Page 63 of Sweet Caroline
Feeling him swipe it from my grasp, I crack an eyelid and watch as he slowly unfolds it and settles on the couch.
“Alright, let’s see…”
He roughs his knuckles over his clean-shaven jaw.
Did he shave just for tonight? For me?
I shift on my feet, practically wringing my hands.
Studying the paper carefully, Miles flicks a few glances my way, a slow smile spreading over his lips. At one point, he raises his brows—but still doesn’t speak.
When his silence becomes intolerable, I break. “Oh my God, say something!”
He looks up and does the faintest double-take, realization touching his expression as he pushes up from the couch. Letting my list drop to the coffee table, he strides toward me and, without breaking eye contact, starts to loosen the belt of my coat. His voice is rough when he speaks. “That last one…”
An involuntary sound leaves my throat. “Yeah?”
“Any chance you planned for that one tonight?”
As he undoes the buttons, he dips down to kiss me slowly, the clean, woodsy scent of him drawing me even closer. His lips are so warm, his tongue so deliciously distracting.
My heart jackhammers against my rib cage.
When my coat falls open, he hisses out the wordfuck. Pressing his hands together over his mouth, he paces a few steps away from me—and my stomach sinks.
Does he hate it? Did I go way overboard?
I glance down. Intricate panels of red lace and satin crisscrossover my breasts and delicate ribbing slopes down my waist, attaching to a high-cut, lacy thong. Crimson garter straps stretch from the lower edge of the bodice over my hips and bottom, clipped to the bands of lace at the top of thigh-high red stockings.
Self-consciousness flares hot in my chest as I smooth one garter strap over my hip. This getup suddenly seems ridiculous. Impractical and over-the-top, like a silly costume.
Who do I think I’m pretending to be?
“Do you like it?” I ask, my voice pathetically hopeful. “I wasn’t sure if?—”
He stops in his tracks, eyes snapping to mine. “Do I like it?” Brow furrowed as if he’s in pain, his gaze slips down my body.
“Yeah, it’s just?—”
And then he rushes for me, cutting me off with a breath-stealing kiss. He wrestles the coat from my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor before pulling back enough to press his forehead to mine.
“Do I fucking like it?” He slides his palms up my arms, then cups my face in his hands and kisses me again. When he breaks away, his voice is a bit ragged. “Yeah, fancy girl. I like it.”
“I didn’t know if…” I trail off as his fingers find my hair and he grabs a fistful of curls, tugging my face up so I meet his molten eyes. He lets out a low growl, and delicious heat fans up from my core, engulfing my exposed throat. I might make a tiny whimpering sound in response.
He presses his lips to mine once more, and his grip on my hair has me arching into him.
I open my mouth so he can deepen the kiss, then gasp when he tears away and jerks my head back. A dark, almost thrilling tendril of pleasure slips from my scalp, spreading down from my nape to my shoulder blades as he kisses my neck. “I guess that answers whether I like having my hair pulled.”
He lets go suddenly. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t even— Was that okay?”
“Yes, I liked it.”
“Oh, thank fuck.” His cobalt eyes are nearly black in the dim light. “I uh… I think you melted my brain.” He shakes his head like he can’t quite believe what I’m wearing. “God, look at you.”
“What?”
“Uh, I figured we were just gonna start by making out on the couch or something. But you’ve, um…”—he swallows—“really upped the ante, here.” He explores my rib cage and waist with his fingers, his thumbs brushing reverent strokes over the lace covering my skin. “I mean, it’s a helluva first move.”
