Page 32 of Deception & Daylight
He sweeps a hand through his hair, clearing his throat. “Hey Ma, our little friend is back,” he says. “Looks like he got into the flowerbeds again.”
“Motherfucker.” The curse rolling off her tongue catches me by surprise, an involuntary snort escaping me. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to me cursing, Maggie. It’s an unfortunate side effect of my upbringing made worse by single-handedly raising two rowdy boys.”
I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t let me stop you. I’m all for it. In fact, there’s nothing more satisfying than a well-timed fuck.”
Miles leans into me, his lips a breath away from my ear. “I’ll —”
I rush to cut him off, anticipating his double entendre. “Nope.”
He nips at the pad of my finger resting on his lips. “Party pooper.”
“So what do we do about the little menace?” Lucy asks, passively ignoring the exchange as she bypasses us into the sitting room.
“We could set a trap,” Miles suggests, following swiftly behind her. “Not sure if it’ll work, but it’s worth a shot.”
I have no idea what the hell they’re talking about, but I’m nothing if not nosey. I had a lot of time on my hands growing up. Eavesdropping and investigating were my norm. Some days, it was the only way to stay in the loop. It’s how I found out dad’s second wife was cheating on him with the chef. It’s probably why I went on to major in journalism. “What exactly are you trapping?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
Lucy places the tea tray on the coffee table, taking a seat on the sofa adjacent. “We haven’t really gotten a good look at it, but I think it’s a raccoon. Seems it’s taken a liking to my garbage bins and flower beds as of late. Tea?”
“I’d love some.” I head over to the window seat to grab my now empty mug.
Miles follows my movements, his eyes landing on my sage green vintage typewriter. There’s something in his expression I can’t quite place. “What are you writing over there?” he asks.
“Just working on some stuff for the Blossom Festival.” Deflecting, I quickly pull the paper from the platen so he can’t call my bluff. If he knew the salacious contents, I’d never hear the end of it. I fold it into quarters and stuff it in my back pocket for safekeeping. Uponreturning to the sofa with my mug in hand, Lucy fills it with my favorite lavender tea.
“Miles?”
“I’m good, Ma. I’ll look into trapping the raccoon. In the meantime, I need to get in touch with the nursery to get some more flowers ordered to replace the disaster it left behind.”
“Whatever you need, dear. Call up Mike and have him add it to the account.”
He nods, pulling out his phone. “See you later, boo thang.”
“Definitely not that one either,” I snort. His hand rests on my lower back and he places a chaste kiss against my cheek like we’ve been doing this for years. I know it’s all for show — his mom thinks we’re together and it would be weird if he left without a goodbye. But tell my bitch of a body that. I’m fairly certain I’ve melted into a puddle with that one simple touch. If I don’t have an orgasm soon, I’m going to combust.
Miles
Distracting Mags with a stupid nickname and a kiss on the cheek was a stroke of genius. I quickly head out to the truck with my phone to my ear, nobody on the other line, as I pretend to call Mike.I’m going to hell for this.
I glance out the passenger window, making sure Mags is preoccupied before I pull the folded up paper from my shirtsleeve. Eyes trained on my lap, I unfold the document and scan the pages.
Max’s hand finds her waist, teasing along the waistband of her skirt as they sway on the dance floor. His touch is like a brand, each graze of his fingertips — a claiming. His lips glide over Madeline’s collarbone, a sigh escaping her lips at the feel of his mouth on her flesh. She tilts her head, begging for more. “What do you want, kitten?” he whispers, tugging at her earlobe with his teeth. Her words are stuck in herthroat, but he doesn’t wait for a response as he laces their fingers and pulls her out the back door of the club. Her back hits the side of his truck, his arms bracketing her body as his soft lips tease her skin. “Tell me what you want, baby.” He kisses along her chest and shoulders, her body vibrating with need. “You. I need you,” she pleads.
Holy. Fuck. This shit is hot as hell, and the picture it paints is oddly familiar. I fold up the illicit writing, tucking it into my glove box as I adjust my erection. The idea that Maggie would be writing about us, recounting the details of our encounter at the bar, has my dick straining against my jeans. What I wouldn’t give for an encore performance — in a better location without interruption. I tuck away the knowledge for a rainy day, hoping Maggie forgets about the paper she attempted to hide in her back pocket. If she wants material for her writing, I’m more than happy to provide it. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into.
Chapter 13
Mags
? Still Into You - Paramore
Every fragile moment Miles and I share only serves to deepen our connection, however tenuous it may be. Each one adding up to what could very well be my downfall.
It’s been less than 24 hours since Miles walked out of the inn, leaving me with only the desire still thrumming through my veins, and the dangerous realization that I might still be drawn to him in a very visceral way. He makes me feel seen for the first time in a long time… maybe ever. His heart calls to a part of me I buried long ago — the girl who just wants to feel worthy of love, not because of who her father is, but because she —I—matter.
My footsteps feel heavy as I pad down the stairs towards the spot I’ve claimed for myself for as long as I’m in town, and a peace settles over me as I sink down into the cushions in front of the bay window that looks out onto a landscape of lush green grass, fresh blooms, and clear blue skies. The inn is tucked away in a copse of trees near the lake. The view from my room is breathtaking, but there’s something about the comfort of this little nook that feels like mine. Not for the first time, I imagine a scenario in which I stayed.
The familiar clicking of my typewriter is the only sound in the room as I lose myself in the story, conjuring up images of what might’ve happened if Lucy hadn’t interrupted our stolen moment mere feet away from where I’m sitting now. Would he have kissed me? Would I have let him? Yes. Unequivocally, yes. That and so much more. My fingers glide over the keys, the words flowing freely now, an extension of my thoughts and feelings materializing on the page.
