The Best Next Thing

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.”

He chuckled. “That’s the first time anyone has ever said that to me. Not sure how I feel about that. I like having my minions cower in terror at the mere sound of my voice.”

“I doubt that happens very often.”

“Why don’t you head to bed? I have to let Stormy out. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

He pushed to his feet and offered a hand to help her up. She took it without hesitation, and when she was standing upright, she leaned in and lifted her face to his.

His breath caught in his chest and remained there when she went onto her toes and gifted him with a sweet, lingering kiss.

“Thank you for today, Miles. It meant so much.”

He palmed the side of her face and, for the first time, initiated a kiss. The embrace was tentative at first, as he tested her receptiveness, but when she opened her mouth to his tongue, he grew bolder and asked her for more than she had previously given him. More heat, more passion, and so much more hunger.

She groaned and encircled her arms around his neck. She undulated against him, a slow roll of her body against his, the sensuous movement seemed unintentional, but it set his every nerve ending alight and had a very predictable effect on his half-mast cock. He went hard as an iron spike, and the way she was grinding herself against him, he knew she had to feel it.

His captured her still slowly rolling hips in his palms and stopped the movement, but she made a sound of protest.

He lifted his mouth from hers, and she cried out in frustration.

“PG-13 remember?” he reminded. Speaking between harsh, gasping breaths was difficult, but he managed to get the words out coherently enough.

Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a mess and her lips swollen. She looked fucking irresistible and it took more willpower than he knew he possessed to step away from her.

She looked so bereft by the movement that for a second, he considered throwing caution to the wind and taking her back in his arms. But before he could act on that impulse, the glaze in her eyes faded and she nodded shakily.

He knew he had made the right call when she folded her arms defensively across her chest. Her walls firmly back in place.

“I should tidy up,” she said, her voice throaty and sexy.

“No, that’s fine. I’ll do it.”

“It’s my job,” she reminded him frostily, and he winced. Right…those walls were being heavily fortified if Mrs. Cole felt the need to assert herself in this moment.

“Nah, that’s Mrs. Cole’s job, and she’s not here tonight, remember?”

“God, you make me sound like I have multiple personality disorder,” she said with an impatient huff. “Rest assured, Mrs. Cole and I are the same person.”

“I know…but I also know you wear the persona like an armor. You don’t have to with me.”

“It’s a professional identity. Not a persona.”