Page 42 of Marry Lies
His expression oscillates between contempt and concern as his eyes flick over mine. I see his hand twitch at his side, like he’s about to touch me, but he must think better of it.
“I’m not sure I know how to play nice,” he admits, his answer surprisingly honest. His expression slides into a frown as he studies me closely.
I’m just about to respond when his phone chimes loudly. He looks away from me, glancing down at his screen. Picking it up, he turns the screen to face me.
“It’s theUS Weeklyarticle,” he tells me, unlocking his phone as he clicks on the text from Luna.
Despite wanting to throttle him, I scoot closer, looking down at his phone as my eyes rove over the exclusive photoshoot from last night. The pictures are exquisite, and my heart skips a beat at the cover photo—the image of Miles kissing me on the balcony. My hand is around his neck, and his hand is gripping the fabric at my hip tightly while his other is fisting the back of my hair.
It’s sexy and passionate, and my chest flushes as Miles continues to scroll.
The kissing picture was chosen as the main image for a reason. Every other image looks…stilted. Posed. There’s one of us on the chair, and Miles is looking away from the camera, almost scowling. I just look sad.
You look like you’re being tortured.
This is worse than torture.
The words he spoke just before that picture was taken roll around my mind as he closes his phone and pockets it.
“We need to work on our physical chemistry,” I tell him bluntly. “You look like you have an actual stick up your—”
“Enough, Estelle.”
Anger blooms through me. “Look at us! We look truly miserable. No one is ever going to believe that we’re in love if we continue to look like we hate each other.Bothof our reputations are on the line here.”
His eyebrows knit together as his nostrils flare. “We can come up with a solution tomorrow.”
He moves past me to the door, and I follow him out of the dining room. “That’s it?” I ask, feeling frustrated.
He continues walking past the kitchen. “I said we’d talk tomorrow,” he grits out, not bothering to turn around.
I watch as he walks away, heading down the hallway I know goes down to the cellar.
What the hell is Miles Ravage hiding down there?
I wait a few minutes to give him time. But by the time I get to the iron door, it’s closed and locked.
When I get back to my bedroom, I’m fuming. And sometimes, there’s only one thing to do when you’re angry and dealing with pent up tension. Grabbing my handy little vibrator, I lie down and rub one out under my orange duvet.
I come with a cry thinking about thoseRcufflinks pressed against the inside of my thigh.
Worst of all, after I finish, I’m still sexually frustrated.
CHAPTERNINE
THE WAND
Miles
Without intending for it to happen, Estelle has become more than just someone I’m physically attracted to. It’s bordering onobsession. The way she speaks. The way she uses a knife and fork—her fingers curling around the silverware delicately. The way her plush lips move as she chews. She doesn’t shy away from me, and that makes me covet her.It makes medesperatefor her.
I can feel my controlled facade beginning to crack.
What the hell is she doing to me?
Before dinner, I told myself that I could be professional. Instead of focusing on Estelle and the way her legs looked in those denim cut-offs, I focused on her incessant need to be right and the way she loved to push my buttons. The additional containers now adorning my kitchen counter proved that. If I said not to do something, she would do it, and that pissed me the fuck off.
Instead of admiring the way her ass and thighs filled those shorts out, I focused on pushing her away by being an asshole. It’s better this way, anyway. Better to push her away before she gets attached. Better to keep her questions about the cellar at bay. Better to fight her every step of the way so she learns Miles Ravage isnotredeemable.
