The Best Next Thing ((Un)Professionally Yours 1)

“Because of what happened at the pool this morning?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Are you angry because nothing happened then?”

She looked appalled by that question. “Of course not. Look, Mr. Hollingsworth, I—”

“Miles.”

“No.”

Damn it.

“I’m sorry for not moving aside.” His apology was quietly sincere. “I fully intended to, and I’m not entirely sure why I didn’t. It wasn’t well done of me at all.”

Her shoulders lifted and fell on a soft sigh.

“I wasn’t myself last night,” she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The nightmare unsettled me and…well…I’m sorry too. You caught me in a moment of vulnerability.”

“Well, that makes me feel like a bloody predator,” he said, doing nothing to disguise his grimace from her.

“No, that wasn’t my intention at all. The thing…what happened, it was mutual. I knew you would move if I’d only stood my ground. But I wanted…I needed—”

Her voice trailed off and looked down and fixed her stare at the counter between them.

“Charity…” The sound of her name seemed to startle her, and her eyes shot up to meet his. He held her gaze, not wanting her to mistake the meaning of his next words, “I wanted and I needed too. And while I apologize profusely for the circumstances, I cannot apologize for that.”

She shook her head, her eyes still entangled with his. He watched her slender throat move as she swallowed.

“Your breakfast is probably cold by now, I’ll fix something else.” Her voice was brisk, her words impersonal, but her eyes were still dark, liquid pools of vulnerability.

“That’s not necessary. Why don’t you get changed? I’ll have my egg and take Stormy out for a quick walk.”

And give both of them some much needed breathing room.

She hesitated—clearly not too happy to leave him eating a cold breakfast. Even though he deserved it for being such a picky bastard.

“If you’re sure?”

“Positive,” he reassured her, trying very hard not to look at her mouth when she sucked on the full lower lip uncertainly.

She nodded and walked away before he could say another word.

Miles sighed and looked at Stormy, who was waiting at the back door. Her tail wagged when he made eye contact. She was such a bloody good dog, so eager to please. She’d had some unfortunate bathroom accidents these last few days, but they were few and far between. He guessed that growing up on the “street”, so to speak, had toilet trained her to a certain extent.

Still, he didn’t want to test the puppy’s bladder. He grabbed his egg, peeled it at the sink, and bit it in half as he opened the back door for the pup. He tried not to wince at the rubbery texture of the now cold egg and did his utmost not to gag when the cold, gelatinous yolk filled his mouth. The greasy slide of it down his throat was nearly his undoing, but he persevered with a queasy gulp. Yeah, he was pretty much done wi

th boiled eggs for the foreseeable future.

He chased the disgusting thing down with a half slice of dry toast before Stormy had even clumsily squatted on the wet grass.

“Morning!”

The unexpected sound of the cheerful male voice coming from behind him, startled Miles. Stormy emitted an adorable purr of a sound that he reckoned was supposed to be a growl, but was cute as hell instead of remotely threatening.

Miles swung around and grinned at the sight of the familiar face peering at him from the other side of the low hedge bordering the back garden.

“Amos! Good morning, how are you?”