by Banks, R. R.
“I don't know what you want me to say, Miles,” I fume, anger flaring in my voice. “I can apologize until I'm red in the face, but I can’t change what I did. Did I screw up? Absolutely. I can admit that. But I can't go back in time and fix it. All I can do is say I'm sorry. You can take it or leave it.”
Miles takes another drink of his coffee and I can see the amusement in his eyes. He obviously finds something about this situation funny – which, honesty, irritates me. Is he mocking me? I really hope not. I get enough of that shit from my sister.
“What?” I snap. “What do you find so damn funny?”
“You,” he says. “My mom said you were a free spirit. She she was right. I enjoy seeing it come out. I enjoy your fire.”
“I'm so glad I amuse you,” I mutter.
“Yeah, me too.”
I lift my mug and take a drink of my coffee just to give myself something to do so I don't punch him right in his perfect teeth. Being laughed at and mocked is something I've hated ever since I got bullied in primary school.
“Tell me, what's so bad about your life that you resorted to assuming Alice’s identity to escape it?” he asks.
I let out a long breath and tug on the ends of my hair. I know this is probably going to sound ridiculous to him. I mean, his family is close, and they all seem to get along really well. They act like they genuinely accept and care about each other. It's not that I don't love my family or that they don't love me back. It's just… different. There isn't that same sense of warmth or mutual respect that is so obviously an integral part of Miles' family.
I mean, I’ve never experienced anything like that before – sitting around the table, swapping stories and joking around with so much laughter, my cheeks were sore after. My family isn't like that. Never has been and never will be. So, to be a part of that, to be included in that – even though I'm not actually family – felt really nice.
“I doubt you'd understand,” I say, unable to keep my misery from coloring my voice. “I don’t think you’d be able to relate.”
“Try me,” he says.
“Believe me, you won't get it.”
“Maybe not,” he says and shrugs. “But, at the very least, you owe me an explanation.”
I can't deny that. I take another sip of my coffee to fortify myself – wishing it was something stronger – and prepare to give him a brief oral history of the Gates clan. Once I start talking though, I can't seem to shut myself up. I go on and on, not holding anything back.
Through it all, he attentively listens while occasionally sipping his coffee. I honestly have no idea why I told him what I did – basically everything about me – or why I felt the need to unburden my soul like that. But I did. Everything about me is out there now. He can do with it as he pleases, I guess.
I don't know what it is exactly, but there's something about Miles that makes me want to be open and honest with him. Now that I can drop the pretense of being Chris’s girlfriend, I feel like I can be myself again. Apparently, that includes being an open book with a man that I'm insanely attracted to but barely know. There's just something about him that draws me in.
It's crazy and it makes no sense whatsoever. I know that Miles and I are polar opposites in so many important ways. I don’t know if our personalities could possibly be more different. And yet, as we sit there staring at one another, I still feel a spark starting to smolder between us.
When he looks at me, a soft expression on his face, a small part of me wants to believe the mask he wears has slipped a bit, allowing me to see behind it. It's just a glimpse, but the way Miles is looking at me and the way his eyes bore into mine – it makes me think that he feels the heat between us too.
“Believe it or not, my family isn't nearly as perfect as you think,” he says. “We have our fair share of issues too.”
“Every family does,” I reply. “It's just so different than what I'm used to.”
“Which makes it easy to idealize,” he retorts. “But things aren't always so perfect around here, I assure you. They're on their best behavior in front of you.”
I laugh softly. “Of course. No family is perfect,” I say. “No family is – not all the time. But I get the sense that deep down, you all genuinely like each other – and respect each other. Things aren't like that at my house. I know for a fact that my sister doesn't respect me. Most of the time, I don't even know if she likes me..”
He shrugs. “I can't say. I've never seen the dynamic between you two,” he says. “But I understand how you feel. Christopher and I share that same sort of contentious relationship at times. I can assure you, at the end of the day, even after fighting, Chris loves and respects me. I would be shocked if it wasn't the same for your sister.”
I stare out at the grounds, doing my best to avoid Miles’ gaze. “Yeah, I don't know about that,” I reply. “She was shielded from the worst parts of our family. She grew up idolizing a man I despise and thinking he walks on water. To her, our family is pretty much perfect – except for me – the outcast and black sheep who doesn't appreciate anything.”
“Have you ever talked to her about it?” Miles implores gently. “About your father and everything that happened growing up?”
I shake my head. “No, she doesn't need to know about that,” I say. “Plus, I'm pretty sure it will only lead to a fight because she won’t believe me. She'll assume I'm vilifying a dead man just because I can.”
“You're not really doing her any favors by protecting her from the truth,” he presses.
“Blowing up the fantasy she has about her childhood wouldn’t do her any good either.”
He rubs his jawline and seems to concede the point. Silence descends upon us as we both sit there, staring into our coffee mugs. We seem to have hit a bit of an impasse in the conversation. Which naturally leads me to wonder what comes next.
“So, what are we doing here, Miles?” I ask. “Are you going to call the cops?”
He chuckles softly. “I was never going to call the cops,” he says. “Why would I?”
“Umm... because I deliberately lied to you and deceived your entire family?”
God, the more I think about it, the creepier I feel about the whole situation.
What the hell was I thinking?
He waves me off. “I don't care about that,” he says. “As weird as it is to say – and I'm sure even weirder to hear – it was kind of nice to have you around, actually.”
I cock my head and look at him. “Yeah, that’s pretty weird,” I admit with a chuckle. “I mean, I did purposefully trick you.”
“Yeah, you did,” he agrees, locking his gaze onto mine. “But honestly, I'm glad you got a couple nights of peaceful sleep.”
As we stare into each other's eyes, an electric current passes through the air that's so powerful, it’s almost overwhelming. The moment is fleeting, however, and passes when he looks away. An incredulous look crosses his face – like Miles finally realized his mask has slipped and is struggling to pull it back up.
I don't want him to, though. Now that I've gotten a look at the man behind the mask, I’m hungry for more. He hides it well, but I can see through his bullshit. Miles has a heart filled with care and compassion. It's practically bursting with emotion, even though he chooses to hide it away beneath layer after layer of cold indifference.
“Why didn't you just ask me for a lift that night at the airport?” he asks, suddenly interrupting my train of thought. “Instead of going through all of this, why not just ask for help?”
I fall silent. I just know I’m turning an unnatural shade of red right now. Asking for help has never been my strong suit… I don't know. I’ve always stupidly considered it a sign of weakness or something. For whatever reason, for as long as I can remember, I’ve had an immensely difficult time asking others for help.
Miles chuckles. “Yeah, I get it. I'm the same way,” he says. “I'd almost rather have my teeth pulled without painkillers than ask for help. Something like that?”
/>
I nod. “Yeah, something like that,” I confirm quietly.
I look up at him and even though his mask is back on, his eyes show me something different. Miles clears his throat and looks away, obviously trying his best to remain cold and aloof.
“So, what now?” I ask.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Why don't you let me give you a lift home?”
“What are you going to tell Martha and your brothers?”
He shrugs. “I’m not sure yet, to be honest,” he admits. “I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
I give him a tight smile. “I'm sorry to cause you so much trouble,” I say. “But, thank you – especially for listening.”
His expression may be purposefully blank, but his verdant green eyes sparkle with untold emotions. “You're welcome.”
Chapter Eleven
The car ride is mostly quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I had originally intended to come down on her in the kitchen. The fact that she lied to me – to my family – still doesn’t sit well with me. When it came down to it and I was looking into those big, blue doe eyes of hers, I just couldn't bring the hammer down. Sasha looked so vulnerable – so lost – in that moment, all I wanted to do was comfort her.
I’ve honestly never had that kind of reaction before. I'm not even remotely the nurturing type. And yet, as I sat across from her in the kitchen and listened to her stories about her childhood – and all of the emotional baggage she carries because of it – I couldn't help but be kind and sensitive to her struggles.
I think she might be misreading the situation with her sister. Like I told her, Chris and I don't always agree on things, but I never doubt that he loves and respects me. And that counts for something.
Sure, there are some families that are so abusive and dysfunctional that some relationships can never be repaired. Based on what she told me though, I don't think Sasha's family is in that same category. I tend to think that Sasha's sister just doesn't understand her. She didn't have the same experiences growing up. It sounds like she was protected from the worst of it. I have a feeling that an honest conversation would clear things up and bring the two of them a lot closer together.
I know it’s not my place to force that, though. In fact, after I drop her off, it’s likely I’ll never see Sasha again. Which is a shame. She's had such a strong impact on me in such a short amount of time that I find myself wanting to know more about her. I want to spend time with her and explore the feelings she's evoked in me. This desire to understand her is unlike anything I've ever felt before. It has me feeling totally disconcerted – and curious.
“Do you have any idea what you're going to say to them?” she asks.
“I'll probably tell them you got a work call in the middle of the night and had to fly back to Boston on a red-eye flight or something,” I explain. “Seems feasible enough.”
“What about your brother? He'll obviously know –”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I’ll take care of Chris. It'll all work out just fine.”
She slumps back into her seat, apparently out of questions to ask. I check the GPS and take the next right. Sasha’s family lives in a working-class suburb. The homes are small and simple, and most of them are well-maintained and tidy. There's the occasional house with an overgrown yard full of trash and rusted-out cars, but for the most part, it's a nice neighborhood.
I can tell by the way she's anxiously perched in the passenger's seat, staring straight ahead at the road in front of us, that she's embarrassed by her surroundings. Coming from Shadow Pines to this is really nothing to be ashamed of. I get the idea, however, that Sasha thinks I’m judging her. I’m not. I know how privileged my family is.
A soft chime goes off on the GPS and I pull to a stop at the curb in front of a simple, attractive, ranch-style house. I turn to her and give her a hesitant smile.
“I guess this is it,” I say.
She nods, with something like sadness reflected in her eyes. “Yeah. Guess so,” she says. “Listen, thank you –”
I hold up my hand to stop her. “Don't worry about it,” I say. “It's all good.”
We sit there in silence, just staring at one another. The air between us is saturated with expectation. I know it's for the best that we part ways now. We exist in two entirely different worlds. We've got opposite personalities and values. She's an artist. I'm a lawyer. She's a free spirit and I’m anything but.
As nice as it would be for us to overcome those basic, fundamental differences and be together, it's just not reality.
“Well, I should probably get inside,” Sasha says.
“Yeah, probably so.”
“Thanks for the lift,” she says. “And for letting me con you out of a couple of days’ vacation.”
I chuckle. “Anytime.”
She makes no move to get out, though. Without giving myself a chance to overthink it anymore, I suddenly lean forward and kiss her. Her entire body tenses for a moment and I panic, thinking I must have misread her signals. But then, her lips part and she slips her tongue into my mouth.
Our kiss is intense and passionate. My entire body is on fire as our tongues swirl and dance together. I shift in my seat as my cock starts to grow uncomfortably hard, straining almost painfully against my jeans.
I run my hands up her back and grab a thick handful of her dark hair. Giving it a gentle tug, I pull her head back. Sasha moans as I kiss her neck, giving her flesh a sharp nip. I plant a line of kisses along her neck and collarbone as I slide my hand up and cup her beautiful breast. I squeeze it, rubbing her hard nipple through her shirt with my thumb.
Sasha gasps and writhes beneath my touch, her kisses, like her breath, growing increasingly more frantic by the second. Grabbing her hand, I pull it, guiding her to grab my cock through my jeans. I slide my hands up her shirt as she rubs me, relishing how her soft skin and tight body feels beneath my fingertips.
I push her shirt up around her neck and lean down, running the tip of my tongue just above her breasts, then giving her nipples a nip through the fabric of her bra, making her moan even louder.
I slide my hand down and run it up her thigh, reveling in the feel or her warmth through her skintight yoga pants. It’s still not enough, though, so I grab the waistband of her pants.
“Lift,” I command.
She obeys quickly, raising her hips, allowing me to pull her pants and panties down around her knees. Lust is burning high and bright inside of me as I slowly push two fingers into the warm, wet center of her. Sasha gasps and pushes her head back against the headrest, squeezing her eyes shut as I start to finger her, my fingers sliding in and out of her sweet pussy with ease.
Kissing her deeply, I increase my tempo, drawing a muffled sound from her as my fingers explore her fully. I feel her body tensing as she digs her nails into my forearm, making me inhale sharply.
“Fuck,” she mutters. “Yes, Miles.”
I carefully slide my fingers out of her pussy and into my mouth, tasting them one by one.
“Delicious,” I whisper. “So sweet.”
She suddenly moves forward, pressing her mouth to mine. She forces her tongue into my mouth, our animalistic kiss turning me on even more. Sasha grabs at my belt, doing her best to get it undone. I reach down and help her out before unzipping my jeans. Sasha quickly pulls out my hard length and slowly takes it into her mouth.
I look at the landscape beyond the windshield. I can’t believe this is happening. The world outside is cast in the moon’s silvery monochromatic light. As I look around, I notice a light on inside the house – one that wasn’t been on when we first arrived – and I wonder if someone – her sister, maybe –is waiting up for her. I'm surprised to see a shadow move across the window this late at night. But then the light goes off again, and the house falls dark once more. I'm not worried about anybody peeking out and seeing us – the windows of the SUV are tinted dark enough that no one can see what we're doing in here. H
onestly, just the idea of being caught gives it an added thrill.
Sasha moans around my cock, the vibration of her voice making me shiver. Her lips tighten around me and she firmly grips my cock, her hand and mouth moving in perfect sync.
“Christ,” I mutter. “This feels fucking amazing.”
This is insane. Going from being conned by this woman to fooling around in my brother’s tricked-out SUV is throwing me for a loop. What's making my head spin even harder are the feelings Sasha is evoking in me. I’m not a “love at first sight” kind of guy. While I wouldn't call what I feel for Sasha love, it's definitely something on the romantic spectrum. I like her a lot. She intrigues me. Liar or not, deep down, I'm still really fucking glad she's not Christopher's girlfriend.
I grip her hair and pull her away as the pressure inside of me starts to build. As amazing as this feels, I'm not ready for this to end. Not until I've been inside of her. If this is our only time together, so be it. But I'm not going to let it end without knowing how it feels to have my cock buried deep inside of her.
“Take your pants the rest of the way off,” I say, my voice thick with desire. “Now.”
She gives me a salacious smile and obeys my command without hesitation, sliding her pants off and kicking them onto the floorboard. I lean over her and open up the glove compartment. This is Neal's car, but I know my brother – he's a player and he's always prepared. And sure enough, there's a box of condoms inside.
I pull one out and tear open the package, dropping it on the floor, and rolling it over my hard length. The light of desire in Sasha's eyes is burning bright as she bites her bottom lip, looking almost desperate to have me inside of her. When the condom is fully on, I jump over into the passenger seat before pulling her down on top of me.
Sasha climbs in my lap as she stares into my eyes for a long moment. She leans forward and kisses me hard as she lifts herself up and slips my dick between the soft, velvety folds of her lips. She lowers herself onto me, taking my cock into her as slowly and deliberately as possible.