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

“You don’t scare me, Miles. Because I know you won’t hurt me.”

“How can you trust any man after what he did to you?”

She had once wondered the same thing. Had despaired of ever trusting her own judgment again.

And yet, here she was. Inexplicably and irrevocably confident that this man would never physically harm her.

“Because you’re not him, Miles. Because you adopt stray dogs. You love your siblings. You take care of your mother. You care about your employees. And I have a sneaking suspicion that if you could safely get away with it, you’d probably liberate all the lobsters in restaurant tanks you can find.”

The last coaxed a smile from that beautiful stern mouth.

“I’d release them back into the ocean,” he said, with a somber nod.

“Of course, you would,” she whispered, and kissed him. She tasted the salt on his lips. “Because you’re a wonderful man who hates the thought of anyone or anything in pain.”

“Would it alarm you to know that I can very much envision your twisted husband writhing in absolute agony? The way he died wasn’t painful enough for my liking. It feels like he got away with what he did to you. I hate that. And I loathe the fact that people are still singing his praises like he was a fucking saint.”

“It used to bother me. It doesn’t anymore.”

He sighed—the sound deep and despondent—and pressed his forehead to hers for a moment.

“The way I feel about you…” his voice was rough and low. “Terrifies me. It also exhilarates and delights me.”

She had his jaw in her palms, and it was easy for her to hold him still for her kiss.

“Make love to me, Miles,” she murmured against his lips after ending the kiss, and his arms tightened around her waist as he dragged her even closer.

“With absolute fucking pleasure, sweetheart.”

“Why are we at Lia and Sam’s at six am on a Saturday?” Charity asked grumpily, a week later, when George drew the SUV to a stop in front of the aforementioned couple’s beautiful cabin up on the hill overlooking town.

Charity was cranky because he had awoken her at four-thirty after only three hours’ sleep and a satisfyingly exhausting night of lovemaking.

After her initial irritation of being awoken from a sound sleep faded; depression, misery, and regret had hit her like a ton of bricks when she remembered that it was Gracie’s birthday. Charity had messaged Faith late Thursday night to let her sister know she would not be joining them for the party.

She would be heading home shortly anyway and, she was happy to delay the inevitable painful conversations she would be having with her family. But more than that, she was acutely aware that time was running out for her and Miles. It had been a difficult decision, but in the end, Charity knew that she wanted to share as much time with him as she could.

Neither Charity nor Miles ever mentioned it, but he was nearly back at full strength. His breathing was a lot easier, he rarely coughed anymore, and he exercised regularly. Charity could see the difference in his color and the lack of gauntness in that lean face. And she could definitely feel it in the way he moved when they made love. The sinuous coiled vigor in that fantastic body was sexy as hell.

He had awoken her with breakfast—well, a stale croissant and terrible coffee—in bed that morning…She had turned her nose up at the less than appetizing offering. Not that she could eat in the middle of the night anyway.

After the failed attempt at feeding her, Miles had then insisted she hurry up and get dressed. He had urged her to pack an overnight bag for an impromptu overnight getaway.

He knew that it was Gracie’s birthday today, perhaps this was his way of trying to cheer her up.

Sweet, sweet man.

But the curiosity was eating her alive.

Now she watched as Miles cuddled his dog close.

“It won’t be for long, girl. I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll bring treats. And toys. I promise. Okay?”

It was ridiculous and adorable at the same time. He gave the pup another squeeze that she tried to squirm out of, and commanded Charity and George to stay put while he leaped from the vehicle and flung Stormy’s “go bag”, as he called it, over a shoulder. The dog was cradled in his other arm like a baby.

He wasn’t gone long and, even though it was still mostly dark, Charity was certain that his eyes were gleaming with moisture when he returned a couple of minutes later.

Amused though she was, she curled her arm through his, wanting to offer comfort.