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

She didn’t reply. Instead, she snuggled even closer, loving the way he smelled. Warm and woodsy after his shower, with the musk of sex adding that extra layer of delicious sensuality.

She must have dozed because when she startled awake what felt like seconds later, the room was oppressively dark. And she couldn’t move. Her arms were confined, her legs were entangled in something. Not the bedsheets; this was heavier, warmer...

Alive.

A man’s legs.

She stifled a scream and kicked at the legs as she frenetically fought her way out of his hold.

She irrationally wondered how he had found her when he was dead.

Was she dead too? Had he killed her in those final, frantic moments? Was she doomed to forever be hunted by him in the afterlife?

“Charity, it’s okay. It’s Miles. You’re fine. You’re safe…”

The words registered and the voice—curt, controlled…concerned—registered. But she could not defeat the asphyxiating anxiety until she was out of his hold and off the bed. She wriggled away from him until she ran out of mattress and tumbled; landing on the hardwood floor with a thump.

The room flooded with light seconds later.

“Fuck. Are you okay?” Miles’s head appeared over the edge of the mattress, and Charity blinked up at him in shocked confusion and dawning mortification.

“I-I’m sorry. I had a…”

“It’s okay.” The ice was gone from his voice. Instead, he sounded almost eerily calm.

The laugh that burst from her lips had a hysterical edge to it.

“You’re always saying that,” she pointed out. “Telling me it’s okay.”

She shoved her stupidly long hair out of her face, irritated when she tried to push herself to her feet only to trap her hair beneath her hands.

“It’s not okay. It’s not. I’m not.” She fought her way through the dark, all-encompassing veil of her hair and surged to her feet, belatedly recognizing that her blouse was undone and her bra was sagging and she was in all kinds of disarray.

She tugged everything back in place with a humiliated moan, and Miles slowly moved to the center of the king-sized bed, propping himself up against the headboard, and dragging a sheet over his nudity.

“You’re not what?” he asked. And she sobbed, folding her arms protectively over her chest to keep her ripped blouse in place.

“I’m not okay,” she admitted, the words tumbling out before she could bite them back. It was the first time she had acknowledged as much…even to herself, and she took a moment to mull over the confession in wonder.

Miles shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head. “No. You’re not okay, Charity. And I probably shouldn’t have allowed what happened between us to go as far as it did.”

“I wanted it.”

He sighed, the soft sound was laden with resignation and despair.

“I did too but…”

“It’s complicated,” she finished for him, and he scrubbed his hands over his face and nodded.

“I know it’s not my place to say but sweetheart, I mean I don’t know you very well, but it seems that the fucker you were married to did a real number on you. I’m not sure exactly what went down but maybe you need…I don’t know? Help? Counseling?”

“I’m sorry…this was supposed to be fun. And I freaked out and ruined it.”

“This was always going to be messy and intense while we attempt to figure out what the fuck is going on between us.”

“It would probably be best if we forgot this happened and continued on as usual,” she suggested reluctantly.

“Undoubtedly.” His expression inscrutable, and she chewed on her lower lip while she tried to figure out what he was thinking.