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Miles? What the heck is he doing here?
And why the hell did the doorman let him in without buzzing me?
Anger pulsates through me at his audacity in coming here unannounced.
I have the mind not to answer, but I believe he’ll keep knocking and wake up Maddie. After drawing in a deep breath and releasing it, I open the door and fold my arms across my chest to glare at him. My heart misses a beat seeing him dressed in black jeans and a camel coat, his chest and biceps stretching the expensive fabric. I quickly squelch the feeling of longing. The bouquet of white lilies he’s holding would have made me smile, but I’ve decided to be immune to his charms.
“What do you want?” I demand coldly, my pulse hammering in my throat.
His eyes enlarge a little, but he maintains a cool facade. “May I come in?”
“No. Maddie is sleeping, and I don’t want her disturbed.”
“We have to talk, Giselle. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you, but you’ve blocked my number.”
“I think we’ve talked enough, Miles. We’ve said all that needs to be said. At least, I have.”
“Then will you listen to me?” he quietly requests.
“No, I won’t.” I try to close the door in his face, my heart thundering in my chest and my knees buckling.
“Giselle,” he grinds out, pushing the door gently and preventing me from shutting him out.
Grasping that our next-door neighbor could overhear us, I reluctantly step back. “You can come in for a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” he replies in a low voice. As he strides past me, I catch a whiff of his familiar cologne, and it almost brings me to my knees.
I shake off the feeling, shut the door, and stand beside it while he looks around the apartment.
“You have a lovely home,” he says gently.
“Let’s step into the kitchen.” I gesture for him to follow me and close the door behind us.
His eyes trail my body, so smoldering it burns. I am barely able to keep standing, my legs shaking.
“You look great. I’ve missed you.”
I’ve missed him, too. So much, but I’d rather keep mute than admit it.
“Please say what you came for and leave.”
He sighs and offers me the flowers. “These are for you. I remember you telling me that you love lilies.”
Here comes the charm. I won’t fall for it, no matter how good the bouquet smells.
“I don’t want them.”
He shrugs and places them on the counter before turning around to ask, “Is it true that you’re going to Paris before the Christmas holidays?”
Great. A safe topic. “Yes. For the Mayan exhibit at the Louvre.”
He eyes me with skepticism. “And that’s the only reason you’re going to Paris?”
“Yes. For work. And to see my parents, of course.”
“And nothing else?”
I understand he’s fishing for me to say something about Pierre, but I refuse to allay his concerns. What’s it to him if I hook up with my ex-boyfriend? It isn’t as if we have a steady relationship going.
