“I can’t switch it off. I’m not. It’s on the back burner for now. It’ll happen or not. Either way, I’d like for us to be friends. In fact, I do believe we’re well on our way to establishing a friendship already.”
“I really liked what we did earlier though. In your room.”
He groaned before slanting her a heated look. “I did too.”
“I like the idea of having a friend, Miles. But I like the idea of having a lover just as much.”
She watched his throat move as he swallowed.
“I do too.”
“Blaine took so many decisions from me. How I should dress, who I should speak with, where I could go…when, where, how we had sex. It’s been so long since I had a choice. And right now, I need a friend…but I would also like a lover.”
“You can have both, Charity. I just don’t think we have to rush into anything.”
“What about friends with PG-13 benefits?”
He placed his hand, palm up, on the coffee table between them. She smiled, and without hesitation, put her hand in his. His fingers curled around hers.
“You mean some handholding, closed mouth kisses, and hot fumbling through our clothes? Count me in. I’m awkward as hell anyway. This would be right in my wheelhouse.”
She laughed at his words and squeezed his hand, before impulsively telling him, “I really, really like you Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“Well, hell, Mrs. Cole…the feeling is entirely mutual. Now come over here and give me a friendly cuddle.” He tugged her to his side of the table, and she happily burrowed under his arm and snuggled against his side.
“Tell me what happened when Willow Cedarian took Delonix to the Fire Maester for his Draegus Fleshing Day,” she invited, and his chest rumbled when he chuckled.
“Don’t get me started,” he warned. “You know what happened the last time I talked about this stuff.”
“I like listening.”
“You can borrow my audiobooks,” he offered magnanimously, and she smiled before lifting her head to look at him.
“I like listening to you, Miles.”
He flushed and cleared his throat before nodding. He leaned back against the sofa and started to talk.
Charity nestled closer, loving the hardness of his body against hers and how the wonderful scent of his cologne blended with his natural musk. She soon lost herself in the gentle cadence of his gruff voice, unable to remember the last time she had felt safer or more content.
His voice had gone hoarse by the time he realized that she had fallen asleep. Miles would have been
offended, if not for the fact that he had been speaking for nearly half an hour before she had gone quiet. She had kept him talking with interested questions, clearly paying attention to the story. Her undivided attention had been gratifying. Aside from business, where people had to hang onto his every word, he couldn’t remember anyone being so genuinely interested in anything he had to say before. Because of his wealth and influence, the more sycophantic people who tried to befriend him, or curry favor with him, merely pretended interest in his conversation and opinions. But Miles always knew when someone was stringing him along for a potential payday. And since that was just about everybody he met, it made it easy for him to keep everyone, other than his family and a few close friends, at a distance.
Charity was different. She was so damned genuine in everything she said and felt. But so hideously damaged by the one person she should have been able to trust above all others, that Miles knew he had to put her wants and needs above anything he was feeling.
He wanted her, with more urgency and desperation than he could ever recall wanting a woman before. Usually, when he found himself physically attracted to someone, it was nothing more than an itch that required scratching. And sometimes, if he ignored it long enough, the itch would simply go away.
But this desire he had for Charity was so much more complex than anything he had experienced before. It wasn’t just physical. He liked her. He liked being around her and talking with her, and he was interested in what she was thinking and feeling. She made him laugh, often without intending to. And today, after he had learned of what she had endured at the hands of her husband, she had damned near made him cry.
He wanted her, desperately, fucking passionately but until she was ready he, Miles Henry Hollingsworth—a man accustomed to taking whatever he damned well pleased whenever he damned well wanted—would wait.
“Charity,” he whispered, dropping a kiss on top of her drooping head. “Hey, come on, sweetheart. It’s bedtime.”
She groaned in protest and nuzzled closer and then, as consciousness gradually returned, she became more and more tense. She slowly, inch by painstaking inch, moved away from him. As if she were afraid of making any sudden movements.
He remained relaxed, not wanting to spook her. Giving her the time to decide how she wanted to react to the situation.
She pushed a loose strand of hair from her face and offered him a tentative smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to doze off. I must have been more tired than I realized. And you have a very soothing voice.”