The Best Next Thing

by Natasha Anders

  She gasped and redoubled her efforts, seeing the absolute truth in his eyes.

  “I fought him so hard. I knew he meant what he’d said.” Her cheeks were wet, and she wiped the moisture from them with her sleeve. “And I didn’t want to die. I was so desperate to live. But in the end, he was too strong for me. He didn’t even hurt me. Didn’t hit me. Or bruise me or bite me. He knew exactly what he was doing and that meant leaving no questionable marks on me for the police to investigate. He left a half empty bottle of pills next to the bed. I think he wanted people to assume that I’d committed suicide and that, devoted to the end, he had taken his own life because he couldn’t live without me. It wasn’t entirely rational, an autopsy would have revealed the truth. But he was beyond reason at that point. I have no idea how he had missed the fact that I was still breathing…but I’m eternally grateful that he did.”

  Mile’s breathing was ragged, his hand had long since dropped from hers. She could feel the tautness in his body, and she tensed in reaction to it.

  “I-I…” He couldn’t seem to find the words he needed to complete that thought, and Charity turned her head to look at him. She couldn’t see much more than his harsh profile as he stared out into the blackness.

  “Miles…”

  He shook his head and interrupted her. “I’m sorry, Charity. I-I just need a moment. It’s…I—”

  He surged to his feet and scooped Stormy from his lap in one motion.

  “Just…” He handed the dog to her and didn’t finish his thought, instead he stalked away and slammed into the house. Charity hugged the trembling dog close and contemplated the closed patio door for a long moment, before getting up and following him inside. She put Stormy down, and the dog scrabbled off toward Miles’s bedroom.

  Charity hesitated for a moment and slowly followed Stormy down the darkened hallway to his room.

  She found him in the en suite, hands braced on the sink, head bowed, and shoulders shaking.

  “Miles?” Her voice was low, questioning. But he kept his stare directed at the porcelain sink.

  She lay a tentative hand on his shoulder. His whole body was vibrating with suppressed emotion.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He made a soft, anguished sound in the back of his throat and lifted his eyes to meet hers. The expression in them staggered her. He looked wrecked and, as she watched, that harsh, masculine face dissolved into absolute despair. Tears welled up in his beautiful eyes, reddening the whites and spiking his lashes. Charity could tell from the brutally clenched jaw, the gritted teeth, and muscle jumping in his temple, how hard he was struggling to keep those tears at bay…But he lost that valiant fight when she palmed his taut jaw. His reactionary flinch from her touch, dislodged the fiercely battled tears and sent them streaking down his lean cheeks.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, and leaned into her touch, reaching up to capture her hand against his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. I didn’t want to make this about me. But fuck, Charity, it kills me to hear what he did to you.”

  “I know.”

  “I feel violent. Furious…and I don’t want to scare you.”

  “You never could.”

  She stepped closer, and he enfolded her in his arms, wrapping himself around her, making her feel safe and protected.

  “You don’t scare me, Miles. Because I know you won’t hurt me.”

  “How can you trust any man after what he did to you?”

  She had once wondered the same thing. Had despaired of ever trusting her own judgment again.

  And yet, here she was. Inexplicably and irrevocably confident that this man would never physically harm her.

  “Because you’re not him, Miles. Because you adopt stray dogs. You love your siblings. You take care of your mother. You care about your employees. And I have a sneaking suspicion that if you could safely get away with it, you’d probably liberate all the lobsters in restaurant tanks you can find.”

  The last coaxed a smile from that beautiful stern mouth.

  “I’d release them back into the ocean,” he said, with a somber nod.

  “Of course, you would,” she whispered, and kissed him. She tasted the salt on his lips. “Because you’re a wonderful man who hates the thought of anyone or anything in pain.”

  “Would it alarm you to know that I can very much envision your twisted husband writhing in absolute agony? The way he died wasn’t painful enough for my liking. It feels like he got away with what he did to you. I hate that. And I loathe the fact that people are still singing his praises like he was a fucking saint.”

  “It used to bother me. It doesn’t anymore.”

  He sighed—the sound deep and despondent—and pressed his forehead to hers for a moment.

  “The way I feel about you…” his voice was rough and low. “Terrifies me. It also exhilarates and delights me.”

  She had his jaw in her palms, and it was easy for her to hold him still for her kiss.

  “Make love to me, Miles,” she murmured against his lips after ending the kiss, and his arms tightened around her waist as he dragged her even closer.

  “With absolute fucking pleasure, sweetheart.”

  “Why are we at Lia and Sam’s at six am on a Saturday?” Charity asked grumpily, a week later, when George drew the SUV to a stop in front of the aforementioned couple’s beautiful cabin up on the hill overlooking town.

  Charity was cranky because he had awoken her at four-thirty after only three hours’ sleep and a satisfyingly exhausting night of lovemaking.

  After her initial irritation of being awoken from a sound sleep faded; depression, misery, and regret had hit her like a ton of bricks when she remembered that it was Gracie’s birthday. Charity had messaged Faith late Thursday night to let her sister know she would not be joining them for the party.

  She would be heading home shortly anyway and, she was happy to delay the inevitable painful conversations she would be having with her family. But more than that, she was acutely aware that time was running out for her and Miles. It had been a difficult decision, but in the end, Charity knew that she wanted to share as much time with him as she could.

  Neither Charity nor Miles ever mentioned it, but he was nearly back at full strength. His breathing was a lot easier, he rarely coughed anymore, and he exercised regularly. Charity could see the difference in his color and the lack of gauntness in that lean face. And she could definitely feel it in the way he moved when they made love. The sinuous coiled vigor in that fantastic body was sexy as hell.

  He had awoken her with breakfast—well, a stale croissant and terrible coffee—in bed that morning…She had turned her nose up at the less than appetizing offering. Not that she could eat in the middle of the night anyway.

  After the failed attempt at feeding her, Miles had then insisted she hurry up and get dressed. He had urged her to pack an overnight bag for an impromptu overnight getaway.

  He knew that it was Gracie’s birthday today, perhaps this was his way of trying to cheer her up.

  Sweet, sweet man.

  But the curiosity was eating her alive.

  Now she watched as Miles cuddled his dog close.

  “It won’t be for long, girl. I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll bring treats. And toys. I promise. Okay?”

  It was ridiculous and adorable at the same time. He gave the pup another squeeze that she tried to squirm out of, and commanded Charity and George to stay put while he leaped from the vehicle and flung Stormy’s “go bag”, as he called it, over a shoulder. The dog was cradled in his other arm like a baby.

  He wasn’t gone long and, even though it was still mostly dark, Charity was certain that his eyes were gleaming with moisture when he returned a couple of minutes later.

  Amused though she was, she curled her arm through his, wanting to offer comfort.

  “She has never spent a night without me,” he muttered, sounding distraught.

  “Miles, she was a stray when you found her,
she has spent many nights without you.”

  “She doesn’t remember that life. She’s attached, she’ll be a wreck without me.”

  Charity suspected the dog would be quite fine. The man, however, was a completely different story.

  His phone beeped and he absently glanced at the message and then glowered.

  “Well…hell.”

  He lifted the device to show her the screen, and Charity convulsed with laughter. Sam had sent a pic of Stormy in bed with Lia, who was obviously—like most sane people at this hour—having a Saturday morning lie-in. Something Charity would dearly have loved to do. The pup was fast asleep in the woman’s arms, and they both appeared snug and contented.

  Miles muttered something beneath his breath. Something that sounded suspiciously like “traitorous little bitch.”

  And Charity pressed her lips together in an attempt to curb her laughter.

  “Let’s get a move on, George,” he instructed the older man brusquely, and George saluted mockingly before obeying.

  “What is this?” Charity asked suspiciously, when George parked at a private airfield just outside of Plettenberg Bay. Miles had been closemouthed about their destination for the entirety of their twenty-minute drive. Fobbing off her questions with vague “you’ll see” type responses. Charity had assumed they would eventually wind up at some scenic and romantic location in Plett. But an airfield was a game changer. Had he chartered a plane to some remote place? The prospect was exciting and daunting at the same time.

  “Where are we going?” she asked again, and he must have heard some evidence of the panic that she was trying to tamp down, creeping into her voice, because he paused in the middle of unbuckling his seatbelt to look at her.

  His eyes were tender, and he brushed a thumb over her cheekbone.

  “I want it to be a surprise…” he murmured. “But if you need me to tell you, I will.”

  Charity worried her lower lip with her teeth, part of her needing to know where they were going but another, larger, part urging her to trust him.

  She swallowed her panic and inhaled deeply, in an attempt to regulate her breathing and slow down her heart rate.

  “Lead the way, Miles.”

  “Fearless,” he whispered in admiration, and leaned in to give her a sweet kiss. For a second, she allowed it, until she remembered George, who had exited to get their overnight bags.

  “George,” she muttered in self-conscious explanation, after withdrawing from Miles’s embrace.

  He grinned unrepentantly. “If you think George doesn’t know what’s happening between us, you have a serious rethink coming. That man knows everything. And you can be damned sure that if he knows, Amos does as well.”

  “Oh my God,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands for a brief moment of chagrin.

  “Buck up, Mrs. Cole,” he advised her cheerfully. “You don’t give a good goddamn what people think about you, right?”

  “Sure. Right,” she agreed, not sounding at all convincing. “Whatever.”

  He laughed and undid his belt before leaping from the SUV. He rounded the vehicle to help her down. George was whistling cheerfully as he accompanied them to a waiting helicopter.

  Charity stopped and stared at the large, luxurious looking chopper. It was black and silver and had the words Chapman GPG Inc. emblazoned on the side.

  “Greyson said we could hitch a ride on their company chopper. His brother and sister-in-law have just flown in from Cape Town, and the chopper was on its way back. He said we could borrow it for a quick detour on its return journey.”

  “Sure,” Charity said breezily. “Just borrow a chopper from your new buddy.”

  “Hey, I’m happy to return the favor anytime he’s in London.”

  “God, who even are you people? I used to borrow clothes and money from my friends.” She rolled her eyes, and he laughed again, curling his arm around her shoulders and leading her to the chopper.

  He greeted the pilot with a handshake and exchanged a few words, before the man took their luggage from George and loaded it. Miles helped Charity into the chopper, and she sank into one of the plush leather seats. She had never been on a helicopter before and by now her excitement outweighed her curiosity and nervousness.

  Her grin stretched from ear to ear, and she was certain that whatever fancy or exotic location Miles was spiriting her off to, could in no way compete with the mode of transportation he had used to get her there.

  The flight was a little more than an hour long. And it was over much too soon for Charity’s liking. She had marveled over the sights, seeing the uniquely beautiful Western Cape in an entirely new way. The pilot had kept mostly to the shoreline, and the scenery on this gorgeous clear day had been diverse and absolutely breathtaking.

  Miles had been strangely quiet throughout the flight. They had worn headsets for communication, and while she had vocally thrilled over the incomparable sunrise, magnificent pods of humpback whales, craggy cliffs, pristine beaches, and rugged mountaintops, he had barely strung together two sentences.

  And once the helicopter began its descent, somewhere close to Stellenbosch in Cape Town as far as she could tell, she had sensed him tensing more and more. Maybe he was a nervous flyer. She couldn’t quite imagine that, but it seemed like a logical explanation for his strange mood.

  They were landing in the middle of a grassy field, close to what she assumed was a wine farm. She could see a large group of people milling close by.

  It was just after eight, and Charity figured most of the people gathered had to be hotel staff to welcome them. Miles Hollingsworth was a pretty high profile guest, and Charity knew that they would pull out all the stops for a man of his caliber.

  The pilot set the chopper down gently and flipped a few switches, before looking over his shoulder and grinning at them.

  “Welcome to Weltevreden Estate,” he said jovially, before returning his attention to the knobs and dials. But Charity—instantly blinded with rage after that cavalier identification of their location—was no longer paying attention to the pilot. Instead, she turned to glare at Miles, who looked pale and anxious and sicker than he had in weeks.

  “How…” Charity shook her head and forced her chaotic thoughts into order before attempting to speak again. “How dare you?”

  “Charity, please hear me out. I knew you wouldn’t make this decision by yourself and—” Words continued to tumble from his lips. Sounding practiced and a little desperate, but nothing he said in this moment could make this right.

  She had trusted him. And this was a complete betrayal of that trust.

  “This was my choice to make. Not yours. Never yours. How fucking dare you?”

  He swallowed, ashen, trembling.

  The pilot, who could hear their conversation through his headset, shot them a troubled glance over his shoulder and removed his headset to give them some privacy.

  “I trusted you to never hurt me. And this hurts, Miles.” She was beyond livid. “You shouldn’t have forced this on me. Take me back!”

  “It’s too late,” he said, dismayed. “Faith knows we’re coming. They stayed at the hotel last night because they wanted to make a proper weekend out of this, and she messaged me earlier to say that they would all be waiting at the landing sight.”

  Charity’s trembling hand crept up to her mouth, and her eyes drifted back to the group of people that she had assumed consisted of mostly hotel staff. Through a blur of tears, she could now pick out individuals in that crowd. She knew everybody there. Her parents, Faith, and Faith’s husband—Stuart. A few close cousins and their spouses. And nearly lost among the adults, was the tiny figure of her niece, jumping up and down excitedly.

  And, of course, also standing among all of those much-loved people was Paul. And Sandra.

  At the unwelcome sight of her former in-laws, a huge part of Charity wanted to curl up and hide from the inevitability of this moment. But she tossed back her shoulders defiantly. Refusing to buckle
beneath this last remnant of Blaine’s suffocating control. His parents no longer had the power to hurt her.

  “Charity, I made a mistake but I thought—”

  “I’m not interested in what you thought.” She was scathing in her dismissal of Miles’s frantic attempt at an explanation.

  “Charity, I’m so…”

  She shot him a disdainful look before deliberately lifting the headset from her ears, effectively drowning him out beneath the noise of the helicopter.

  His mouth slammed shut and the look of abject misery on his face would have been satisfying if she wasn’t so devastated by what felt like a massive loss.

  Miles watched Charity gird herself to face her family. She smoothed her hands down the front of the flirty, pleated chiffon skirt of the lovely dress she was wearing and patted her short tresses nervously. It was a gesture that he hadn’t seen her use in weeks and hated that it was back. Hated that he was the reason it was back.

  Christ, he had fucked up so badly. He should have stayed out of it, he should have let her do this in her own time. She was right…how fucking dare he? It wasn’t his place to fix her life. He should have supported her decisions to do what needed to be done at her own pace.

  And now, because of his sheer arrogance, it looked like he had lost her.

  The pilot hopped from the cockpit and opened the door for her and she stepped down. She looked ethereal and beautiful. The pastel pink of her dress such a gorgeous contrast to the velvet perfection of her brown skin…the downwash from the rotors lifted the skirt enough to give him a tantalizing glimpse of the lacy white panties beneath, before she ruthlessly clamped her palms over her butt and crotch to keep the skirt in place.

  Miles wasn’t quite sure what to do…an increasingly familiar sensation around Charity, but he hopped out of the chopper as well. After briefly thanking the pilot, he grabbed their bags and followed Charity. She had thrown back her shoulders and was bravely walking toward her family, as if she wasn’t absolutely petrified of facing them all again.