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“Do you want the politically correct version?” “No. I want the truth.” “Right . . . well, in that case, I noticed your long legs and the curve of your neck. The dimple in your chin. You are the most attractive woman I’ve seen in a long time, and when you smiled, it brought me to my feet.” I smile softly as the air swirls between us. “And then you spoke . . . and ruined everything.”
I like sweet, demure girls, the ones who do what I say.” “Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “The ones who clean the house and have sex on Saturdays.” “Precisely.” I laugh and hold my glass up to clink with his. “You’re not bad for a boring old guy with weird shoes.” He laughs. “And you’re not bad for a young, hot smart-ass.”
“Do you want to watch Magic Mike XXL with me?” I ask. “I suppose, although I should let you know . . . I am an ex-stripper myself, so this is nothing new for me.” “Really?” I try to hide my smile. “You’re good on a pole?” His eyes hold mine. “My pole work is the best in the country.”
“I don’t understand how someone as hot as you doesn’t get fucked three times a day.”
“I wish we were on a private jet.” “Why is that?” His eyes drop to my lips once more. “Because I’d break that drought of yours and initiate you into the Miles-High Club.” I get a visual of climbing on top of him, right here, right now. “It’s Mile-High Club . . . not Miles,” I whisper. “No . . . it’s Miles.” He smirks as his eyes darken. “Trust me—it’s Miles.”
“When you see him, I want you to do something for me.” “What’s that?” “Ask him if he feels like he might die if he doesn’t get to touch you again.” I frown. “Why would I ask him that?” I whisper. “Because there’s another man who does.” The phone clicks as he hangs up.
I drop my eyes to the desk. I’m not looking at those beautiful blue eyes. He’s like the snake from The Jungle Book—one look in those hypnotic suckers, and your panties drop to the floor.
“Nobody treats me as bad as you do, Emily.” “Because you pay them. Good thing you’ve got lots of money, Jameson. You’re going to need it. Nobody would put up with your shit for free.”
“Hmm . . . something smells good.” He kisses me and wraps his arms around me from behind. “What are you cooking?” “Fuck bunny stew.” He laughs loudly,
“Did the ax murderer chase you here?” I whisper up against his cheek. He smiles and grips me tighter. “Maybe.” “I paid him to do that.” “Witch.” He smirks.
“Oh hell, you won’t believe what happened last night,” she continues. “Molly’s ex-husband took two Viagra, maybe three, and passed out while he was driving because he had no blood left in his body because it was all in his dick, so we had to take him to the ER.” I laugh out loud. “What the hell? Is that a thing?” “Yes, it’s a thing. Who knew?”
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper in a panic. “What?” He frowns, totally oblivious. “Two Penthouse Pets are out there with a load of dresses that are way too exotic for me, and I’m driving around in a fucking space machine, and you’re saying I’m moving in, and I’m freaking the fucking hell out, Jameson,” I blurt out in a rush.
“I also told her that I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met and that you are the only woman I want to be with from here on in.” A broad, goofy smile does break through this time. “Did you tell her I had motorized sneakers?” I whisper. He chuckles, and his eyes twinkle with something special as he cups my face in his hand. “I did.”
“I’m in love with you, Emily Foster.” He leans in and kisses me slowly. His tongue swipes through my open lips with such emotion that I get a lump in my throat. “I can’t help it. I tried to stop it, and I couldn’t. I think I’ve loved you since our first night together in Boston. You stayed with me. I fought it, and still, I couldn’t forget you. I’ve been carrying your scarf around like a lovesick fool for more than a year.”
“Take my hair in your hands, and fuck my mouth,” I murmur around him.
“I don’t like social media, that’s all.” I shrug. “What’s not to like?” She keeps taking her own photo. I stare at her deadpan. “A misrepresentation of society with unrealistic images that portray a fake lifestyle with impossible ideals,” I reply as I sip my wine. Don’t piss me off, bitch.
He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. “My name is Gabriel Ferrara.” “Oh.” “And I like to take over all things owned by Jameson Miles.” My eyes widen. His dark eyes drop to my lips. “Women included.”
Many a stressed-out CEO has been found in the bottom of a Blue Label scotch bottle. Please, not mine . . .
“Emily.” He looks at me, and the flashlight strapped to his forehead shines in my eyes. “I smell like a toxic dumping ground of bug poison, and I have never felt so unsexy in my entire life. I wouldn’t be surprised if my dick has been poisoned off like a weed.” I burst out laughing. “You could never be unsexy to me, and your dick is more of a tree than a weed.” He raises his eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Let me tell you this—disrespect Emily Foster again, and next time . . . I won’t just break your cheekbone. I will kill you,” I sneer. He raises his eyebrow as if surprised by my statement. “Is that a threat, Miles?” “That’s a fucking promise,”
“Mind if I take a seat?” his deep, sexy voice purrs. “Not at all.” My eyes drop to the bulge in his pants, and I raise my eyebrow. “Don’t judge.” He smiles as he falls into the bench seat beside me. “I just watched the best damn strawberry porn that I’ve ever seen.”
“What do you do for a living?” I ask. “I’m a tour guide,” he replies without hesitation. “Really? What kind of tours do you run?” “Camping.” I snort my drink up my nose as I giggle. “Oh.” I cough. “So . . . you’re the outdoor type?” “Totally.” He sips his margarita. “I’m at one with nature.” He crosses his two fingers to show me just how close.
“When someone shows themselves to you . . . believe them.” My chest constricts at the significance of that statement. For weeks now, I’ve refused to believe that Jameson Miles was coldhearted. He is, though; no matter how the man I thought I knew presented himself . . . his reality is a lie. “Jim doesn’t exist,” he said.
I hand Jameson the envelope, and he stares at it in his hand. “What’s this?” he asks. “My letter of resignation.” He frowns as his eyes hold mine. “No, Em.” He shakes his head. “I can’t accept this.” Emotion overwhelms me, and I blink so that I don’t cry. “I can’t work here, Jameson.” “You love Miles Media—working here was your dream,” he whispers. “No. You’re wrong. I loved you . . . and you were my dream.
“I finally believe you, Jameson.” “Believe what?” “That you’re a coward.” He clenches his jaw. “That you’re too scared to love me.” Our eyes are locked, and an undercurrent of anger runs between us. “And I deserve someone who knows that I’m worth the risk.” He clenches his jaw as he watches me. “You’re just not brave enough to love me.” “That’s not fair,” he whispers. “No.” I shake my head softly. “Falling in love with you is what isn’t fair. I never stood a chance . . . you knew that all along. You keep your heart in a tightly sealed Miles-High icebox, only to be looked at.”
I’ll call her. No, she will only hang up. I’ll text . . . what will I write? Good morning. Murder any roses today?
To the outside world you were aloof and cold, but for the ones you loved, you would do anything to make them happy. You have more heart than sense.”
Suddenly a volcano that I didn’t even know was there erupts inside of me. “Because I’m in love with a selfish fucking asshole, and I don’t know how to turn it off, and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you to walk away again,” I blurt out in a rush. He stays silent. “And the way you just march back in and demand my forgiveness pisses me off.” He listens. “And you could have any woman in the world; they are lining up for you. So why are you putting me through this shit? I don’t want the heartache, Jameson.”
I hear a crunch of gears, and I look up and frown. Bessie is bunny hopping toward us with Jameson behind the wheel, and Alan bursts out laughing. My mouth falls open in shock. “What in the world?” I whisper. He pulls up beside me, and I open the door. “Going my way?” He smiles with a sexy wink. I laugh out loud. “What are you doing?” “Taking you away for a few days.” “You are?” “Your things are already in the trunk.” “In Bessie?” I stammer. “Yes, in Bitchy. I borrowed her from Viagra Mike. Although I must tell you, I’ve ordered you a new Range Rover. Bessie is unbearable.” “You snob.” I
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