She tugged her pants down over shapely legs, leaving only her shirt and black lace panties on. Still holding her gaze, I refused to check her body out, even though it killed me to resist the urge. It felt like we were playing a game of chicken, one I was bound to eventually lose.
But not while she’s drunk.
No, not at all. Sex with Mila is a very bad idea.
She clearly didn’t get the memo, because her hand landed on my cock, stroking it through my jeans. I closed my eyes and thought about baseball, boot camp, and tried not to cream my goddamn pants.
Her touch felt too good, and it had been too long since a woman had shown this much interest in me. And, of course, she was inebriated. Reinforcing my resolve, I stepped back, breaking the contact.
Her hand fell to her side, and she frowned at me. “Felt like you were enjoying that. Why did you make me stop?”
“You’re drunk.”
She let out a frustrated breath. “Such a fucking good guy.”
She always seemed to make that virtue sound like a curse. Turning her back to me, she climbed into bed, giving me another mouth-watering view of her perfect ass.
I swore under my breath, both cursing and thanking my morals and her drunkenness for keeping me from doing something I’d regret.
“Will you at least hang out for a while?” she asked, patting the bed beside her.
There was nothing in the world I wanted more than to be in that bed with her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll behave. You can stay dressed, and you don’t even have to get under the covers. I just…” All the mischievous humor fled from her eyes as her expression sobered, making me wonder how drunk she was, after all. “I could use a friend right now.”
Mila had already proven she could act, and I was probably setting myself up for failure, but I couldn’t resist her plea. Besides, I, too, could use a friend, and the idea of returning to my bed alone didn’t appeal to me at all. Resigned to endure a night of torture, I kicked off my boots and removed my cut before climbing on top of the blankets beside her. As I turned to face her, she scooted closer, putting her back against my front and settling my arm around her waist. I resisted the urge to reach for her tits.
“Promise you won’t leave?” she asked, her voice drowsy.
“You want me to stay like this all night?”
“Yep.”
The woman was going to kill me. “Okay. I promise, as long as you answer a question for me.”
“Okay,” she agreed even though she didn’t sound sure.
“What’s really up with you?”
“You mean besides probably being responsible for the murder of my best friend and my client?”
I gave her a squeeze. “Yeah. What’s with the tequila? Why’d you ask me to stay.”
Moments passed, and I wondered if she’d give me a straight answer. Finally, she sighed. “I’m just a little lonely right now.”
Her shaky voice punched me square in the chest. I knew lonely. Hell, I’d written the fucking book on it. Maybe Mila and I weren’t so different after all. “Sometimes an adult is the loneliest thing you can be.”
She grabbed my hand and slid it up to cup her breast. “It doesn’t have to be. Not tonight.”
Resisting the urge to squeeze, I pulled my hand out of her grasp and settled it back on her waist. “You promised to behave.”
“Killjoy.” The smile had returned to her voice.
“I’m not gonna fuck you, Mila. Not when you’re drunk.”
“What about when I sober up?”
That was a dangerous question. Tonight felt like progress, but who knew what the morning would bring? “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. See if you still feel the same.”
