Page 54 of One Billion Reasons

Miles steps in, those grey eyes molten. “It won’t be me.” He tips my chin up with his finger and brushes his lips over mine. That featherlight touch tastes like an apology. “If the stakes weren’t so high, Laney, I’d do everything I just described to you, and more. We wouldn’t leave the bed for a week.”

I want that. Please, Miles is on the tip of my tongue, but I clamp my lips shut. Begging during sex is one thing, but this is different.

I don’t disagree with him, but the desire between us overrides all my common sense. I get dressed and think about how good we could be. How good, but also how volatile, how risky. We could lose everything. If we open Pandora’s box, we might not be able to close it.

The problem is, I think we already did.

25

Miles

I can already tell that tonight’s event is going to be messy. The crowd seems to know each other now, after a few days of mingling, and the conversation is flowing. Richard and Harold have created some sort of drinking game in the corner of the ballroom, and they’re getting rowdier by the minute. I’m at the polished wood bar, and Lane is at a small high-top table, talking animatedly with Catherine and a friend of hers. Lane waves her hands in the air, and Catherine laughs. I have to look away. Lane’s so pretty, it hurts to look at her sometimes. She’s in a blue dress tonight. It’s short, with a neckline that plunges to her navel and exaggerated shoulders. I chose it for the way it would hug her body, but I didn’t realize that so much exposed skin would be dangerous for my health.

I order a whiskey to chase away the memory of her scent and her soft skin. The give of her delicate muscles under my fingers. The way she moaned when I touched her. I was helpless in the face of her desire. I need a little distance tonight, or I’m liable to drag her into a closet. And it’s getting harder and harder to remember why that can’t happen.

“Miles,” I hear before a meaty hand thumps down on my shoulder. Henry’s alcohol-laden breath wafts in my face, and I jerk my head away. “Let’s talk.”

I grit my teeth but follow him to a table near the bar. He smells drunk, but he doesn’t look drunk. I eye him as I sip my whiskey.

“So talk,” I say shortly. I’m done being polite to him. He thinks I’m an asshole. Might as well act like it.

“I, ah, need to apologize.” His face reddens. “I’ve been giving you a hard time.”

“Yes, you have,” I say tightly.

“Well, Amanda took me aside yesterday morning and explained to me that you’ve been nothing but kind and accommodating to her. So, I’m sorry.” His voice is gruff. “And I see now that you’re very in love, and Amanda is too. It wouldn’t have worked. Can you blame a father for wanting to protect his kid?”

My shoulders relax just a fraction. “No. I can’t. I understand.” My dad was the same way. He wanted to protect me from all the cruelty of my mother’s world. He was never entirely successful, but he tried to provide a balance to it just the same.

Henry looks uncomfortable in the silence between us, so I take pity on him. “Another whiskey? What are you drinking?”

I get our drinks from the bar, and when I return, Mark is at the table too. His eyes have a cruel light to them that I remember from when he was fifteen years younger and I was just a teenager. My dad tried to usher me away at so many of those parties, but I always wanted to stay. I had some misguided notion, that I, a skinny teenager, could protect my father from cutting words and snide glances.

And now, when I nod at Mark, I do so knowing I’m richer than him. And more importantly, that I built what I have, while he inherited his.

“Miles Becker.”

I dip my chin. “Mark.” I swallow the words the prick before they can escape.

“Where’s your hot date?” he sneers, and I see red.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I snap.

“Ooh, touchy.” Mark chortles, at the same that Henry says, “Gentlemen. Please.” I ignore Henry. Mark’s eyes are lit with glee and malice.

“Let’s play a drinking game.” Mark sets a bottle on the table. “One shot. Every minute. First one to tap out loses. Henry, you too.”

Henry looks uncertain. “What are we playing for?”

Mark uncorks the bottle of liquor. “I’d say bragging rights are enough, don’t you think?”

“Fine by me,” I say. I don’t really want to play a drinking game with this jerk, but my damned competitiveness won’t let me say no.

Mark pours one finger of amber liquor into each glass, and we knock it back. Brandy. Great. It’s smooth and hot going down my throat.

“Enjoying the party?” Mark asks. “Who’s that girl you brought?” He looks around for Lane.

“Don’t even look at her. She’s too good for you.” I will break something if I find Mark trying to sink his claws into Lane.

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