Page 39 of Sinful Desires

There was a reason it mattered so much that I kept us a secret. I didn’t want Dad threatening to chop Miles’s balls off for touching me. That didn’t mean it hurt any less when my texts went ignored, like the one I’d sent at lunchtime.

Me:Hanging around the penthouse today. Waiting for dresses to be dropped off. Will I see you?

I hadn’t seen him since Wednesday morning when I woke up in his bed around dawn. He had already been up and getting dressed for a workout. Two days later, I shivered at the memory of how cold it felt in that room. Something had literally changed overnight. He was so unsettled after the party at Uncle Barrett’s. I still couldn’t put my finger on what might have gotten to him. No amount of scrutinizing every word of the conversations at the party brought me any closer to figuring him out.

It was silly to read too much into him—his thoughts, motivations, and past. The way he grew up was so unlike the way I had. I was overanalyzing it, wasn’t I? I couldn’t help it. I had never met anyone so determined to be an enigma. I had never so much wanted to solve a mystery as I wanted to solve him.

By the time dinner rolled around without a word from him, I was damn near beside myself. It was as if I was an addict needing a fix. How had I existed before him? I could barely remember. How was that possible?

The penthouse was as silent as a mausoleum. Mom had gone to the spa for a night of pampering with Aunt Lourde in preparation for the gala, and Dad was having dinner with the so-called hunk holes. I couldn’t count the number of times I had rolled my eyes at that nickname.

That left me alone, wondering if I should go out, not really wanting to. My heart wasn’t in it.

By the time I puttered around my suite on Friday night after ordering way too much sushi and applying a facemask, I had the feeling I was in too deep. Bumming around on a Friday night, eating dinner in my bedroom while feeling sad and confused because the boy I liked wouldn’t text me back—what was this, high school?

It sure as hell seemed like it since my heart almost burst out of my chest when my phone buzzed with a text from him.

Miles:On my way from the garage now. Long day.

My hands trembled with excitement. Right away, I wanted to make his day better somehow. Boy, I was in trouble.

Me:Are you hungry? I ordered an ass ton of sushi. I’ll never be able to eat all of it. I’m in my room.

Miles:An ass ton? I might have to come up just to see how much an ass ton of sushi is.

He wanted to see me. That alone was a relief. It helped me release the tension I’d been carrying around in me ever since things got weird on Wednesday. I tossed the phone on the bed beside the half-eaten containers of food, running for the bathroom to take off my mask and quickly brushing through my hair.

By the time he knocked on my bedroom door, I had tossed off my hoodie, leaving me in a pair of soft pants and a tank top. How was I supposed to know he would only text from the garage and give me no time to look a little less grungy?

He had taken off his suit jacket but was still in his button-down shirt and navy slacks. He looked tired as he removed his cufflinks and stepped into the room, eyeing the half-eaten feast. Along with that was my MacBook, where I’d been binging episodes ofBritish Bake-Off.“So this is what girls do on Friday night that they don’t want guys to know about,” he mused, picking up the spare pair of chopsticks and snagging some fresh tuna.

“Oh, it gets much worse than this,” I told him, sitting at the foot of the bed while he sat near the head. “There’s a whole blood sacrifice thing, but that has to be performed precisely at midnight, or shit can get really dark.”

“Good to know.” Some of the tightness melted from his face when our eyes met, and he offered a weary smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I whispered. “You look beat.”

“That makes sense since I feel rather beat.” Popping a piece of salmon and mango roll into his mouth, he added, “This helps.”

I had to be close to him. What was this compulsion? The absolute all-consuming desire to touch him instead of sitting and watching him eat. I climbed onto the bed and crawled up behind him, kneeling so I could take his shoulders in my hands and knead them. “You’re too tense. It feels like I’m trying to massage granite.”

“It’s those final days, you know? Everything’s coming to a head.”

I giggled softly, nudging him. “You sound miserable. Aren’t you looking forward to expanding your business out here?”

“I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time,” he murmured. “That doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“Of course.” Taking a chance, I leaned closer, letting my arms slide around his chest for a hug. “You’ve come really far. Don’t lose sight of that now.”

What did I expect? Something more than a half-hearted pat on my arm, I guess. There was something off with him, and I sensed it went beyond work. How was I supposed to help if he wouldn’t let me in?

Who says he wants your help?I hated that stupid, reasonable voice in my head. The way I felt went beyond logic and reason.

He craned his neck, turning his head to offer a brief grin. “Afraid I’ve polished off most of this,” he observed, gesturing with the chopsticks toward the now mostly empty containers.

“No worries,” I assured him. “I always tell myself if I order too much, I can eat the rest tomorrow, but it’s never as good the next day.” He got everything together and left it on the nightstand before kicking off his shoes. Somehow, that tinygesture warmed me from head to toe, knowing he wanted to get comfortable with me.

I cared way too much, and it scared me. But so long as I was being honest with myself, it was a good kind of fear. A roller coaster fear, a bungee jumping fear. I would be safe in the end.

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