Two-Date Warning by Chambers M L

Author:Chambers, M L
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: M L Chambers
Published: 2023-07-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter thirteen

Miles stared as Lauren twisted in front of him, golden light brown hair flowing over her shoulders.

He wanted her.

There. He admitted it. Couldn’t afford not to when it screamed in his head all hours of the night.

Miles wanted her, wanted this woman who was so much better than him.

He snagged her arm and reeled her back home. The smack of her palms on her chest was muffled under the pulsing music but her smile was a spotlight in Nightingale’s low lighting.

Friday night. Their time together and he’d taken her dancing where they first met. Hoped it would haul her out of the desolate swamp she’d waded through on Tuesday.

Tuesday.

Her lips on Tuesday.

Salt and mint and clutching hands, the heat vibrating the air.

Fuck.

He spun her away, let their arms extend, watched her hair double in size.

He’d kiss her tonight. Kiss her and stop. Stop, because if he did more …

It was obvious to him, and Carissa and every guy who gave Lauren more than a passing glance that more meant all. Meant locked doors, and sweat and licking, sucking, meant making Lauren chant his name as he tasted her sweet oasis. And because it was Miles, because Miles was fun and free, because sex was as rewarding, as fleeting as a fresh set of downs, he’d leave her there. Thank her, call her a good friend.

And she’d go in that cave and shut off. Block him out, spikes raised, mote filled, trebuchet loaded.

He wouldn’t be able to see her again and his luck would dry up. Steph’s income stream would become a trickle.

Nightingale’s butter-smooth tile was thick with bodies, breaking fire code and not a one cared. At six feet, Miles stood above most heads but even he could only see the faint glow of the bar’s backlighting, nothing else.

They’d gotten drinks, cheers’d, sampled and promptly lost them on a table or a wall or—his hip felt wet, maybe he’d spilled them.

Did it fucking matter?

Lauren was in jeans. Tight jeans that reached all the way to her belly button and clung, holes on the thighs, at the knees and a shirt he’d have called a wash rag had she not wiggled herself into it.

No bra, no straps on her shoulders at all.

Jeans in a sea of bare legs, dresses, and leather and Miles had hit the jackpot with jeans.

There was no hope for talking. Miming and mouthing were the only viable option. And he missed it.

Wanted to ask what made her eyebrow quirk, her hips swing, what sent the delighted twinkle into her eyes, the same spark that made her chew on the corner of her lip.

Later. He filed the questions for later, for the car ride home, the walk to her door, for her bedroom while she was putting her hair up, sliding under the cotton sheets, in the morning as she stretched.

Fuck. No.

He spun her again, far and wide, so she didn’t feel his reaction to her. If she got close, she’d realize exactly what was happening to him.

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