“Are you saying you want a divorce already?”
He shakes his head. “No fucking way. No. I think marrying you might be the best thing I’ve ever done.”
I blink. He says it so matter-of-factly that it takes me back to Clementine’s parting words, that Miles doesn’t do anything without thinking them through. Maybe that’s why he’s finding it so hard to get his words out.
“What’s the beginning?”
“If we weren’t married, we would have started with a date.” His tone is decisive, even more so when he continues. “I think we owe it to each other to give this a shot, don’t you?”
I search his face, looking for any hesitation in his words. For the past few weeks, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that when the time comes, I’ll be leaving England with memories and a broken heart. The chemistry between Miles and me was built more on forced proximity than anything else.
It’s something I’ve been convincing myself, anyway.
“Are you just saying this because Clementine upset you?”
He shakes his head. “No. I told you, I’ve been thinking about this since before we went to Hampshire. Since we kissed in the coffee shop. Since Colorado. Fuck. I think I’ve wanted something with you since we first met at New Year’s. I just didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t realize.”
His face takes on that hopeful look again, the one I find it impossible to say no to. Not that I have any intention today anyway, and I almost chuckle. I didn’t have any problem saying no two months ago. Or telling him to fuck off.
I’m not the only one who’s changed.
“So what do you say?”
“I mean . . . I wasn’t expecting my husband to ask me out on a date.”
A smile creeps up his face, and beneath his thick stubble, I can just make out his dimples pulling in.
“But . . . ?”
I pause, drawing out the anticipation. “Do you want to hear what Clementine told me?”
He shakes his head, and anger flashes across his face. “Not unless it’s that she’s dumping that stupid fuck Torres.”
“She said that you don’t do anything without thinking it through, and that she’s never really believed there’s been an end date to us.”
His mouth opens before he processes what Clementine meant, his lips pursing and relaxing.
“Maybe she’s not going quite as insane as she’s led us to believe.” His brows slowly rise. “But I’m done talking about my sister.”
One big steady hand slips up my back, while the other grips my chin, holding it in place as he brings his mouth to mine. His tongue teases along the crease of my lips, and I open for him.
I love the way he slowly slips his tongue against mine, exploring like he has all the time in the world. Just the idea of not having Miles’s kisses anymore is enough to make me agree to date him.
And every kiss we’ve shared has the same melting effect on me.
Our lips fuse while his grip loosens on my chin and wanders. I’m wet long before his fingers creep under the elastic of my leggings. It doesn’t take Miles any effort to get me there, either. He only has to look at me a certain way, and my panties dampen.
Air catches in my throat as the coolness of his hand brushes against my warm belly, and goosebumps burst across my body. One hand stays firmly pressed against the small of my back, and his other slips between my legs. In my next breath, he pushes two fingers inside me, grinding the heel of his palm against my clit.
A loud moan barrels up.
“So wet . . . and so. Fucking. Tight,” he mumbles against my lips.
I don’t know if I’m tight or if his dick’s too big, but even after a week of experiencing it, I still need warming up.
His thumb swipes against my clit, circling it, adding an expert amount of pressure as his finger works inside me. His mouth surrounds mine, stubble tickling my face as his tongue explores me with the same languid tempo as his fingers. It’s nothing short of worship.
And I’m putty in his hands.
