Leaving the foyer, he entered the living room where his mother was lounging on the leather sofa, watching some crime show on their wall-mounted, seventy-inch television. As always, even in leisure, she maintained the haughty, regal look she was known for. Her blonde hair was always styled, never a strand out of place as it fell to touch her shoulders. Some days he swore she’d have the help touch it up several times to maintain the perfectly sculpted appearance.
“What has the little viper done now?” she bit with all the venom of the creature she mentioned as her pale brown eyes trained on her son.
“Ivy is one of the nicest people I know. You’d know that if you had exchanged more than a scowl with her. You know damn well she wrote to me every week, without fail, for my entire enlistment and those letters, and her, saw me through some dark times.
“I’m in love her, I have been for a long time, and I think you already know that. It’s time you made your peace with it, and quickly.” His mother’s mouth opened, but whatever words she was about to voice stilled as he raised his hand. “I’m asking her to move into the guest house while her father’s affairs are put in order, and if you can’t—”
“I am not having that poisonous shrew—” she snapped, rising to her feet to face him, her green eyes becoming wide with disbelief as he spoke over her.
“And if you can’t live with that,” he growled. “Then I’ll ask her to move in with me, in my own place, and you won’t see either of us.”
The guest house, by all rights, belonged to him. He’d paid for it to be built out of his own pocket to ensure he had somewhere private to sleep on the rare occasions he visited home when he was on leave. There were things he had seen during his tours that haunted him. But his nightmares were his own, not something to be shared by a household.
Unable to stand his mother’s constant criticism, he’d normally book a hotel in Brooklyn when on leave so he could spend the time with some of the guys, and let Ivy know where he was planning to stay so she could join him.
A few times a year, however, he would try to visit home, but staying under the same roof as his mother was challenging to say the least.
He had wanted to talk to Ivy about his intentions for some time, but again, the timing never seemed right. Becca had been goading him for years, telling him the two of them should ‘hook up’. She was almost as bad as Devon in that respect, who was always trying to make him see it had been a long time since he’d viewed Ivy as just a friend. That damn psychiatrist seemed to know everything.
Becca had even pointed out that he got possessively jealous around her last boyfriend, to the point he had knocked him clean out for trying to force himself on her in public, despite her trying to ease him away. Okay, force himself on her may be a little strong for him trying to kiss her, but his advance had not been welcomed.
He’d claimed at the time he hadn’t realised they were an item, but in all honesty he’d known. He just hadn’t liked seeing him all over her, which he realised was hypocritical since he’d had his own fair share of relationships. He owed Becca a lot for making her send him those photographs, and he’d be damned if he was going to let anything get in his way, even his mother.
Having said his piece, he left through the back door, skirting around the pool to the guest house. It was a much more manageable space than his parent’s twelve bedroom mansion. It had two bedrooms, an open-plan kitchen-diner, lounge, and a bathroom. It was modest and minimalistic. He supposed it could be called a bachelor pad, but since he intended to move Ivy in here now, that name became redundant.
He’d spared no expense in furnishing it. Two huge, leather reclining chairs faced a wall mounted television. The cables leading to his games consoles had been sunken into the wall, so the wall mounted glass shelves they stood on remained uncluttered and looked tidy. He’d even had the electrical sockets concealed behind a hidden panel to keep everything tidy.
Everything in his kitchen was brushed steel from his fridge freezer to his kettle, and his cupboards were glossy black. Grabbing his mug—one that Ivy had made for him with a picture of a white bunny rabbit with a blood stained mouth and the words, There are few problems that can’t be solved with a high explosive projectile, or a bunny—he popped a pod into the coffee machine. Once it was made he sat down, studying the mug, looking, as he always did, for any leaks.
This mug was his treasure and had seen more than its fair share of misfortune. It was held together with epoxy glue and love and had been broken and repaired more times than he could count. The mug reminded him of himself that way; it was a tapestry of scars and stories. The mug had been a gift and, as it turned out, a very British one since he later discovered, thanks to Sparky, that the rabbit was meant to be Monty Python’s Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog and the words were her own stab at army humour. She’d slipped it in with one of the many care packages she’d sent him to share with his squad.
The guys and gals over there swore they loved her as much as he did. He’d even introduced her to some of his closest friends, JJ, Matthews, and Sparky who had all taken him up on his offer of employment at his father’s company when they were discharged. His father was always looking for experienced people to work for his firm, after all, protection was the name of the game. Most of his staff came from military backgrounds, it was one of the reasons Miles had enlisted straight from school.
“Hey, son.” His father knocked before opening the door and letting himself in. Straight away he could see the strained expression carving deep crevices in his father’s wrinkled brow. His father’s hair was a few shades lighter than his own, succumbing to a skittering of snow-white markers that betrayed his age. Markers, Miles thought, were far better to the male pattern balding that seemed to, thankfully, skip the men of his family.
“She’s staying. That’s final.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He held up his hands with the slightest of smiles. “You know I've always liked that limey. I at least want your mother to think I tried. She’s pitching a fit. I swear she’s yelling at a frequency that’s making all the dogs in a three-mile radius cower.” His father strolled to the kitchen, returning with a glass of whisky and the bottle before joining him on the sofa. “So you’re moving in together?” His father attempted to quirk an eyebrow, an expression he had had never managed to master, resulting in a quizzical, tilted-head, raised eyebrows look rather than the intended single eyebrow lift.
“Not like that. Not yet. Between us?” His father nodded, and Miles knew he could talk freely. His father had never held any grudge against Ivy, he just went along with his mother’s demands for the sake of marital peace, and he couldn’t blame him, his mother was a formidable woman. “She’s hit a rough patch. Today she lost her job and has been given her lease termination date. Since her father’s assets are in probate and the life insurance are delaying payment, she could do with a friendly place until her father’s estate is settled and she can get back on her feet. Needless to say, she’s not having a good month.”
“Poor kid, the death of a parent is hard enough by itself. But are you sure you know what you’re doing? I’m not sure friendly is the right word for this environment. Your mother is livid, she’ll make the girl’s life hell. You could always put her up in one of my apartments for a while, rent free, until she’s back on her feet.”
Miles smiled at his father. His offer was unexpected, yet it had rolled from his lips without any hesitation. It was an option, but he wanted her with him. He wanted that first kiss. He wanted to wake up with her in the same house, if not the same bed. He wanted her.
“Mom will deal, I made myself very clear.” Miles dropped back on the free recliner, grabbing his coffee. He saw his father’s gaze flit over the mug with a smile.
“You certainly did. About time, too. She’s never been here has she?”
“Dad, she doesn’t even know what you do for a living. The only time you’ve ever even seen her was at school, and my birthdays.” The moment his mother real
ised he was friends with the lawyer’s daughter, she made it clear she was never to step foot on their property. He’d been young at the time, and keeping Ivy at a distance from his parents became a habit. Too much of one, he’d come to realise.
“So, she doesn’t know what you do either?” The ice in his father’s drink rattled as he swilled the fluid, staring at him with the same intense brown eyes he saw in the mirror.
“I told her I do contract work. To be honest, she’s never really pried. She knows I don’t talk about my family, and since mother made it clear how she feels Ivy’s interest only goes as far as a quick, how’s your father.”
The sudden explosion of his father’s hooting laughter caused Miles to frown, wondering what he’d just said to provoke the tears of mirth he could see welling in his father’s eyes as he slapped his leg through struggled breaths, but his look of confusion only added fuel to the fire. Miles grinned, for no other reason than how amusing it was watching his father dissolve into fits of laughter.
“Sorry, son.” He gasped, his eyes still shimmering as he wiped the escaped tears from his cheeks. “I think a quick, how’s your father, is exactly what your mother is worried about.” He chuckled again, barely reining in another fit of laughter. “Why don’t you ask Ivy, as I recall, she always looked a picture when she blushed. You know I deal with a fair share of limeys, you pick up their lingo.”
“She’s been here twelve years, she’s got dual citizenship. She’s not really a limey,” Miles protested, despite knowing that teasing her about her British roots had been one of their things for as long as he had known her.
“Seriously though, if she doesn’t know who you are, don’t you think it’s time you levelled with her?”
To say they were wealthy was an understatement. His father owned one of the leading security companies in America. They were on Hollywood’s speed dial, one of the big names in the industry of personal protection.
His contracts had him standing beside, or near to, all the big names during prestigious events. Around seventy percent of his father’s employees were full-time security detail to the stars. Miles, however, preferred the short-term jobs, those that lasted only the space of a gig or appearance. He couldn’t see himself permanently stationed with someone, unless that someone was Ivy. She was the only one he wanted to share his life with.
“That kind of thing has never been important to her. She’s always been my friend because of who I am, not what I have.”
“But, son, the heir of a Fortune 500 company is a part of who you are.” His father reached down to the side of the recliner, grabbing the bottle to refill his glass.
“No, that’s just a title. Do you think Mom has calmed down any yet?” He glanced through the open blinds. The pool and the house seemed to be bathed in darkness, the only light came from the reflection of the moon overhead as it glinted on surface of the water.
From outside, the house looked calm, peaceful. But sometimes the ocean looked peaceful too, that didn’t mean violent undertows and currents weren’t waiting just below the surface to drag someone down.
“You know your mother only has two settings these days, banshee and sleeping.” His dad yawned, draining his glass. “Speaking of sleeping, I really should head back to the house. I’ve got to review the paperwork for your next assignment. Thanks for the drinks.” He lifted the bottle and the glass, returning them to the kitchen.
“You have people to do that for you, Dad.” Miles followed him, leaning against the door frame as his father washed the glass, placing it on the draining board. “I should know, I’m one of them now.”
“Not when it comes to you. Indulge an old man for wanting to protect his only child. What are your plans for tomorrow?” His father balled the towel in his hands, making Miles chuckle. Jordon Taylor never normally lifted a finger to wash his own dishes, his mother insisted they had help for those kinds of things, if she saw him now she’d have a field day.
“I promised to help Ivy look for a job.”
“Tell you what, I’ll ask around a few local places. What is it she does?”
“She’s got her MBA, but she loves working in property management.” Miles went on to explain what she did in her last job, including all the extra work she picked up.
“I can’t believe they let her go. I’d kill for someone with that kind of dedication. Look, I’ll ask around, see if anyone’s hiring, worst case, maybe I could find a reason to take on a new admin.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Now, get some rest. Your next assignment is going to be a tough one, it’s only three days, but with Bay Legends you know it’ll feel like a month.”
Miles nodded. He’d worked with this celebrity before, and there was no doubt she put the brat in cele-brat-y. Keeping her sober enough to perform was only one of the many challenges, especially with crazed fans intent on stealing, touching, kidnapping, and getting their own little slice of the star. It was a high-profile job and, unfortunately, she always requested him by name. “When are you asking her to move in?”
“I thought when I get back. I don’t want her alone here with Mom.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Miles closed the door behind him softly, his eyes drifting across to the breakfast bar where Ivy sat slumped over, her head resting on the polished surface beside her open laptop. Walking quietly, he moved to stand behind her, unable to resist giving the touch pad the slightest tap to see what she had been working on.
He sucked in a quiet breath as he scrolled down the open excel spreadsheet. Twenty-three applications, five completed online video interviews for agencies, and one hundred and three query letters sent out to businesses, with her portfolio attached. She must have been up most of the night. No wonder she had flaked out on the counter.
Grabbing the blanket from the back of her sofa, he draped it around her shoulder, guilt welling as she flinched, stirring from slumber to push herself up, brushing back the strands of her straightened brown hair that had clung to her face. He chuckled as she shifted in the seat, revealing her soft pink pyjama bottoms and fluffy bed socks that in no way complimented the fitted pinstriped blazer and pressed cream shirt.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on the back of her head. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes before groping across the breakfast bar for her mug, downing the contents with a shudder that left no doubt in his mind it had been cold.
“I brought breakfast.” The burnt aroma of his favourite blend of coffee mingling with the sweet scent of cinnamon seemed to register, teasing her tired gaze from her discarded coffee mug to the counter where he’d placed the paper bag containing this morning’s treats.
In the blink of an eye, the bag was in her possession, her eyes brightening as she peered inside. Leaning against the counter, Miles sipped from his coffee, watching her with a feeling of satisfaction as she removed one of the cinnamon rolls from the bag. He loved how her face lit up like that, how such simple pleasures could stir such genuine elation.
Slipping onto the stool beside her, he swallowed as her lips wrapped around the pastry to take her first bite. The cardinal moan that escaped her throat belonged in the bedroom. Her eyes flickered closed as she savoured the sweet and spicy flavour.
Watching her eat, the way she savoured every mouthful, was nothing short of erotic. She devoured every delicious bite, and all he could do was stare. Had any other woman attempted this there would have been no doubt in his mind it would have been an act intended for seduction, but the fact she didn’t even realise how breathtakingly entrancing she was, only made it even more sexy.
Shifting in his seat he watched her, transfixed. He could feel his every swallow as she sucked the icing from her fingers with a content sigh. She was killing him. He almost groaned as her tongue darted out, licking the length of her finger before she sank it into her mouth, her eyes rolling back as she sucked the remaining flavour away. H
e was going to feed her these for breakfast every day for the rest of his life. When she raised her gaze to see him staring, he saw her face flush with embarrassment.
“Sorry, I was hungry. I’ve been up all night.” He pushed the remaining pastry towards her, hoping for a replay, but she shook her head. Damn, watching her eat that had been better than porn.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” he announced, trying to distract himself, his fingers drumming a random tune against the work surface. He angled his body away from her slightly, hoping she wouldn’t notice the bulge in his trousers that was telling him it was his turn for dessert, and what he craved more than anything else was her. With or without the taste of cinnamon and icing he could still see on her lips. “But first, I was hoping you could explain something to me.”
“If I can.” As if reading his thoughts her tongue darted out, stealing the spicy dusting his gaze had been coveting, before licking the creamy white icing from the corner of her mouth.
He grasped the breakfast bar. Oh, come on, he was trying to be a gentleman here. Think about something else. Right, yes, his father. “I was talking about you last night, my dad seemed to think it was hysterical that you asked about him.” There, a neutral topic, a moment to recover his composure.
“I’m not sure why. What did you say exactly?” Her eyebrows drew together in that cute little pout that caused the smallest dimple to become visible. He knew her face so well, how had it taken him so long to realise that she was all he wanted?
He shifted in his seat again, taking another sip of his coffee. What was wrong with him this morning? All he could think about was sex. He was meant to be asking her to move in with him, not fantasising about her lips and how good they would look wrapped around his cock as her hot little mouth—He shook his head, trying to dispel the images teasing his mind as she beheld him with those big, blue eyes.
Breaking Sin: A kidnap abduction story (Addicted to Sin Book 1) Page 4