Page 67 of Devoured By Peace

“Maybe you should ice them again.”

I walked her to the bedroom. “Nope. Bed. Sleep.” I untied her robe and slid my fingers along the indent of her waist.

She winced.

“Too much?”

Miranda smiled sweetly. “No. I’m ticklish.”

I laughed. That was the easiest we’d been together for hours. And I needed some of that. I tickled her a little more just to hear her laugh.

We ended up on the bed, and my mouth found hers. I devoured her lips as though it were our first kiss.

While watching Miranda dress, an unsettling thought swept through me: how will she handle the shitstorm about to hit?

I should leave her so that she could enjoy an easy life. Miranda deserved a good man from a wholesome family—if such people even existed. At the least, she should be with someone with less drama going on.

But how could I do that?

I’d never felt so crazy about a girl before. Miranda might come across as sweet, but the girl could kick ass when needed. My respect and desire for her only grew stronger in knowing that.

As we drove back to Miranda’s place, I managed to talk her into spending the day with me. It was a picture-perfect Sunday, and I was dying to go surfing.

She seemed a bit uncertain, but after she’d collected what she needed from her place, we headed off to Malibu.

“Why don’t you move into my place downtown?” I asked as I drove up to the house.

She shrugged. “I’d like to see how things go. There’s so much happening at the moment.”

I pulled up next to Tamara’s BMW, and my heart sank. “She’s here. Damn.”

“At least it’s a big house.”

I jumped out, and after opening the door for Miranda, I ran up the stairs to the front entrance, which boasted a great view of the surf.

“Great. There’s a swell,” I said as Miranda joined me.

I needed to go surfing badly, even though my hands ached.

“Maybe I’ll just sit and read,” she replied with a gentle smile.

I took her by the hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The sun highlighted the hints of red in her hair. I couldn’t stop looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

“You grow more beautiful.” I lifted a strand. “I love your hair. Is it naturally that color?”

“It sure is. My granny was a redhead. I take after her.”

I tapped her pretty nose. “You’ve got the cute freckles.”

She giggled. “Stop it. You’re making me feel exposed.”

I laughed and took her by the hand, and we walked up the garden path to the pool area at the back of the house.

When we entered the house, Manuel was alone, watching television.

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