The Takeover (The Miles High Club 2)

It feels nice.

Tristan

I toss and turn as I try to get comfortable.

Who fucking designed this piece-of-shit couch? They should be fired on the spot.

What if there’s a drunk driver?

Patrick’s words come back to me, and my heart breaks . . . that poor little kid.

He’s so small, half the size of other kids his age; he has reading difficulties; and now I find out that he’s so traumatized about drunk drivers that he worries.

God, what a nightmare.

I think about how excited he was that I was staying, and I smile to myself.

I hear the stair creak, and I glance up to see Claire tiptoeing down in the darkness. She’s wearing a white nightdress, her hair is in a messy braid, and she looks as beautiful as ever. I scoot over to make room.

“Hi.” She smiles as she sits beside me on the couch.

“Hi.” I put my hand on her thigh. Finally, I can touch her.

She brushes the hair back from my forehead as she watches me in the darkness.

We stare at each other, and it’s there between us, this magical spell she casts on me. It swirls in the air, steals my breath, and makes me ache for her.

She cups my face in her hand and stares at me for a moment. “I love you, Tristan,” she whispers.

I get a lump in my throat as my eyes search hers.

“A . . . great deal, actually.”

“It’s about fucking time, Anderson,” I whisper.

She smiles as she leans down and kisses me softly. Her lips linger over mine. Our faces meld together as we hold each other tight.

This is special . . . she is special.

“I . . .”

She puts her finger over my lips. “This isn’t about how you feel,” she cuts me off. “This is about me . . . loving you. I wanted to tell you, and I know it’s premature. But I can’t hold it in anymore. It doesn’t matter how you feel about me, but I wanted you to know how I feel about you.”

I smile up at the beautiful woman in front of me, and I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.

I do love you.

I pull her down to me, and we kiss more urgently. My tongue swipes through her open lips with a hunger for intimacy. “This needs to be celebrated.”

“I know.” She smiles against my lips. “But we can’t.” We kiss again. “Not yet,” she breathes.

“Can you lie with me for a while?” I whisper.

“I can do that.” She gets under my blanket and lies half over my body and kisses my chest.

We lie together in the darkness. It’s quiet, and I can feel her heartbeat against my chest. It’s not sexual or urgent but a closeness and a sense of belonging to each other.

A deep connection.