I want to shake Miles and force him to realize I’m not a good guy. I’m not like him. I’m sure, in his mind, I’m a grump with a heart of gold, doing this all for the poor victims of some heinous crime, but that’s not the reality. Why does he try to paint me in colors I just don’t have?
Miles leans forward and kisses me. It surprises me for a moment, and I attempt to take a step back, but he reaches his hand up and grabs the back of my neck, keeping me close. His actions aren’t filled with urgency or need—his tongue slides along my lip in one slow, soft motion, and his other hand wraps around my waist.
When he breaks away, he doesn’t go far, speaking to my cheek more than anything else. “You saved me once,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t even have a life if it weren’t for you. I think it would be fitting if I paid it forward. I got your back, Pierce.”
“Fine,” I whisper. It only makes sense that we’d do this together.
Miles presses his mouth against mine again, nibbling on my lip and gripping my jacket to pull my whole body close. His affections cool me down, and I relax against him. It’s odd having someone care about my physical and emotional well-being at all times. I hate thinking I have to take him into consideration or else I’m hurting him—I never had to worry about that before, and the habit doesn’t come naturally.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter once Miles breaks for air.
He chuckles. “Did you just apologize? That’s not like you.”
I grit my teeth. “What do you want from me?” I snap. “I realized I made a mistake, okay? You’re the one fuckin’ apologizing all the time. I figured it would be what you want, and—”
Miles cuts off my tirade with a quick kiss. I know my blood pressure rose a slight degree during my rant, but it goes back down the moment I realize I lost my shit for no damn good reason. Maybe Miles is right. Maybe I am a little off.
“It’s cold,” Miles says. “Let’s go inside.”
I nod.
We step apart, and I already lament our separation. The entire walk into the house, all I can think about is how simultaneously glad I am that Miles will be with me for the investigation and bothered that he might get hurt doing so. It’s a confusing state to be in.
The darkness of the living room makes it difficult to see, but Miles’s mannerisms identify him as much as his appearance. He rubs at his neck—an unconscious habit that betrays the fact he’s thinking over something. I throw myself down on the couch, never bothering to flip on the lights, and Miles follows suit.
I go to say something, but Miles leans into me and resumes our kissing, silencing all my comments. Again, his actions are slow, and he pushes me against the armrest like he’s asking me to comply through nonverbal means. I’m not normally into this pussyfooting around before having sex, but for some reason I don’t mind it much right now, with Miles.
I slide fully onto my back, and he throws a leg over, straddling me. He’s hot—temperature-wise, though he’s also easy on the eyes—and I enjoy the way he presses down against me, his heat spreading to my body like wildfire. Soon it turns to grinding, sending urgency through my system. I want him.
Miles grabs my wrists and pins them above my head, leaning his weight on them like he means it. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, Pierce,” he says, his tone husky. He gets close and licks my ear before whispering, “There’s a lot I’d like to try. A lot I’d like to do to you.”
Anyone with a half-functioning ear could hear the raw need in his voice. It’s enough to get me in the mood to hear him out. “What’s got you hot and bothered?”
“What if I—”
A door opens and closes.
I forgot his damn siblings were here. I should pay more attention when Miles asks for favors. Looking after his siblings while his mother and her boy toy take a vacation is something I should’ve wholesale rejected.
Miles sighs and then murmurs into my ear, “We should stop.”
“Put a bullet through Jayden’s head and let’s keep going,” I reply.
“Miles?”
The feminine voice of Miles’s eleven-year-old sister echoes throughout the living room. He jumps off me and stands before the light floods our tiny living room. I roll off the couch, adjusting my pants before standing. I swear kids have a radar for activities they can ruin with their mere presence.
“What’s up?” Miles asks, his voice faltering.
Lacy shifts her attention to me and then back to Miles. “Mom said you weren’t supposed to do any of this in front of us.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m done with my homework.”
“Tonight’s?”
“All of it.”
“The whole week’s worth?” Miles balks. “Is that all you’ve been doing the entire evening”
“Jayden’s hogging the TV, and you weren’t here to do anything about it.”
Miles gives me an apologetic glance before walking over to his sister. “Right. I’ll talk to Jayden.” He guides her out of the living room, through the tiny kitchen, and into the hallway that connects the two bedrooms and the sole bathroom.
His mother somehow gets to dictate what I can and cannot do in my own home? What a load of bullshit.
I go to walk around the coffee table—some cheap thing with sharp corners and a glass center—and I slam my bruised shin against the edge. Instant rage and pain block my judgment. I kick the thing over and take a minor amount of satisfaction in the smash of glass that follows. Fucking coffee table shouldn’t have messed with me.
“Pierce?”
Miles jogs down the hall and stops when he sees the mess. Glass shards are scattered across the hardwood of the living room floor. Jayden and Lacy look on from the hall, confusion
