Page 25 of Dating the DILF
Oh, God, how is it possible to bethisbad at dating?
The sound of the doorbell snaps me out of my internal hatefest and I race down the stairs as fast as my heels allow. Taking a moment before I open the door, I take a deep breath and release it slowly, hoping it will settle my nerves.
When I open the door, a heavy silence sits between us. What was I thinking earlier about silence being bad? Because there’s nothing bad about this. It’s loaded with heat and bursting with a ferocity I have never experienced before.
“Wow.” He breaks the silence and a flush colors my face.
He’s standing on my front porch with a look of appreciation on his face and I wonder if he can see that same appreciation reflected back. Because Miles in a suit is a sight to behold.
From the navy-blue blazer that fits his broad chest and shoulders impeccably, to the shiny black oxfords on his feet, he is picture-perfect deliciousness.
He leans down and places a kiss just below my ear and the spicy notes of his aftershave hit me at the same time as his lips. It’s enough to make a girl weak at the knees.
“You look incredible.” His hand is still holding on to my arm, his fingers curled around my elbow. Are elbows an erogenous zone, because it’s feeling pretty damn sensual right about now.
Trying to stop that train of thought, I smooth my hands over my red sheath dress. “Give me one second, I just need to grab my clutch.”
He steps into the entrance and my little gray furball appears from nowhere and begins winding its way between his legs. Miles bends down to pick him up.
“That ear healed up well.” He nuzzles the cat.
“It did, and he was so good while it was healing.”
“She.” Miles chuckles.
“Oh, right,she.” I roll my eyes. “So, I finally decided on a name,” I call out, heading into the kitchen to grab my bag.
“Jesus, it’s about time. What did you go with?”
I quickly open my clutch and slide my phone inside, making sure I have some cash, my debit card, and my ID.
“Mintie.” I walk back into the entrance to see Miles looking at the photo of my grandparents I keep there. “It seemed appropriate when I busted him eating from my bowl of ice cream last night.”
I step toward him and lean down to place a kiss on Mintie’s head, and when I look up, I am only inches away from Miles. He takes advantage by brushing a kiss against my mouth.
His hand lands on my waist and slides down to settle on my ass, grabbing a handful of my butt cheek. A jolt of heat rushes through me and I step even closer, pressing my body to his, and thread my hands through his hair. He deepens the kiss, and in a moment of clit-aching perfection, sucks lightly on my tongue before pulling back to nibble along my bottom lip.
I can feel him harden against my stomach and for the first time in my life I’m ready to throw out the rules and blow off my responsibilities. I am about to suggest just that when there is an angry hiss between us, and we jump apart.
Mintie leaps from Miles’ arms and stalks off, throwing a look of disdain back at us.
Miles clears his throat and looks at me in amusement. “I guess we should get going?”
The distance has done its job and cleared my head, so I nod, not trusting my voice right now, and as I lock up and follow Miles to his car, I let my mind wander to how the night might end. Or more specifically, how I hope it will end.
“I thought you didn’t like peopling?” Miles’ deep voice questions.
We’re walking through the vast ballroom of a downtown hotel, where my firm is holding its annual client gala. The night has managed to be both draining, as these nights usually are, and absurdly wonderful all at once.
“I said I didn’t like it, not that I wasn’t great at it.” I lean into his solid form and take a sip of champagne.
His arm winds around me, his hand settling on my waist and he gives a gentle squeeze. “You’d never know. You’re working the room like you own it.”
“It will take me a week to recover from all this,” I assure him. “Poor Addy will have to run interference so I have to talk to as few people as possible.”
“I’m surprised she’s not here.”
I’m momentarily distracted by Tiff Klein, the wife of one of our biggest clients, whose gaze is fixed on Miles, her nose slightly wrinkled in a look of distaste.
