Page 62 of Tourist Trap

His shoulders straighten, his arms crossing over his broad chest and tightening the Miller Automotive tee perfectly across it as he glares at me.

“Is that what this is? Some kind of threat?”

I tip my head to the side as I put the bowl in the dishwasher and lean on the counter.

“Now, why would I be threatening you?”

He throws his hands up in the air. “Because you’re throwing a hissy fit that I’m not falling to my knees for you. Because you’re mad that I’m not taking things further. I don’t know how your brain works, Claire.”

I roll my eyes, officially annoyed by him and his attitude.

“If I wanted you on your knees, I’d just have to say the word, and you know it, Miles,” I say, only half joking. I think if I told Miles I was okay with just hooking up, he’d strip down right here and now, but I’ve never been the kind of girl who liked hookups. With my challenge, he steps closer, and my breathing halts.

“Then say the word.”

My heart stutters in my chest, that stupid, idiotic hope flaring up with it.

“Miles,” I say, my breath getting caught in my lungs. He steps closer until I’m pinned to the granite of the counter, his body pressed against mine. “What are you doing?”

“I have no fucking idea.” But clearly, that's a lie because then his lips crash down onto mine, and my entire body ignites. My hands reach up, twining around his neck and pulling myself up.

His arm wraps around my waist, holding me tighter, as the kiss deepens, as his tongue brushes against my lips, and I open them to let him in. He tastes like dark coffee and a hint of toothpaste, and my heart beats wildly.

It feels right, the same way it did last time, like a wave crashing over me, washing away all of my mixed emotions from the last week. His hand moves up, fisting in my ponytail and using it to move me to exactly where he wants me, a firm hand to guide the kiss along. His erection grinds into me and makes me moan. My nipples scratch along the bathing suit top under my sweatshirt, and I curse the layers of clothes between us.

“Miles—” I groan, shifting my hips against him.

But something about the single words snaps the moment between us. He pulls away from the kiss, eyes closing as he rests his forehead against mine, breathing heavy.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Claire,” he says, regret heavy in the words, and my gut drops at the repeat of what happened under the boardwalk.

“Don’t say that,” I whisper in a plea, the words aching at my throat as I say them. “Please. Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you have no idea. But I don’t have the time or energy to devote to you, not in the way you’d deserve—” I push on his chest until he gives me room to step away, then point an angry finger at him.

“Don’t you tell me what I deserve, Miles.”

“You know what I mean, I?—”

“No. I don’t. I don’t know what you mean, because since I’ve gotten here, you’ve done nothing but make assumptions and tell me thingsabout myselfas if you know me better.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath, shaking my head to stop the tears that are always eager to fall. “If you can’t have me because I’m too much work and you don’t have the time, that’s on you, but you never bothered to ask me whatI’dneed out of a relationship.” He opens his mouth to argue, but I shake my head and keep going. “You never bothered to ask, Miles, but if you had, I would have told you all I would need is to be yours.”

The last word cracks painfully, but I still keep it together.

A beat passes as we stare at each other across the kitchen before he speaks, a whisper of words. “Don’t go on that date.”

My body is on fire, my heart pounding, my belly filled with millions of hopeful butterflies.

“Why not?”

I want him to give me a reason to stay. To tell me he doesn’t want me to go because he wants me for himself, because he wants to kiss me and taste me and give this a shot. He opens his mouth and closes it a few times, and my hope dissipates slowly.

“Because he’s a fucking asshole,” he says, and it all drops. The butterflies float away, and the warm feeling turns to ice-cold disappointment.

I let out a breath as reality sinks in, that the kiss that felt like my world changing was just something he did out of passion, not out of emotion, and it meant nothing.

“What, so just because you don’t want me, you decided no one else can? I’m just some toy you get to tease and play with until you’re bored or too busy or whatever is your issue, but I have to sit waiting in the corner for you?”

“No, that’s?—”

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