Page 93 of Miles Apart
My eyes dart around the hallway like I’m holding company secrets in my arms and not the fragrant bouquet of flowers. The verdict is still the same: red roses are too cliché for my taste, but these are beautiful. Thick, too, like the man waiting in my office.
Miles and I could hit any daily exercise goal with the amount of sex we have. It’s a good thing I live next to the ocean. Without the loud waves crashing into rocks, my neighbors would think my house was a murder home with all the screaming. He stays with me in my bed until I fall asleep before he goes back to his old room to give me the space I asked for.
But no matter how hard I fight him, he refuses to leave.
“Miles.” I casually walk past him leaning on the front of my desk with folded arms and legs crossed at the ankles. He’s in fitted black slacks and a cream-colored polo, looking like Jake from State Farm if he powerlifted.
He glances over his shoulder before standing to his full height, which is overbearing for my office. “Hello to you too, kitten.” The pet name skates up the pulse point in my neck, beating an SOS message to my vagina.Calm the hell down. There is no good reason to be breathing this hard.
I keep my back to Miles and my focus on these big-ass flowers. Did he send them?
“I wanted to see about lunch.”
“Not necessary, but thank you.” I sit in my office chair and crane my neck to reach his eyes. “Anything else?”
This dance we do always ends the same way. He asks me out, and I say no in an attempt to keep our relationship strictly about sex. It’s safer at the surface, but the pull to the deep is hard to fight.
“Nice flowers.” He nods to the bouquet I stuffed between framed campaign shots. “Secret admirer?”
My brows dip. “You didn’t send them?”
The corner of his mouth tips into a cocky grin that’s too fine for any man to wield. Miles is back to his fresh fade and lined goatee. His beard and mini fro were giving Zyair Malloy fromMea Culpa, which had me singing Kelly Rowland melodies to the ceiling.
My nipples harden at the memory.
Focus.
“You might not think I pay attention, but I do, kitten.” Miles rounds the desk, pinning me between his thick frame. I steady my breathing at the musk permeating off of him with confidence and a leveled gaze to match.
“Red roses aren’t you, baby. They’re mass-produced and easily accessible. You’re one of a kind. There are some thorns, but I’ll prick my finger every time to hold you.” His lip sinks between his teeth at the drool no doubt pooling from my mouth. “You also hate red roses like you do Valentine’s Day.”
He remembered.
Staying away from Miles is next to impossible. He’s determined to get us back to where we were before he left. His apology was on repeat until I told him I’m willing to take it slow. While I understand the unusual circumstance he was in, I’m not equipped to be with someone who can leave for weeks at the drop of a hat.
Once was enough. I already have too many people in my life who think they can pick me up and discard me whenever they like.
“I’ll see you tonight?” I ignore his frown and lift my chin. He knows what I’m willing to give.
Miles stares but nods. “I’ll be there.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and leaves.
I order lunch and check emails. My cell rings—Carter.
It’s been weeks since he showed up at my office. I have no energy for a sparring match today.
“Carter,” I sigh.
“Do you like them?”
“Like what?”
“The flowers,” he says in an oddly calm tone.
I lean back in my seat and swivel toward the grand floral display. “You sent them?”
Humor laces his tone. “Don’t act surprised, Em. I wanted to do something nice to apologize. I’d like to start over.”
“Start over.”
