Page 13 of Tell Me Something True

When she was a few feet from him, he turned and walked into the garage.

Guess that was her cue to follow him.

She did, walking past his car to find him standing at the top of a short set of steps, holding open the door leading to his house.

And she knew this was her last chance to change her mind. That once she crossed that threshold, there’d be no going back.

But there was no choice. Only some sort of instinct pushing her forward. Some internal need to see this through.

Something telling her to seize the opportunity to be with him.

Because it wouldn’t come around again.

Brushing past him, she stepped into his kitchen. It was too dark to make out much more than the shape of a center island to her right and his shadowy form as he came in and shut the door behind him.

And while she stood there, heart racing, anticipation building, her eyes adjusted enough to the darkness to see him take off his shoes and place them on a mat in the corner, before hanging his keys on a hook next to the door.

Finally, he closed the distance between them. Breath held, she tipped her face up, ready, and more than willing for his kiss. His touch.

But he simply tipped his head to the left, murmured a gruff, “This way,” then walked away.

She sucked in a slow breath, then, using the counter for balance, lifted her foot, reaching down for the strap around her ankle.

“Leave them on.”

Her head came up at the softly spoken command to find Miles standing in the archway separating the kitchen from another room.

She set her foot down and he once more walked away.

Once more expected her to follow.

Which she did. Without thought. Without care. As if she was still that young, needy girl who’d blithely trotted after anyone who promised a bit of affection or attention.

She stepped into the next room, passing a small dining table and chairs, then through another arched doorway into his living room.

“Stop.”

She jerked to a halt. It was brighter in here, the streetlight out front shining through the picture window, and she watched as he reached for a lamp on a side table next to the couch.

She almost told him to keep it off. To keep them in the dark where they could pretend to be two strangers coming together.

Where she could keep hiding.

But then, he would be hidden, too.

After flicking the switch, he straightened, then stepped back.

She stepped up to him, sliding her hands up the hard planes of chest then linking them loosely behind his neck. Even in her heels she was still too short to reach his mouth, so she brushed her lips against the underside of his jaw, just over the steady beat of his pulse. Felt the light scrape of his stubble. Breathed in the woodsy scent of his aftershave. He was warm and so tempting, she couldn’t resist flicking her tongue out, tasting his skin.

But while his pulse picked up speed, he didn’t move.

His hands were still at his sides and not on her person where they should be. His head was lifted when the slightest tip downward would have his mouth pressing against hers. She raised her gaze to his hooded eyes, his expression giving nothing away.

As if having her follow him home was some twisted joke.

His moment of revenge where he could make himself feel better while making her feel small and foolish.

Face heating, she unhooked her fingers and slowly took a step back, putting the decision of what happened next in his hands.

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