Heating Up the Holidays 3-Story Bundle(117)

That would be embarrassing. And, on a deeper level, she worried that the lack of caution, her willingness to do one crazy thing after another, would eventually hurt. A lot.

You’re so trusting.

Henry had meant that her trust in him had been misplaced, but probably she was also too trusting in general that things would work out okay. Look at her willingness to hop on that plane and put herself in a position to get smacked down. Miles could have opened the door, taken one look at her, and called in a restraining order.

Restraining order, heh, Beavis and Butt-Head supplied, and she swallowed a giggle. “My return flight is Sunday afternoon, but I don’t have to stay here. One of my college roommates is here, and I told her I might crash with her, if …”

If you’d done what any sane person would have done and assumed I was a crazed stalker.

“You don’t have to do that. You can hang with me.”

That was good—Christmas-morning good—and like a kid on Christmas morning she was greedy for more. She wanted it wrapped up and tied with a bow. She wanted him to ask.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he added, “I want you here. As long as you can stay.”

It was almost too much, the warmth and thrill, and she had to look away from him so he wouldn’t see everything in her eyes. Declarations and confessions, hasty and too trusting.

“Okay.”

He took a bite of sandwich. Chewed. Set the sandwich down. Gazed at her for a long moment, until her face got hot and the heat sank into her breasts and belly. “It’s weird that you’re here,” he said.

“Is it too weird?”

He looked at his sandwich, the corners of the kitchen, the stacks of mail, as if the answer were out there somewhere, just out of reach. “No. It’s too normal.”

She knew exactly what he meant.





Chapter 7


Nora was upstairs showering, the water running through the house’s old pipes. Miles sometimes worried that something big would go wrong with the house, something to do with plumbing or electricity, two categories of fix-it he’d vowed never to touch. He didn’t have the funds to deal with something big like that. Not the furnace or the roof or any kind of systems failure. Without an income, he could make ends meet for only another six months or so—yet another reason he didn’t feel like a good candidate for a relationship.

He felt “unfit.” That was the word that kept running through his head.

He hadn’t meant to ask her how long she was staying, but a thought had risen to the surface as he’d sat across from her, watching her eat her sandwich. I want to keep her.

Not a well-formed thought, just the sort of thing that bubbled up from your gut when you were unguarded and couldn’t help it. Almost ugly, the idea of keeping, but that was what it was. And she’d said he could, until tomorrow afternoon, and for a brief moment it had felt like enough.

But he was unfit. A suspect, not in a position to support himself if this went on much longer, not in a position to introduce someone else into his half-assed existence.

He made up his mind. Monday morning, he would begin to look for a new job. For a long time he’d kept hoping that things would happen fast, that he’d be cleared and would be able to resume his old life. The lawyer had kept telling him to hang on, not to do anything rash, that he’d have his life, his old job, his sense of self, back soon. But that hadn’t happened. The investigation had moved glacially, leaving him caught in this peculiar limbo for weeks and then months. A few days ago, he’d passed the one-year mark.

It was time for him to figure out how to build a new life in his reshaped reality. It wouldn’t be easy to get work, with the shadow of an investigation hanging over his head. He wouldn’t find anything that reflected his skill and experience level, but the economy had rebounded, and there were houses going up again—maybe he could do handyman jobs. Something, anything, to begin the process of making room for Nora in his life.

The water was still running upstairs—he imagined her sliding her soapy hands all over her body. He wanted to go up and get in the shower with her. Enjoy her, the sweetness of her mouth, the heat of her body, the restless hunger of her fucking, the way he could watch her mind work during the silences in their conversations, sometimes to the point where a private smile crossed her face. He wanted to know exactly what was behind those small hints at her inner world. If he could, he’d get inside her head and listen to her thoughts.

He stopped to pull another condom from the box in her messenger bag, took the stairs two at a time, knocked on the door, entered on her invitation. She was behind the glass door, behind a veil of steam, but Miles could make out her rosy curves and the dark circles of her areolae and the triangle of red hair where her thighs met. He was hard before he had his clothes off—he’d been on his way before he left the kitchen.