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"If the next words out of your mouth aren't something about how irresistible I am, you can save your breath."
"You're painfully irresistible." He trails his fingertips up my thigh. "I was thinking about fucking you the entire drive here." His eyes find mine. "Almost crashed this damn car."
Yes. Now. That makes sense. That feels good.
This hurts. It hurts so fucking badly.
Miles's voice gets low. Breathy. "I was planning on driving you to Malibu and fucking you in the backseat."
"The passenger seat isn't good enough?"
He smirks. "Only for round two." His hand slides over my thigh, back to my knee. "But I'm not going to be your human distraction. I don't have that kind of sex. No matter how badly I want to fuck someone."
I fight a sigh. Miles won't have sex with me, fine. I have other ways of satisfying myself without his soft lips or his strong hands.
It won't be nearly as fun, but then it's not looking like this evening is going to be very fun.
He turns the key. "Don't sulk over it."
"You're the one who invited me out."
"We're out. If you want to spend the night pouting over not getting in my pants, I'll drive you home."
I pull the seatbelt over my chest. "What's the alternative?"
"I take you to Malibu. We have a conversation under the stars."
"I'm not really in the mood to talk."
He laughs. "You don't say."
I take a deep breath. I am irritable. I can't stand how mixed up I feel around Miles, how close I am to clinging to him and crying my heart out.
It's dangerous. Falling for him is the first step to falling apart. He's a drug. Different than the heroin that took hold of my sister's life but just as deadly.
I should go home. I should cry myself to sleep.
But I can't. I need someone.
I need him.
"I'm not cranky. I'm just hungry," I say. "Can we stop for something to eat?"
"Your wish is my command."
He turns the key and, mercifully, the radio fills the car with noise.
This is going to be a long night.
Chapter Twelve
The only place open is a horribly expensive organic store. I try to buy my sashimi bowl and green tea but Miles insists. I guess I agreed to this term—anything we do, he pays. I'm too tired to object.
Just to screw with me, he buys strawberries and a bottle of chocolate syrup. I'm not that inexperienced. I know what people do with chocolate syrup. God, how I want him doing it to me, his tongue lapping the treat off my thighs and breasts.
In the car, I do my best to get comfortable. It's a long drive to Malibu, and there's almost no space between us.
I press my back into the leather seat and turn the radio to an earblasting volume. It's loud enough to drown my thoughts. I need a break from everything. I need to not hurt for a while.
