MILES (The Billionaire Croft Brothers, Book Two)

by Paige North

  I’d be lucky to earn that in three full years of normal work, especially when I can’t even find a job right now.

  “You know,” I say, “I saw a raspberry torte on the menu that sounded really good.”

  Miles smiles. “Then that’s what you’ll have.”

  An hour later we’re back in the limousine—together this time—and headed to wherever rich people live. The drive is short, though, and the car stops at Fifty-Seventh Street and Park Avenue.

  “Hey,” I say. “You said you didn’t live on the Upper East Side.”

  “I just wanted to see what you’d say if you thought you didn’t have to be polite,” he says. “Jordyn, you never know where people come from or their family or close friends. Maybe I grew up here, or my best friend lives here. The point is, refrain from saying negative things. Okay?”

  What is this, my first lesson? Okay, fine. If I can’t say something nice…

  The driver opens the door and Miles gets out. His hand reaches for mine and he helps me out of the car. When I look up at the building I almost fall over backward.

  “Whoa,” I say. “This place is huge. Like, tall.”

  Miles touches the small of my back as he leads me into the marble lobby with plush couches and a fire crackling in the corner, plus concierge, security, and an elegant older woman with a little white dog on a silver leash.

  “Good evening, Mr. Croft,” the staff says respectfully as we cross to the elevators. Miles inserts a card key and hits the button marked PH1. I may be broke, but I know that means penthouse.

  The elevator whooshes up speedily, and my ears begin to pop on long ride up.

  “What floor are we going to?” I ask.

  “The top,” he says. “Eighty-six.”

  The elevator slows with a mechanical hum and the doors gently glide open right into a white marble foyer with soft yellow lighting.

  “Come in,” he says, moving down the hall. “Make yourself comfortable while I go get the contract.”

  I wonder why the contract is here and not at his office but honestly, I don’t give it nearly enough thought, because I’m overwhelmed when I step further into the high-rise apartment.

  The view. Oh my god, the view.

  The living room is set at a corner and the windows wrap around the edges, going from the top of the ceiling almost to the floor. There’s a cushioned bench along one window, and I go sit on it.

  I look out at the city from so high above and I feel dizzy.

  This can’t be real.

  I consider texting someone—one of my roommates perhaps? And then I decide against it.

  I don’t think Miles would appreciate me doing that right now. And I’m not sure how I feel about anyone knowing that I’m even taking this job.

  Maybe it would be better to just keep the whole thing secret.

  “Holy shit,” I mutter, staring out the window nearby. Central Park is laid out below, the path lights flickering through the darkened trees. Park Avenue is rolling with cars but I can’t hear a thing way up here. It’s as quiet as a country field.

  “Here we go.”

  I turn to see Miles striding across the living room, which I finally take in. A luxurious steel gray sofa covered in velvet, facing a cream and gray fireplace that’s softly burning. I pause.

  “Why is that thing lit?” I ask, pointing to the fireplace.

  Miles hardly gives it a glance. “The staff. In the fall and winter they always make sure it’s lit before they leave for the evening.” He sits down next to me on the window bench. “So this contract is pretty standard,” Miles says, flipping through the pages. “Take a moment to look over it and sign when you’re ready.” He hands me the papers and a heavy black pen. “Would you like some water? Tea?” He gets up and moves to the large kitchen as I begin to flip through the pages.

  “Water would be great, thanks.” I begin reading the contract—lots of obnoxious legalese stuff but I manage to wade through it for the important stuff. I pull a cobalt blue throw pillow on my lap. “Wait a second,” I say, and my heart is in my throat as I look up at him. “This says I have to live with you.”

  Miles brow creases. “Of course,” he says, returning with two crystal tumblers of sparkling water. “I told you—I need you to be at my disposal.” He sits next to me, handing me the glass.

  “You didn’t say anything about living with you.”

  He looks around the penthouse. “Is this place so bad that you’d rather go back to your corner of the living room on the Lower East Side?”

  “No, this place is amazing but…I wasn’t expecting to have to move.”

  “Jordyn, for what I’m paying you, I think it’s more than fair. I need you to be on call twenty-four-seven in case something comes up. Some days we’ll be busy, others you might get the day off. And those days you can spend as you like. I have an entire spa two floors up—pool, sauna, steam. There’s a massage room—say the word and the concierge will send a masseuse up within a half hour. I don’t think this is anything to be upset about.”

  “It’s just a lot to take in,” I say, trying to process all of it. “It’s not normal.”

  “Over the course of the month,” Miles continues, “you’ll make a hearty amount of money while not spending a dime. Everything is taken care of, Jordyn. Meals, transportation…”

  “Massages?” I say, rolling my eyes at the absurdity of it all.

  “Whatever you want,” he says. The way he’s looking at me, he seems to mean it.

  I look back down at the contract. This is pretty much a once-in-a-lifetime deal. So with my heart racing and my mind turning over a thousand thoughts, I flip to the last page and stare at the blank line.

  “I must be a fool,” I sigh.

  “On the contrary,” Miles says, “I think you’d be a fool to refuse this opportunity.”

  “Of course you’d say that.”

  Miles looks steadily at me, his eyes intent on mine. “I’m not saying it to placate you, Jordyn. It’s the truth.”

  And once again, the way he looks at me brings me such a strange sense of peace, such a feeling of calm, that I know I’m going to do it.

  Quickly, before I can start thinking too much again, I pick up the pen and sign the contract.

  It’s done. As I finish signing, I feel a prickling on the pack of my neck.

  I’m his now.

  I belong to Miles Croft.

  “Very good,” Miles says, taking the pages back from me. “The first third of payment will be deposited into your account in the morning. I know this is all a bit overwhelming.”

  “A little,” I say, looking around the room.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep? You must be exhausted.”

  We both stand to go, but I head toward the door and Miles walks to the staircase.

  I realize at that moment—he means for me to sleep here.

  I was once again imagining I would go home, at least for tonight. Smiling, I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. The thought of spending the night here, with Miles, alone—it’s very confusing and alarming.

  “Your room is this way,” he says archly.

  “Oh, right,” I say. “I guess I’ll have to remember that you don’t waste any time.”

  Up the stairs we enter a long hallway lined with artistic black-and-white photographs of buildings from around the world. A creamy runner covers the oak floors, and the recessed lighting is soft and dim.

  “My room is here,” he says, waving into an open doorway, “and yours is over here.”

  Across the hall he opens a heavy white door and we step inside. The room is ten times the size of my apartment and like nothing I’ve ever seen or even imagined. Large windows flank either side of the enormous bed, white and cream with a light pistachio cushioned headboard.

  “Bathroom is back here,” Miles says, guiding me through the room like a real estate agent while I try not to let my mouth hang open.

  I’m going to sleep here? In this giant bea
utiful bed? For a month?

  The bathroom is even more spectacular than the bedroom. White marble walls and floors that lead to a free-standing soaking tub that’s set up by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. There’s also a shower that’s big enough for ten people and a vanity with a delicate cushioned chair and Broadway lights around the mirror.

  “The floors are heated, of course,” Miles adds.

  “I would hope so,” I say, but he doesn’t get that I’m joking, or if he does, isn’t very interested in laughing at my dry wit.

  “Finally,” he says, “the closet. Let me know if anything doesn’t fit, or if there’s anything missing here that you need.”

  I walk through the door--into a room the size of a normal person’s bedroom--to find the closet.

  Closet does not do it justice, really.

  It’s more like a fashion boutique.

  The racks inside are lined with clothes—I run my hands down the row of soft fabrics, feeling the tags prick my hand as I go. The clothes are arranged according to color, going from white and wrapping around to black with every color in between. Shoes cover the shelves, organized into color palate just like the clothes.

  There’s a three-way mirror in the corner, a tufted bench, and a large island, the top of which is filled with accessories.

  “This is…all for me?” I ask.

  It can’t be. It just can’t.

  “You’ll need clothes,” he says. “I don’t expect you to buy them, so they’re provided as part of our arrangement. I had a stylist work on it this afternoon so you should have everything from casual day wear to formal evening. Most of the outfits I made sure to get in an array of sizes, since I couldn’t be absolutely certain what you would wear, but just call downstairs if something doesn’t fit and they'll send a tailor up.”

  Christ, this guy isn’t kidding around. The fact that he was able to do all this in one day—I was only fired this morning—is extraordinary. He got a contract, the money, and an entire wardrobe gathered and ready in about ten hours.

  Miles Croft can clearly get whatever he wants.

  Which makes it all the more odd that he wanted me.

  “Any questions?” he asks.

  My mind is spilling with a thousand questions. All I manage to get out is, “Toothbrush?”

  “Bathroom, under the sink. Like I said, everything you need is here.” He watches me for a long moment and then nods. “In any case, you should probably try to get some rest. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Miles leaves me to the privacy of my giant room, and when he goes I feel more alone then I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

  I stand in the middle of the giant space wondering what I have gotten myself into. Everything is so crazy and out of the ordinary that it’s hard to land on a coherent thought.

  I know I need to tell Jenny that she can call her Italian friend and let her take over my spot in the apartment for the month. That’ll make everyone happy, knowing that my portion of the rent will be paid.

  Jenny was so freaking worried about it.

  Thinking about my place reminds me that, despite the closet and bathroom being filled with everything a girl could wish for, there are still a few things of mine that I need from my place. I decide to go ask Miles about this before he gets in bed—an image that has me once again feeling unhinged.

  Across the hall, his door is closed so I knock. From inside, he tells me to come in. When I open the door he is standing near his bed, shirtless and in the process of changing out of his suit.

  I am temporarily unable to move at the sight of him.

  I gawk openly at his chest—it is as cut and defined as I knew it would be, even though I’ve only seen him in a suit. His stomach is flat, his abs strong, and his suit pants rest on his hips that narrow slightly down to his…

  “Yes?” he says, and I snap my eyes up to his face.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Um, there’s just still some things I need…”

  “You should have everything,” he says, an edge of impatience to his voice. He tosses the shirt he held onto his bed and takes a step closer to me. He puts his hands in his pockets, as relaxed with his body as if he’s fully dressed. I can’t help but noticing the broad lines of his shoulders.

  “My stuff, I mean,” I say, trying not to be distracted. “My computer. The book I’m reading. My…sleep stuff….” I don’t want to say my panties but it’s true. I mean, surely he didn’t get those things too.

  “All the necessary undergarments are in the closet—in the drawers in the island. For sleep, and for daily wear. As for your personal things like your computer, one of my assistants is going by your apartment first thing in the morning to gather everything. It’ll be here immediately afterward.”

  He even got me underwear? Holy shit. Did he help pick them out or did that stylist he mentioned do it all for him?

  My cheeks are absolutely burning now.

  Miles walks closer to me, watching me carefully. I can’t help but run my gaze over his arms, his hands still resting casually in his pockets. When he’s right up close to me he asks, “Now. Is there anything else you need, Jordyn? Anything you desire that I haven’t yet provided?”

  The swirly, heady feeling I had when I first looked out at the eighty-sixth story view returns. Miles, so close to me, so strong and watching me with those eyes piecing me, has me feeling breathless. And yes, there is something I desire that he hasn’t yet given me but…is that even allowed?

  I know that it shouldn’t be. None of this is right.

  But in this moment, I’ve suddenly stopped caring about right and wrong.

  Miles

  Her lips are parted slightly, but it’s her eyes that give it all away. She can’t stop looking at my body, her eyes trailing down every inch of my exposed chest and arms, and it’s definitely turning me on. It’s clear now that she wants the same thing I want.

  For a brief moment, I hesitate. She’s too pure.

  She’s too naïve. Perhaps I need to let her be.

  But then I realize I’m not strong enough to resist her—I’ve been wanting to take hold of her, to ravage her, since the moment she broke down crying in my office.

  “Jordyn,” I begin, “you read through your contract carefully, didn’t you?” She nods slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “You’ll remember, then, that there’s nothing there that says that being physically intimate is a requirement for the job.”

  Her eyes flicker down to the floor. She nods slowly, and I realize she thinks I’m rejecting her. I move closer, so that I can almost feel her warm breath on my skin.

  “But,” I say, “that doesn’t preclude us from doing so either. It’s entirely up to us.” Her eyes meet mine again, and I want to reach out for her so badly, the urge to touch her so strong, that it takes all my will power to wait for her to tell me that she feels the same way I do. “Jordyn, all you have to do is tell me, right now, that you do in fact want it.”

  Jordyn’s lips mumble something unintelligible.

  I sigh. “Say it so I can hear it.”

  “Yes,” she says, and it comes out like a soft breath.

  My cock rises to attention, just the sound of her voice saying that word makes me want to fucking come.

  I knew she wanted me just as badly as I want her, but to hear her confirmation makes me lust for her even more.

  I move slowly as I look at those gorgeous, sensual lips, parted and full.

  My hands leave my pockets and capture her face, just as soft as I imagined. As I lean in to kiss her lips, her eyes fall shut and her body takes a step toward mine. When I kiss her, her lips are so delicate, so perfect on my own, that I feel the world fall away. This moment is all that matters.

  When she reaches up and holds my wrists in her hands, keeping them snug on her face, I move my tongue past her lips, tasting her, feeling her wet tongue on my own.

  Jordyn’s hands move over my arms, from my forearms up to my biceps. She grips t
hem in her hands.

  Our tongues explore each other, traveling deeper for more. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her body into mine. Her hands move up my back, feeling my skin, sending chills all over me.

  Now she’s moaning softly in her throat.

  Our hands are roaming all over one another. I want to rip the dress off her body and simply take her, but something about Jordyn urges me to go slower and give her more. I might be kissing and nipping at her neck like a hungry animal, but I don’t intend to throw her on the bed just yet.

  Her chest up against mine feels so good, and there’s nothing I’d like more than to feel our bare skin against one another. I kiss the top of her breasts as I pull her hips closer to me, forcing her to feel how hard she’s made me. My dick is to straining, begging to come out. For now I’ll have to make due with kissing as much of her body as she’ll allow me.

  I push back from Jordyn, separating us momentarily. We’re both panting, watching each other. She reaches out for me but I take another step back.

  “If you touch me,” I say, “I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

  She just stares. “Whatever it is…I…I want it too.”

  I practically growl at her. She’s driving me insane and she has no idea.

  “Take off your dress,” I tell her. She hesitates, watching me for a moment to see if I’m being serious. I could not be more serious.

  She slowly unties the belted waist of her dress and opens it up like a robe. She lets it slip down her arms and onto the floor behind her.

  “Jesus,” I say, taking her in. Her body is perfection, curves in all the right places. I rub my thumb across my lip as I watch her chest rise and fall in a lacy black bra. My eyes travel down along her long legs to the heels she’s still wearing, making her that much sexier. I can already imagine those legs wrapped tight around my waist, pulling me closer. I don’t know which part of her I want first—especially since having her displayed before me is making me crazy with desire.

  “Touch yourself,” I tell her. Her eyes widen the smallest bit. She doesn’t move. “Reach inside those little panties and touch yourself.” I can see how embarrassed this makes her—a nervous smile plays on her face. “It’s okay,” I say, stepping closer. I wrap my fingers around her delicate wrist. This small touch sends fire through my core. I move her just over her crotch. “Are you wet?” I press her fingers on the top of her panties, just over her pussy. She bites her lip and slowly nods yes.