I hold a shaking palm to his chest. “You said?—”
“Fuck what I said.” His hands drop by his side. “Take advantage of me, London. Because I won’t—I can’t.”
His gaze drops to my mouth and still he doesn’t close the space between us.
It has to be my choice.
Huh.Who said chivalry was dead?
I take a slow step forward until we are so close there’s barely any air left but our breath mingling.
My hands track to his jawline as I drag his mouth to brush over mine. “Careful what you wish for, Captain.” The words are barely a whisper. I nip his bottom lip before brushing my lips over his.
With a low, heady grown he rumbles, “Thank fuck.”
Large, warm hands slide around my waist before they tug me closer still. His mouth works over my own, and I open for him.
He wastes no time, claiming every part of me I offer up.
Every limb goes slack.
Miles envelops me, his leg sliding between my thighs to hold me upright as he devours my mouth. I cling to him like he’s the last life preserver on a sinking ship.
My hands explore his neck, the angles of his face, and wander into his hair.
He moans, and my grip tightens, if only to keep myself from melting under his touch.
Oh, my fucking god . . . Miles.
His hand slides up my spine and behind my neck, the other pressing into the small of my back to inch me closer.
Breathless and lungs burning, I pull away. My hands shake as my fingertips trace over his temples, down his jaw, and over his parted lips. “I?—”
His forehead drops to mine, and his eyes shutter closed. The silence is a softness between us that feels so natural, soneeded.
“London, we’re going to have to put space between us... I?—”
I press my finger over his lips, discovering, as a little thrill rushes through me, that I like shutting this stoic man up. I crave his presence as much as the tenderness that he leans into when I’m in his space.
I have no idea how we will take this as slow as I need to.
Or how we’re ever going to stay away from each other and keep things professional at work.
“Miles, we walked out on the party,” I whisper.
“They’ll get over it.” His eyes open as he straightens. “You need me to take you home?”
Home is the last place I want to be, surprisingly.
“No,” I utter.
“London . . .”
“Miles?”
“I don’t want to put you in a position you’re not comfortable with.”
If anyone looks uncomfortable right now, it’s him.
