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“G’night,” he said, with a nod and smile, leaving Charity and Miles to stare at the closed basement door in bemusement.
Well, Charity was bemused, Miles—on the other hand—looked comically horrified.
“So, it looks like your mother found a reason to overcome her fear of flying,” Charity said, trying to keep her amusement at bay, but it was hard when Miles looked like he had just swallowed a live eel.
“I knew they were texting each other. But I didn’t think it was this serious already. Mum was very keen to join me on this trip.” He shook himself and lowered his serious eyes to hers, before deadpanning, “Their text messages must have been a hell of a lot more interesting than ours. Less cat memes maybe?”
“Oh my God. What do you have against the memes?”
“Aside from the fact that they don’t give me a single goddamned clue about what you’re thinking, or how you’re feeling? Not a thing.”
Oh my.
“And you wanted to know those things?”
The sound that clawed its way out of his throat was the mutant offspring of a growl and a sigh. “What do you think, Charity?”
He shook his head and turned away from her to slam his way around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards at random and seemingly without purpose.
“What are you looking for?” she asked tentatively.
“Where’s the bloody tea?”
“Right beside the kettle,” she supplied. She slid onto one of the barstools and watched in fascination as his eyes darted to the electric kettle. He glared at the tea, snugly situated between the sugar and coffee.
“Thanks,” he grumbled.
“Why are you in such a bad mood?”
He leveled a black look at her. “I’m not in a bad mood.”
“Then talk me through what’s going on with you. So that we can get past it and move on to what really matters.”
Her words made him pause, and he seemed to forget about the tea and, instead, took a step toward her. His eyes laser-focused on her face.
“What do you think really matters, Charity?”
“I’d like for you to know exactly what I was thinking and feeling while I was sending you those texts.”
Another step closer. “Please…continue.”
“I was thinking any contact was better than no contact. And I was hoping that…” It was hard not to lose her nerve with those unblinking, steel gray eyes piercing into her soul.
“Hoping that what?”
“Hoping that it could be the framework—the foundation—for more.”
More.
Miles couldn’t take his eyes off her, terrified that if he diverted his gaze, if he so much as blinked, he would miss something crucial in her expression. Some tell that would unravel the mystery that was Charity Cole.
He took another step toward her, this one brought him right to the island…an unwanted physical barrier between his body and hers. He flattened his palms on the marble and watched her as she continued to speak. Waited for her to elaborate on that tantalizing more.
The tip of her tongue peeked out to nervously wet her succulent lips, and he bit back a groan at the temptation offered by that nimble tongue and that ripe mouth.
It was hard to believe he was in the same room with her. All he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms, kiss her…love her. But that could wait.
It had to wait. He refused to touch her until he knew there was a future in it. Because he couldn’t do finite with her anymore.
