Page 57 of Unscripted with Mila

I smiled. “Sure.”

While he was ordering, I wandered back to the balcony. The sun was low in the sky, the colors beginning to gather. I felt him come up behind me. He leaned close, resting his hands on the balcony rail, dropping his chin onto my shoulder. “Pretty,” he murmured.

“Yes.”

He slid one arm around me, pulling me to his chest. With a sigh, he kissed my neck. “You feel so far away.”

“I’m right here.”

“You’re holding yourself back.”

“I’m worried.”

“About what I’m going to tell you?”

“Yes.”

“So am I,” he confessed.

Then he spun me in his arms, covering my mouth with his. I wrapped my arms around his neck, whimpering as he kissed me. His tongue twisted with mine, and he explored me. He pulled me closer, kissing me deeper. Harder. Every doubt, every worry I had, faded away in his arms. I felt as if I was exactly where I should be. Where I wanted to be. I hummed in satisfaction as he slid his hands under my shirt, ghosting up my back, his long fingers gentle. I slid my hands into his thick hair, tugging on the curls. He wrapped one hand around my long hair, fisting the strands. He moved, sitting down, and I straddled him, gasping at the feel of his hardness trapped between us. He broke from my mouth, kissing and licking his way up and down my neck, murmuring and praising me. “You feel so good, Mila. It’s all I thought about today. How you felt. Your taste. Needing to have you close.”

Then his mouth was back on mine. He cupped my ass, guiding me, the friction between us feeling so good. His touch unlocked something inside me. An emotion, a desire I never knew I possessed. I gripped his hair harder, and he groaned.

The loud knock at the door pulled us apart. We stared at each other.

“Cockblocked by sandwiches,” he muttered.

He stood, setting me on my feet.

“I’ll go to the door,” I offered. “Not sure you should right now.” I brushed past him, feeling him still hard.

I signed for the tray and handed the waiter a tip. He smiled at me, flirty and cute. “That’s a lot of food for such a small woman,” he quipped.

“Good thing I’m here with her, then.” Nicholas appeared at my elbow, glaring.

“Oh yeah, right. Have a good night.” He turned and hurried down the hallway.

“Keep walking, asshole,” Nicholas snarled under his breath, making me laugh.

“He was being friendly.”

“He was hitting on you.”

“You’re being silly.”

“And you’re being blind. Now, come sit with me.”

We sat at the table, the tray of sandwiches and cut-up veggies and cheese between us. He poured some wine, taking a long sip before picking up a sandwich and eating.

I watched his movements, suddenly worried.

Should he be drinking that wine? I racked my brain, recalling I had seen him drink several things. Scotch, wine, a martini.

Maybe alcohol wasn’t his problem. Perhaps it was drugs. But didn’t addicts often switch out one vice for another? Was I encouraging his behavior? Oh God, what if he was addicted to both? What if Andi was right?

Was I strong enough for this?

“Hey.” His voice interrupted my thoughts. “What’s wrong?” He stroked my cheek. “You’ve gone pale.” He became concerned. “Are you okay? Your eyebrow isn’t twitching. Are you feeling faint?”