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“I’ve made us some lunch,” Mom goes on. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Finally, Miles looks at me fully. His eyes get that intense look from a year ago—the look I devoured as he leaned closer and closer, then finally pressed his lips against mine.
“Starving,” he says huskily.
I turn to avoid his gaze. I can’t look at him when he’s staring with so much implication.
“I’ll set the table,” I say, striding through the house.
“Let me show you to your room,” I hear Noah say behind me.
My hands tremble as I lay out the plates and cutlery. Taking a moment, I close my eyes, reminding my flaring nerves what’s at stake. Mom’s happiness. Her marriage. Her chance at love and the life she deserves.
Everything will be ruined if Mom and Noah ever find out what happened. Worse, if Miles and I kissagainor do more. I can’t let that happen, even if it’s what every impulse in me screams for—his touch, lips, desire, his everything. All I can do is pray he doesn’t want the same.
