Page 19 of Never Fall for an Angel

“Are you okay?” Mila asks when I slide into the driver’s seat five minutes later. I’m pleased to see she’s made her way to the front.

Again, Mila doesn’t ride in the back.

I don’t look at her because I know if I do and I see even a hair on her head out of place, I’ll go back inside.

“Never better.”

“You’re bleeding,” she gasps, reaching for my hand. Her fingers dance over the blood on my knuckles, and her eyes widen, brimming with tears.

“I’m fine, Mila.” I tug my hand back from her. Most of it’s not even mine.

“Did you kill him?”

“He’ll live,” I murmur darkly. “Put your seatbelt on.”

She swallows thickly, buckling her seat belt, and we pull away from the curb. The lights of Los Angeles flash around us as we make our way out of the city, down the road that will take us toward Malibu, where Parker Estate is located.

She’s quiet, staring straight ahead as we drive, and I can tell something’s on her mind. In the years I’ve been with the Parker family, I can’t even count the number of times I wished I could take a peek inside her mind. See what the hell’s going on in that pretty little head of hers.

“He doesn’t deserve your sympathy, Mila.”

“I know,” she says quietly, hugging her arms around herself. “I don’t feel bad for him.”

“Little liar,” I chuckle humorlessly, pulling through the front gates of the Parker Estate. The mansion sits back from the road on a cliff overlooking the beach below. It’s huge. Way too much for one family. A real California castle where the walls scream with the voices of all the people unfortunate to ever find themselves in the presence of Marcus Paker.

She shakes her head, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. She’s got a soft heart. Breakable.

“His breath smelled like bad cream cheese,” she says out of the blue, so quiet, I almost don’t hear her.

I pause before a laugh slips free.

She looks at me, and that soft gray gaze does something stupid in my chest. Something that’ll only cause problems in the long run. I can never act on it but fuck if it isn’t fun to fantasize.

Pouty lips, covered in drool as they slide down my cock. Soft hair wrapped around my fist, the little ringlets glistening in the moonlight on my pillow. Sweet, throaty voice moaningmyname. That same soft heart in the palm of my fucking hand.

Fucking hell.

I brush the thoughts back, my thumb rubbing over my lip to hide the grimace there.

I put the car in park, and Mila unbuckles her seat belt, the scent of vanilla and honey in the air enough to steal my fucking breath away. I expect her to get out, but she doesn’t, her gaze coming to meet mine.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I know you didn’t like him.”

You want the truth? I don’t like any of the little shits she brings home.

I almost laugh.Almostbecause now that she’s in my space, the air is thick. Hard to breathe. Her breathing is shallow, matching my own.

It’d be so fucking easy to close the few inches between us. Press my lips to hers and get a taste of her. That’s crossing a line, though. One I swore I’d never go to with her.

Mila Carpenter wasn’t made for me. As much as it feels like it, there’s not a world where I could ever deserve her.

“Mila,” I murmur, my voice dark. I should tell her to go inside. I should get out of the fucking car, but her pretty eyes hold me captive.

“Christian,” she breathes, and I swear the sound goes straight to my fucking cock.

“You’re upset.”

She shakes her head, her gaze slipping down to my lips with uncertainty before coming back to mine. “I’m not.”

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