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

“I’m hardly dressed to eat out,” she pointed out beneath her breath, casting a self-conscious glance at the two other men. They were both feigning avid interest in the walls and floors…the ceiling. Seriously, their eavesdropping would be less overt if they just pretended to chat with each other.

“You look great,” Miles said, giving her an appreciative once-over. Her abruptly sweaty palms and elevated breathing had very little to do with the extreme tension of the last twenty minutes and everything to do with the sensual light in his eyes. God, that look should be outlawed.

She gathered her scattered thoughts enough to protest, “I’m definitely not fit to eat out in public after my earlier workout.”

“Well, why not join Lia and me for dinner tonight then?” Sam chimed in, proving that he’d totally and unashamedly been listening in on their conversation. “You don’t have to dress up to hang out with us.”

“You can’t just invite us without clearing it with your fiancée,” Charity said, appalled. Definitely not wanting to do that. A restaurant would be preferable to the intimacy of a couples’ dinner.

“Hey, sunshine!” Sam’s voice traveled above the noise of the still babbling people—clearly this had been more excitement than they had seen in a while—and caught the attention of the slender, pretty woman in yoga pants and a sports tank. She had been instructing the mommy and baby yoga class and was chatting with a few of the lingering moms. Lia MacGregor gave her fiancé an exasperated look, clearly not impressed with the shouting.

“Can Miles and Charity come to dinner tonight?”

She flashed him a smile and thumbs up before continuing her chat with the women.

“See? It’s fine,” Sam said, with a grin. “Let me stow the equipment, and you guys can follow us home.”

“You sure it’s okay?” Miles asked.

“Yeah, we could braai or something. That way Lia won’t have to do too much. You and Clara want to join us, Grey?”

“I don’t think so. She’s cutting a molar and a bit moody. She won’t be good company.” Clara was his eighteen-month-old daughter, and he watched her every night while his wife was at the restaurant. “And my brother is popping over for a couple of brews and some pool. Rain check? Maybe on a weekend sometime when Olivia is off?”

“Sounds good.”

Sam and Grey excused themselves to stow the equipment, leaving Charity to glare at Miles, who was still giving her a leisurely once over.

“This is going to be uncomfortable,” Charity pointed out, from between gritted teeth and that drew his wandering gaze up to her face.

“Why do you say that?”

“Miles, I’m your housekeeper. I shouldn’t be having dinner with you and your peers.”

“Well,” he said, shoving his balled fists into his trouser pockets, ruining the cut of the well-fitted slacks. “That’s some medieval bullshit right there. Stop being such a snob.”

“But this is really weird, they know I work for you.”

“Technically, Brand works for me too,” he said, with frustrating male logic.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

“Brand and Lia are your friends, I’m the interloper.”

“Oh my God, that’s so untrue. I barely know her.” Charity moved until her body was brushing against his and breathed the urgent whisper directly into his ear. Brand was returning, and she didn’t want him to hear her words.

She instantly regretted the move, when Miles hooked his arm around her waist to keep her in position. He turned his head until his mouth was right beside her ear, and his whispered response feathered against her sensitive skin and ruffled the fine hairs at her temple. “Well, then it’s high time you get to know her.”

“Why?” she fired back indignantly.

“Why not?” This time the infuriating practicality left her mute. Because she honestly had no answer to that question.

He grinned and planted a quick kiss on her nose before relinquishing his hold on her waist.

“We’re in this together, you know how awful I am with people.” He kept saying that, but Charity had thus far seen little evidence of his so-called ineptitude with people. “And I’m counting on you to stop me from making an arse of myself.”