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

The first time.

After that he had looked forward to those furtive glimpses of her every morning. She always seemed so unguarded and carefree in her running gear, with her hair tied up in a long, swinging ponytail. And he enjoyed seeing her like that.

He didn’t say anything in response to her comment and unclipped the dancing Stormy’s leash.

The dog yapped joyously and took off down the beach at a precipitous pace, barking all the way.

“Oh fuck! Stormy!” Panicked, Miles took off after her, calling her frantically. The dog didn’t acknowledged him and, terrified that he was going to lose her, Miles tried to keep up. But he could feel himself flagging, the walk had already taken a lot out of him. He staggered and would have fallen if not for the firm hand that latched onto his elbow. He was unsurprised to find Charity standing beside him. She had kept pace with him for the humiliating, short distance he had managed to run.

He refused to be self-conscious about that. She was currently in much better shape than he was. He knew that. Still…it would be nice not to be seen as a lame duck by this woman anymore. He doubled over, his hands on his knees, while his breath wheezed in and out of his bellowing, hurting lungs. He could hear Charity making soft, encouraging sounds above him, one of her hands was stroking his back in soothing circular motions.

He lifted a limp hand.

“S-Stormy…please…get…”

“Stormy’s fine,” Charity said, her voice calm. She handed him an open bottle of water, and he grabbed it and gratefully gulped the cool liquid down. “Easy, Miles. Small sips.”

He complied.

“She thought you were playing a grand old game with her,” Charity said. “She’s stopped running, and she’s watching us now, probably wondering why you’re not playing anymore.”

Miles looked up and sure enough his naughty little shit of a dog was standing a few yards away, staring at them with a quizzical tilt of her head.

“Sit down,” Charity commanded him. “She’ll come to us.”

It went against his every instinct not to go after the pup, but when Charity sat down, grabbed his hand, and tugged him onto the sand beside her, he was unable to resist. Both because her hand felt amazing in his and because he literally didn’t have the strength.

Charity was on her butt with her knees bent and spread, the backpack tucked between her thighs. She opened the top and rummaged inside before producing a couple of Granny Smith apples.

Miles accepted the one she offered him. She scrounged some more and found an extra bottle of water, which she uncapped and took a thirsty gulp from.

Stormy inched closer.

“Ignore her,” Charity advised. She took a hearty bite from her apple and made a “yummy” sound while she chewed. It was meant to entice the dog and in no way supposed to be sexy, and yet Miles found himself mildly turned on by the throaty sounds and the way she was smacking her lips. He was unabashedly staring at her, enjoying the unintentionally erotic way she chewed and swallowed that damned fruit. Loving how every few seconds she had to brush her hair from her face. Worshiping the curve of her cheek and the smooth, silky looking expanse of her throat. Adoring how great she smelled and wishing he could bury his nose in the hollow of her throat and just inhale.

She was focused on Stormy, but Miles—content now that he knew his dog wasn’t running for the hills—was entirely absorbed by Charity.

He was so captivated that it was a shock when she swung that sultry, dark gaze toward him and caught him staring. The smiled faded from her full lips and her wide eyes bounced back and forth between his before they dropped to his mouth.

She licked her lips. And Miles suppressed a shudder and bit back a groan of longing. Not taking his eyes from hers, he leaned toward her until their lips were a mere hairsbreadth apart—and then waited. Giving her the choice…praying he wasn’t reading her wrong but not wanting to assume. Not when his position as her employer gave him so much authority over her. This had to be her choice and, if her decision went contrary to what he wanted, he had to respect that.

She lifted her free hand to palm his cheek, and his breath hitched in his chest. Her thumb ran back and forth over the edge of his jaw, abrading on his two-day-old stubble.

“I’ve never seen you unshaven before this stay.” Her voice was contemplative and didn’t give him any indication of her feelings. But right now all he could focus on was the delicate brush of her lips against his as she formed the words.

“I…” The word emerged on an embarrassing, throaty rumble, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. “I’m trying something new.”

“A beard?”

“Piracy.”

Her lips parted on a delighted smile and without any warning she bridged the infinitesimal gap between his mouth and hers and kissed him. Her mouth was soft and tart from the apple but still the sweetest damned thing he had ever tasted.

He made an anguished sound that he didn’t recognize as his voice, and his hand went up to cup her neck just below her ear. He waited, wanting to see what she would do next, but she kept the kiss light and innocent. He didn’t want innocent, he wanted to be the fucking pirate he had jokingly referred to earlier. He wanted to plunder, pillage, and pursue. He wanted to ravage her mouth with his and leave no doubt as to his intentions.

But he reined it in, sensing that she needed a lighter hand. He didn’t want to ruin the possibility of more with her.

She sighed softly, the sound laden with a sadness that confused him. Alarmed him. Why would she be sad? Yes, this was less than he wanted, but it was also so much more than he’d expected. Didn’t it mean the same to her? Was that why she sounded so damned desolate.