what he thinks is to come.

Taking his hand, I guide Miles towards the table.

“And what is for dessert?”

Pointing at his seat, Miles sits obediently, his wandering eyes never leaving my body. Using that to my advantage, I pointedly sway my hips as I walk towards my chair. The near silent inhale of breath from Miles causes me to shiver.

I never knew seduction at this level could be so erotic.

I take my place at the other side of the table. Unfolding my napkin, I place it delicately in my lap and fold my hands on the table.

I make eye contact with Miles, unflinching under his stare.

“Me.”

Miles licks his lips, his tongue languid as he watches me across the table. Heat burns behind his eyes and his skin begins to flush. Watching his body react, I notice the heightened rise and fall of his shoulders. The man is struggling to keep it together.

Exactly as expected.

“Cheers, my love,” I say, tipping my mug in his direction.

He picks up his own mug, brows furrowing.

“What did you make?”

I gesture towards the table. “Oh, some soup and a kettle of hot toddy since it’s been so dreadfully cold lately. All new recipes I found at the store. I tried it while I was cooking and I knew you’d love it. Even used your favorite bourbon.”

Miles shrugs and takes a giant sip. He hums in appreciation, tipping his head back and closing his eyes to savor the flavor. Sweet honey mixed with the richness of bourbon, paired with the bitter tang of lemon juice and a dash of cinnamon. It’s the perfect drink—especially if you want to hide something nefarious inside.

I spy him from the rim of my mug, hiding my smirk. Mentally, I start counting down. Only fifteen more minutes and I’ll be free.

Free from the abuse.

Free from the lies.

Free to serve justice.

With the looming necessity to maintain normalcy, I begin serving dinner; each piece of the meal distributed first on my plate, and then Miles’. Prolonging the time between the firstfateful sip and his unknown demise. I deliberately brush past Miles with a hip or the swipe of my ass against his arm. He’s such a good boy, letting me plate his meal while keeping his hands to himself. If only he learned those manners sooner, maybe we wouldn’t be in this predicament.

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