Page 64 of So Not My Thing
“Don’t be confused, the way is clear,” he sang softly, and my heart tripped. It had been a brilliant song choice. I’d always loved Smokey Robinson’s impossibly smooth voice on the original, not realizing what a suggestive song it could be until I was much older. The arrangement the producers had given Miles for hisStarstruckperformance had been perfect for his boyish charm, emphasizing the idea of a road trip with some wholesome girl of his dreams.
But as he sang to me now, his voice tangled with the words in a way that was so sexy, I curled my fingers into his shirt to make up for my weak knees. This wasn’t a sweet song about a road trip anymore. It was a seduction, and the soft rasp in his voice rubbed along my nerve endings, making my mouth go dry.
He pulled me more firmly against him, and I nestled my head beneath his chin so there was no danger of eye contact. I didn’t want him to read the truth in them that I’d been trying to hide for weeks now. That I had tumbled, and I was verging on falling, not the way a kid does, but in the way a grown woman does for a man who is good and strong and smart and funny.
As he sang about inch-by-inch getting closer to every part of each other, he drew me even tighter, until even the music couldn’t have snuck in between us.
I leaned my forehead against his chest. “What are you doing?” I breathed between the tones of the song’s bridge.
“Private concert,” he murmured into my hair. “It’s the least I could do.”
I drew back the tiniest bit to search his eyes now, trying to read him. Was this my friend and client Miles showing off for me? But what I saw in them looked so much like the wanting I felt for him that I couldn’t look away.
The lyrics died on his lips, and we’d slipped into barely swaying, pressed against each other on the dance floor, everything else gone. “We signed on the dotted line, so that means I’m your tenant no matter what now, right?”
I gave a short, slow nod.
“Ellie.” I saw my name on his lips more than heard it, watched the slow incline of his mouth toward mine, and I stretched up to meet it, still inside our bubble of only us and the music, but the notes for the last verse reached me just as Miles’s lips brushed against mine.If you want it, you got it forever...
Heat flared between us and wrenched a gasp out of me. I stepped back, pressing a hand to my mouth like I’d been burned. And maybe I had.
“Ellie?” Miles moved as if he meant to draw me back toward him, but I pulled my hand from his and stepped back again.
“Thanks for the concert,” I said, mustering a smile. I could barely hear myself over the music and my own heartbeat. “I should go see if there’s any work left to do in the kitchen.”
I turned, and it looked as if he would follow, but one of Miss Mary’s daughters spun out of a cousin’s arms and into Miles’s, grinning. “Show me your moves,” she said, and Miles swept her into a dance hold even as his eyes met mine in a question. I fluttered my fingers at him in a weak goodbye and almost ran for the kitchen.
There wasn’t anything to do. Everything from the cooler to the cupboards had been cleaned out completely. At best, the twenty-gallon soup kettle held a couple of inches of leftover gumbo, but I pushed up my sleeves and began ladling it into gallon Ziploc bags for Miss Mary’s family to take and freeze for another day.
Miles stepped in a few minutes later, the muffled sounds of “The Cupid Shuffle” leaking through the kitchen door as it closed behind him.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey!” I returned brightly like I hadn’t almost gone somewhere dangerous with him on that dance floor minutes before.
“We good?”
“Of course.” I dumped more gumbo into the bag I was holding.
“Because it sort of seemed like...”
I didn’t want to know how he would finish the thought. “Yeah, I’m always itchy to be doing something. I don’t want Miss Mary to have any mess to worry about tonight. Thought I’d come back and take care of it so she can go home, and the kitchen, at least, will be ready for you to take over Monday morning.”
“Right.” He leaned against the stainless steel counter behind him. “The perfect agent as usual, going above and beyond.”
“It’s the Crescent City Properties promise,” I said, flashing him my professional smile.
“I’ll be sure to give your boss a good report.”
“Much appreciated.” I scraped the ladle against the bottom of the kettle in pursuit of more gumbo.
“Will I see you again?”
I paused and turned to meet his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“This feels like it might be how you close all your deals before you move on to the next one.”
“I’m not just your agent here; I’m your landlord.” His shoulders relaxed until I added, “Of course we’ll talk again. Old buildings always need some kind of fixing. You can call me any time.”
