“I can see that.” He gestures to the steam-drenched glass as he steps into the bathroom.
It’s a big bathroom, but Miles has a big presence and he takes up most of the room—and most of the air. Especially when it registers on me that not only is he still naked, but this is the first time I’ve ever really seen him naked. When we were fucking I was too caught up in what he was doing to me to pay as much attention to his body as I should have.
And I really should have, because…holy shit. Just holy shit. He is…wow.
I may be panicking, may be freaking out about what just happened and all the feelings it’s got floating around inside me, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the sight, because I’d have to be blind and dead not to appreciate Miles Girard in his rawest, most natural form.
Because he is built. Like really, really built. Like holy-shit-his-abs-should-be-in-a-museum built.
He might be a tech nerd, but he’s got the body of an athlete. Long and lean with muscles in all the right places and a V-cut that makes my mouth actually water with the need to explore it. He’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
Or he would be if he weren’t scowling at me, his blue eyes stormy with an emotion I can’t quite put my finger on. “Look, I just want to take a shower. Then I’ll be out of your way—”
“Out of my way?” he demands, stepping closer and wrapping a hand around my upper arm. “Is that what you think I want?”
“I don’t know what you want.”
“I thought I made it abundantly clear this morning that I want you.” He tugs on my arm a little, just hard enough to have me stumbling against him. “But if you need more convincing, I’m happy to oblige.”
He goes to wrap an arm around me, to pull me even closer, but I slap a hand on his chest and push back. “Dude, if you convince me anymore, I won’t be able to walk.” Or walk away, which is what I’m actually afraid of.
He just grins at me. “I’m not seeing a downside here.”
“Of course you’re not. But I have things to do today.”
“It’s Sunday.” He ignores the hand pressing him back and wraps his arms around me anyway, dropping kisses on my neck and shoulder as he cuddles me close. “What could you possibly have to do today that’s more interesting than this?”
He cups my right breast in his hand, rubs his thumb over my nipple. It turns me on, despite my resolve to put some distance between us. Not that that’s exactly a surprise. Miles is an incredible lover with a truly awe-inspiring attention to detail. I think it’s the engineer in him, the perfectionist who wants to make sure whatever he does is the best he can do. Including making love.
Pleasure creeps through me, weakens my resolve. But even as my body starts to melt against him, my head is telling me all the reasons I shouldn’t give in. All the reasons I shouldn’t go back to bed with him.
The fact that I want to is the biggest reason I can’t. Never want anything too much, I remind myself as I reluctantly pull away. And definitely never need anyone. It makes you vulnerable.
That’s a lesson I learned early and well—my parents were great teachers—and I’m not going to forget it now just because Miles gave me the three—three!—best orgasms of my life.
“I have to find a job,” I tell him, pulling away from him once and for all. “And I need to figure out how I’m going to handle this. If I do what Chloe wants, I need to prepare some kind of statement—”
“That’s what the publicist is for,” Miles says as I open the shower door and step inside. He’s watching me through narrowed eyes, like he’s not sure whether to believe the excuses I’m throwing at him or not. He should, because they’re true. They’re just not the whole truth.
But that’s okay, I remind myself as I reach for the bottle of shower gel. Fake it till you make it and all that. It’s a saying for a reason.
“I don’t want a publicist speaking for me,” I tell him as I dunk my head under the water and wet my hair. “I mean, she can read what I come up with and edit it, but if I’m going to do this, I want it to be in my words. I want it to be my story.”
For long seconds, he doesn’t say anything. He just watches me through the glass. I’ve got my eyes closed now—to keep water from streaming into them—but I can feel his eyes on me. Can all but see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to figure me out.
But better people than him have tried and failed at that. Just because we had sex doesn’t mean I’m going to trust him. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m going to let my guard down. Men like Miles are used to getting whatever they want, whenever they want it. But I’m not some plaything for him to acquire and then toss aside. The sooner he learns that, the better off we’ll both be.
“Why don’t you go jump in your shower, too,” I tell him as I reach for the shampoo. “Then you can work while I make breakfast.”
“You don’t have to make breakfast.”
“I don’t have to do anything.” I squirt some shampoo into my palm. “But I need to do something to pay you back for letting me stay here. Besides, I like cooking and I’m good at it, so why shouldn’t I do it?”
I close my eyes again as I start to rub the shampoo into my scalp, but they fly open the second Miles yanks open the shower door. “What are you—”
“Shut up,” he tells me as he crowds me against the side wall of the shower.
“Excuse me? Don’t you dare—”