“That’s not even the best part. They gave me a shitty severance, and I got home to this.” She finally released the paper from her grasp, placing it on his lap. The ink had blurred, and the paper had softened from the tears it had caught. Small rips marred its surface amongst the many creases from where it had been crumpled and smoothed to the point it barely held together. He scanned the contents, his grip around her tightening. This had to be someone’s idea of a sick joke.
“Fuck me.” He could feel his blood boiling. Her job and her home, in the space of a night. No wonder she was falling apart, and just to add salt to the wounds, he was all too aware that today marked the one-month anniversary of her father’s death.
Fate could be a cruel mistress some time.
“Right, here’s what we’re going to do.” Releasing her, he clapped his hands, adding an energy to the room that had been absent. “First, clean yourself up, put on something pretty. Tonight I’m getting you drunk. Tomorrow, I’ll be over first thing and we’ll job hunt together. We’ll get your portfolio updated and look for something else. But first, drinking.”
Okay, yes. Alcohol first, that response may have been military born, it’s what he and his buddies did, but they did it for a reason. It worked. She looked like she needed to let her hair down, and he knew she never drank unless he or Becca were with her, even then he’d never seen her drunk.
Tonight he would ply her with alcohol and watch over her, and he most certainly wouldn’t respond to the ache in his chest by leaning into her right now, and claiming her soft, grief swollen lips as his own. No, he would not.
He glanced away as her teeth dragged across her bottom lip. Why did she make resisting her so hard? Even with puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks she was all he could want, the Yennefer to his Geralt, the Elly to his Fei, the calm in the storm, the light to his darkness. Quite simply, she was his world, the air he breathed, his eternal addiction. But timing was never in fate’s plan.
It wouldn’t have been fair to confess his feelings while he was enlisted, and the last time he had been about to admit his love, she’d had the call about her father’s stroke. She was worth more than a desperate fumble, or a grief-ridden kiss. She was his future, and that meant waiting for the right time.
“I’m not su—”
“You, shower, now. Don’t make me take you in there myself.” He saw her cheeks flush as she dipped her head, pushing up from the sofa to scurry away towards the bathroom, but not before she paused at her bedroom door, casting a beautifully coy look over her shoulder, a look that had him wanting to follow her. He’d be lying if he said part of him hadn’t been visualising lifting her over his shoulder and making true his threat, but after that look, all he could think about now was joining her.
Not now. Soon. But not tonight. Tonight he needed to take care of her.
CHAPTER THREE
Amber fluid sparked in the cosy light cast by the globe wall lamps as Ivy nursed her drink. Sinking back into the leather seating, Ivy listened to the music brought to life by the old jukebox. This bar on 10th Avenue was, hands down, the best country and western tavern in Hell’s Kitchen, in NYC for that matter. Their cheese curds were legendary and the staff, simply amazing. It was one of her favourite places, and its authentic and vibrant atmosphere only enhanced the experience.
There was a camaraderie to the patrons here, whether they were socialising or cheering on their team during football season. Age, gender, colour, nothing mattered. There was a quiet understanding. Those who needed solitude were granted it, and strangers embraced those in need of company, pulling them into their circle if only for a night.
Miles placed several drinks on the polished wooden table, before tipping the one in her hand towards her lips with his fingers. She shivered as their eyes met, and the gentle pressure of his encouragement made swallowing the sweet, smoky liquid almost impossible.
He watched her drink with such an intense gaze she found herself drowning in eyes the colour of pine cones and glitter, almost forgetting to breathe. She forced herself to tear her gaze away to the small skittering of freckles across his nose. Her teeth scraping across her bottom lip as she lowered the glass. Even his freckles were sexy. Almost the same colour as his Titan coloured hair, their placement drew attention to his smouldering eyes while giving a boyish look to his smile which could turn sensual and alluring in the blink of an eye.
His freckles were his secret, something only seen at an intimate distance, when he was close enough for his breath to caress her skin, close enough for her to weave her fingers within his tousled hair and pull him close, removing the final barrier of distance between them.
Her gaze dropped to his lips. They were quirked upwards in amusement, as if he was privy to her sinful thoughts. His fingers brushed against hers as he lifted the empty glass from her limp grasp, causing a shudder to trace her spine. She was trapped, drinking in his presence, ensnared by everything she loved about him, a slave to her inhibitions which were right now wavering.
She knew better than to drink around him. Intoxication made it so much harder to ignore the thoughts and longings she’d carried for years, but the way he was looking at her now, the hunger and need, caused more than just the whisky to burn in her stomach. She could almost believe she was not alone in her feelings. The way he leaned in towards her caused her pulse to quicken, and for a moment she dared hope he was surrendering to the same urges that told her to press her lips to his before he could pull away.
The sound of a tray being deposited on the table made her startle. As if the interruption brought clarity he pulled back, grabbing a fresh glass from the table, pushing another towards her before leaning back in his chair, ruffling a hand through his hair. While they hadn’t been touching his warmth receded as he pulled away, and she rubbed the chill from her arms as the server arranged the guacamole and chips on the table—that’s right, not crisps, chips—even if the word did still seem a little awkward and conjured images of a chip shop rather than the thinly sliced potatoes.
Miles had been right, a night out was exactly what she needed. It wasn’t long before the sting of grief was replaced by the special kind of warmth only achieved through copious amounts of whisky. Ivy looked to the glass in her hand, realising that, for her, copious amounts had only been three shots. She watched as Miles snatched a chip from the bowl, scooping up some guacamole before popping it in his mouth.
Her tongue swept across her lips as she saw a small smudge left in the corner of his kissable mouth. In fact, that became all she could see, a tempting morsel that begged her to lean in and sample its delights. His eyes sparkled, his gaze never leaving hers as he dragged his thumb across his lips before sucking it clean. It was a simple action, natural, but hell, it was seductive. She clenched her thighs, squirming slightly in her seat, hoping he hadn’t noticed the flush she felt burning across her entire body as her breathing hitched, and she found herself envying the guacamole for feeling his lips.
She knew then she’d had far too much to drink.
She’d been in love with him for years, but he’d made it clear he only thought of her as a friend. It wasn’t a conversation they’d ever needed to have. To do so would only create an awkwardness between them, so she kept her feelings hidden, and he had nothing to hide.
Tonight felt different. She was a mess, her thoughts were jumbled. It felt as though her entire world was tumbling around her and he was the one preventing the roof from crashing down upon her. He was her hero, her Miles, and it was torturous to be separated by so much distance when all she wanted to do was collapse into his arms.
She slid the remaining glass towards him, her fingers stroking his arm as she mentioned she’d had far too much to drink already. His eyes crinkled in amusement, softening in that way they always did when he looked at her, before he glanced in disbelief at the three empty glasses before her against his eight.
“Sin, you’re a lightweight, who would have guessed?” he teased. She loved hearing that na
me on his lips. He was the only person to call her Sin, shortening her surname, Sinclair, with a delicious result.
She remembered the moment that name became something more on his lips, when it was spoken in a husky growl one octave lower than his normal voice, warping it into something sexy rather than just an innocent nickname. It had happened just after Halloween, when he’d received the pictures Becca insisted she sent as a punishment for losing a bet. He’d responded saying she looked as hot as sin, and her pictures had stirred an uprising in the barracks with many allies falling to friendly fire as they fought over ownership of her pictures.
The way the word sin rolled off his tongue since had put terrible thoughts into her mind. Thoughts normally kept guarded until she retired to bed, alone. “Come on, let’s get you home, or you’ll be in no fit state for tomorrow.” He stood, offering her a hand to her feet, studying her intensely before speaking again. “Things are going to be okay, you know.” The commitment in his voice made her feel as if they weren’t just words of comfort, but a promise, signed, sealed, and delivered.
She reached out, steadying herself on the table as a terrifying realisation washed over her. One so profound, that when mingled with the alcohol-laced blood that pumped rapidly through her aching heart, it caused tears to well in her eyes.
She didn’t just want this man; she needed him, and being nothing more than friends was killing her slowly, chipping away at her lonely heart one piece at a time.
For years, her every fantasy had been of him, of him bending her over his knee, of him dominating and commanding her with his oh-so-sexy army issue confidence, of him, just him. It was why she stopped dating, because no one could compare to the man she could never have.
She felt his hand on the small of her back as he guided her through the busy bar.
Trembling beneath his touch, she convinced herself this was just a moment of weakness, that tomorrow, when she was sober, she would seal these feelings back into their vault and enjoy their friendship.
The only thing asking for more would do, would be push him away, and she needed him right now, more than she would ever dare to admit. She rubbed her chest with her fingertips, trying to dispel the burning ache, secretly wishing he’d inflict a different burn upon her bare flesh, a deep red flush made by his strong coarse hands.
She felt herself falter as her thoughts ran away with her, again. She didn’t really date. The last time she’d asked a boyfriend to restrain her for sex he’d appeared game, but he fell so short of what she’d imagined, and she got much more satisfaction doing it herself. Although she had to confess she’d always got a thrill out of attending events with Devon and his wife Penny.
Whilst her past boyfriends had been disappointing, she was certain a relationship with Miles would be different. He carried himself with confidence; he was already in charge. Just hearing him talk sent heat pulsing down through her stomach. Damn it, whisky always made her horny and forlorn.
She followed him from the bar, stumbling ever so slightly, breathing in his crisp, spicy scent with closed eyes. Maybe she could survive on nothing more than his scent. He pushed open one of the double doors, holding it for her as the bitter chill of November whistled past. Head down, she hurried through, his arms reaching out just in time to grasp her waist as her feet tangled in one another.
For the briefest moment, as he pulled her to his firm chest to steady her, she was living in the world of romantic movies, where the guy would catch the girl and they would share the sweetest, most passionate kiss. But the kiss never came. It never would, and the realisation broke her just a little more.
As they reached her apartment, she found her nervous fingers playing with her keys as she hesitated outside the door, not wanting the night to end. She had thought no one could have teased a smile from her, let alone made her laugh with how she had been feeling, but he had.
He had been right. Tonight had been exactly what she needed, a few hours to clear her head of one problem and fill it with another. And that’s what her love for him would always be, a problem. Damn the whisky. She shook her head, trying to dispel the haze and emotions.
Tomorrow she would hit the online job vacancies. She had enough savings to cover at least another month’s rent and … she froze realising another month’s rent didn’t matter. At the end of this month she wouldn’t have a place to live, and who in the right mind would even dream of renting to someone who had just lost their job? She couldn’t even afford a deposit. Her breathing quickened as her bubble of unrequited love popped under the crushing weight of a more pressing reality.
She felt Miles’ hand engulf hers, stilling the keys she had been fidgeting with as he leaned in towards her. His face was so close, impossibly close. She could feel the heat of his body against her, the tickle of his breath that stilled her own. She closed her eyes, turning her head slightly she moved to place her lips to his, but the coarse stubble from his five clock shadow barely had time to graze her cheek as he moved, leaning past her to slide his key into the door, evading her kiss like a professional.
Embarrassment chased through her as the door swung open behind her, and he pulled away. She only glanced to him long enough to see him staring at her through lowered eyebrows, before she turned her back to him.
“Thanks for tonight,” she whispered down at the wooden flooring as she hurried inside. Leaving his key in the lock, and him staring after her, she shut the door, erecting a barrier between them. She heard her head hit the door a little too hard as she leaned back on it, her vision burning a hole in the same place on the ceiling it had just this afternoon. She couldn’t believe she had just done that. How could she have been so stupid?
Idiot. He cursed himself silently, snatching his key from the lock.
When he’d stilled her hand, stopping her fingers from twiddling the keys within her grasp, he’d had every intention of kissing her, of placing his lips to hers and savouring the smoky sweetness of the whisky as it mingled with her taste. The thought of claiming her lips had teased him all night, but as he placed his hand over hers and saw the despair that caused her eyes to shimmer like the moon on tropical ocean waves, he realised he couldn’t.
Their first kiss was not some drunken fumble consumed in the throes of grief. She deserved better than that. She was vulnerable, emotional, and to kiss her now would be to take advantage. She’d lost her father, her job, and her apartment in a timescale too cruel to be measured, and those were just the tip of her worries.
He placed his hand to the door, offering invisible comfort as her gentle sobs drifted into the hall. It tore him up, hearing her like this. He often teased her about being British when it came to her emotions, but he knew how deeply she felt things. She was just better at guarding herself. Almost no one saw her vulnerability.
As her sobs quietened, he shoved his hands into his pockets, and left, taking the stairs. He had meant to distract her, and for a few hours he had. Tomorrow he would help her look for work and an apartment, or better yet, ask her to move in with him. She had never been near his home, let alone inside it, but hopefully that would change. But first, he had to deal with his mother.
This grudge had gone on long enough. After seeing those pictures of Ivy, his perception had changed. Every time they were together he was noticing new things; the way she stirred in him feelings beyond friendship, how her nose crinkled slightly when she laughed, how her beautiful blue eyes altered slightly in shade depending on her mood, and how her teeth would scrape against her bottom lip almost longingly as she stared at him.
It wasn’t only her looks which drew him; she was good and kind. This was the woman who always made an extra sandwich and gave it to the old homeless veteran who sheltered near her place of work along with some food for his dog.
For years he’d teased her about the dog food in her cupboard, telling her if she was that hard up for money he’d take her food shopping. She’d dismissed his comment with a laugh, telling him the meat made excellent pies. He’d never
realised the real reason until he’d spotted her one day as he left the coffee shop. The old man had beamed at her with an almost toothless grin, petting his lifelong companion who stood on legs that were as weak and trembly as his master’s. She’d bent, stroking the dog, causing his tail to wag so enthusiastically he’d almost fallen over.
The world should be filled with more people like her. She deserved only happiness, and he would try his best to be the one to bring it to her.
If they couldn’t resolve her job and apartment situation, he would move her into their guest house, his home, with or without his mother’s blessing. It was time she let go of her old grudges because Ivy was going to be a part of his life whether his mother wanted it or not.
Ivy had always been important to him, but he’d never defended her as much as he should have. When they were at school he’d shrugged it off, not even thinking to pull her up on her attitude. When he was on leave, he didn’t want it to potentially be the last conversation they had. There had always been an excuse. But he was home now, and he wanted more from Ivy than just her friendship. He wanted to hold her hand, kiss away her tears, and make her toes curl. He wanted to hear how his name sounded on her lips as he made her scream.
He would give his mother a choice, accept her, or lose him. It was about time he found a place of his own anyway. He had learnt all he could from his father and had already taken over a portion of the administrative duties.
“It’s about time you got home.” His mother’s taut voice called from the sitting room as soon as he pushed the door closed. “Doesn’t that girl realise you have a job to do?”
“Her name is Ivy, and last I checked I’m off tomorrow.” Honestly, how old did she think he was, sitting up, waiting for him to get home, then challenging him about how he spent his time? He tossed his keys into the bowl, sighing as they slid over its smooth surface onto the small mahogany table. Shrugging out of his jacket, he placed it on the coat stand, abandoning the keys to their fate. “Actually, Mom, I’m glad you brought her up. We need to talk.”
Breaking Sin: A kidnap abduction story (Addicted to Sin Book 1) Page 3
