The Best Next Thing

They headed home soon afterward, and they both determinedly kept the limited conversation impersonal for the rest of the afternoon.

Miles was mentally, physically and emotionally drained after the day out. Despite their conversations and confidences of the day, Charity Cole still remained a mystery to him.

He felt like he was on the cusp of finding the key to decrypting the enigma that was his lovely housekeeper. But he had to tread carefully, she appeared to have been badly hurt by her husband, and Miles didn’t want to add to that damage.

He should leave her alone, and they should return to their respective neutral corners. But he found himself unable to stop thinking about her, about the indescribable vulnerability and pain that he had seen on her face when she had spoken of her dead husband.

She had tried so hard to hide it from him, but it had been there; between each labored breath, and in every tightly restrained movement of her body. He wasn’t sure how her husband had hurt her but his initial instinct had been that the bastard had cheated on her. And he couldn’t fathom how any man could treat a woman so poorly. His relationships—for lack of a better word—were usually only physical…but they were always monogamous. He believed that the woman he was sharing a bed with deserved to be treated with respect for however long their agreement lasted. That meant no fucking around. And he expected the same consideration from her.

He couldn’t even imagine cheating on a spouse. Someone you had promised to love and cherish above all others.

He stood beneath a hot shower for ages washing the day off and reflecting on the conversations he’d had with Charity. She was easy to talk with. He rarely confided in people, and he had exposed fragments of himself to her that he wouldn’t normally share with anyone else. Not even his family. She was the only one who now knew about his obsession with fantasy sagas. He cringed as he recalled the way he had enthused about his current read, but she had seemed interested and even entertained.

Admitting how ill he had been was a first as well. He had brushed it off with family and colleagues and had dismissed the seriousness of his condition even when he knew that they knew he wasn’t being quite truthful. They had been happy to allow the lie, until he had gotten too ill for anyone to ignore.

But he hadn’t even considered dissembling like that with Charity.

He didn’t know what it meant, all he knew was that he wanted to explore this attraction between them even further. But he was questioning the wisdom of doing so.

Beyond the obvious, he had no real idea what he wanted from her. She rang all the right physical bells in him. He was attracted to her, he wanted to touch her and stroke her and pleasure her. And he wanted her to want the same from him. But it hardly seemed fair to act on that when she was the one taking all the risks. He knew that she’d worry about her job, and naturally there was always the fear of emotional and physical dependency. She had so much more to lose than he did.

And he wasn’t certain how any sexual relationship between them would be structured. He usually offered his partners an arrangement of mutual, no strings pleasure for as long as both parties required it. His only caveats being exclusivity and a clean bill of health. While he had found such understandings perfectly suitable before, he now wondered if Charity would consider a similar offer crass and insulting.

It was best to step away from this and stop seeking her out. He had unfairly exposed the disguise that she had hidden behind for so many years. Mrs. Cole existed for a reason, and by stripping her of that armor, he left her open to who knows what kind of pain.

Unless he was willing to shoulder that burden with her, he should leave her alone. Allow her to be Mrs. Cole and leave Charity for some other man to discover.

It was the right thing to do. He knew that.

Still…despite that resolve—after his shower, when he returned to his room to find Charity timidly stepping across the threshold of his bedroom door, common sense beat a hasty retreat. And all he could do was stare in shock at the very welcome intrusion.

She froze when she spotted him and a dull red flush started at her throat and crept upwards until it reached her cheeks. She took a startled step backward, stumbling as she hit the door, which swung shut with a quiet click.

Leaving them alone…in a closed room.

She looked confused, torn between fleeing and standing her ground.

“Uhm…Stormy brought…” She didn’t complete the sentence, instead lifting the item clutched in her hand for him to see.