Page 6 of Miles Apart
I stare at her reflection. “You sure, Jay? We can stay in.”
“Kid gloves don’t go with red lingerie, Em.” A half smile crosses her face at my matching silk robe teasing at my knees. It’s a far cry from her baggy ensemble, but we do what makes us comfortable. The only difference is a man will be on my menu tonight. “I’m good. Come on,” she grabs my hand, “your Victoria’s Secret runway awaits.”
Chapter 3
Emma
A’90s dance party should be just that: butterflying to throwbacks that remind us our membership to the forty and over club is only a few years from hitting our mailbox. Justice Tootsie Rolled her heart out in a circle of women who matched her energy. They dipped and turned for hours among attendees reenactingHouse Party 2in their pajamas. Jay’s stamina runs laps around mine on the dance floor for the simple fact that I don’t dance.
I had no shame leaving her but felt it charge up my throat like bile pushing through a crowd to get to her. It was too late to notice the group she was dancing with left, leaving my best friend to fend off the man towering over her. No one thought anything of him caging her to his chest. No one except Miles, who wasted no time knocking the guy unconscious.
How he got through the crowd and to Justice so fast defies physics. By the time security came, Miles had her behind his oiled frame, ready to strike again if the six-foot-plus creep with disheveled hair tried to resurrect himself from the ground.
I’m not a crier. But I couldn’t stop the tears once I reached Justice and threw my arms around her. I was too busy eye-fucking Miles like a full-time job with benefits to notice some asshole groping her on the dance floor.
Justice’s hand covers mine underneath the table at our booth with a squeeze. She waves the other at Miles, who joins us for a drink at her request. Jay is pretending she’s okay, but Miles and I know what happened still rattles her. She forces a smile, telegraphing a happiness that doesn’t lift her cheeks or brighten her brown eyes. She won’t bring up the incident anymore, and I won’t press her.
“So, what’s new?” she asks Miles, who’s at the other end of the booth absorbing every inch of space. Terrence wasn’t with him, and there’s no way he’d let anyone violate Justice’s personal space if he were.
Miles grazes my knee with the shift of his weight. The touch is innocent but ignites a rush of heat through my skin, which he notices when I move away. “You know me,” he says. “Work. Travel.” His eyes trace the outline of my breasts in my nightgown. They take their time to admire the silhouette of my nipples, moving up the column of my neck and licking my jawline. He holds my stare when he says, “Women.”
I look awful, but Miles takes in my puffy eyes and a red nose from crying like I won first place in a beauty pageant.
“What’s good, Em?” Thick lips spread into a grin.
“Not on your best day.” I avert my eyes from his bare chest, slicked in baby oil, daring me to lie again. The bar’s lighting creates a halo around the hard edges of Miles’s upper body. He put it on full display for the ’90s party. Every muscle threads to create the masterpiece before me in nothing but silk boxers and slides. It takes several reminders that the man threatening drool is still Miles. He is not an option to play Slip ‘N Slide with in bed.
“Ouch.” Miles’s hand grips his heart. “Why do you deny the inevitable?” His grin widens. “It’s only a matter of time, kitten.”
He can go straight to hell.
Justice’s eyes bounce between me and Miles. Curiosity lifts her brow at the nickname, but now is not the time for show-and-tell. Jay doesn’t know that Miles and I ran into each other earlier today. She also missed our silent game of I Spy on the dance floor.
I spent most of the night dodging Miles’s stink eye across the room, which turned into daggers when he saw West behind the bar. My smirk was ready for the Jumbotron. I have no interest in West, but I shook my ass next to other men as best I could without simulating the need for medical attention to raise Miles’s blood pressure. His gaze turned possessive, like he had a claim to me.
The strobe lights and slow jams felt like a bad ’90s romance. I kept my distance from the man with thick thighs in boxers and that damn baby oil glow. Those stupid pink cupids printed across the fabric did nothing but piss me off and turn me on.
It’s a crime for Miles to roam the Earth in next to nothing—least of all at a singles’ retreat. Don’t believe me? Try to keep it together if Trevante Rhodes strolls by wearing silk underwear.
I don’t think straight around him. Tonight proved that being half-naked in the same room is dangerous, like two years ago. Our slow dance from the sidelines of the dance floor was quiet, a series of lingering glances and glares. Then, maple eyes flashed black before Miles sprang into action to protect Justice. The two bicker like brother and sister, but he’ll always make sure she’s okay.
His focus is now on me. Locked, eager, and ready to cross the line.
My heart beats like a war drum, daring me to accept the challenge. Miles waits for what feels like an eternity for myresponse. His expression is impassive as he leans against the back of the booth, completely relaxed. I never back down from a challenge, but I heed the voice warning me to stay away.
Men are for a moment, and this one is too close.
“I don’t have time for your little antics,” I say over the rim of my French 75 and take a sip.
Something flares in Miles’s eyes, now hooded under thick lashes. His tone lowers for only me to hear. “Baby, there’s nothing little about me.” Miles changes the subject, and it takes a superhuman effort not to imagine how big “nothing little” is.
This damn man has me by the throat from across the booth with his words and knows it. Victory flickers in the corner of his mouth he curls while speaking to Justice. It’s subtle to anyone else but is a billboard that says “Got you” in living color. Jay catches pieces of the silent tango but brushes off the energy. I can’t. Miles Walker is a temptation I want to sample. I don’t shit where I eat and remind myself to put a force field around my pussy.
He ends our connection by chasing after a woman in red, leaving Justice to polish off two glasses of whiskey and me hot and bothered. “Get some for the both of us,” are her parting words before she goes upstairs for the night. I migrate to the bar across from our booth and fail miserably to ignore an emotion that is testing my willpower.
Why do you deny the inevitable?
It’s only a matter of time, kitten.
