Celeste gets everything ready and sets it all in front of us. Andi makes quick work of preparing her wrist with salt and I never take my eyes off of her.
“To us,” she says, shooting back the liquor and sucking the lime, making a face.
She stares at me for a beat, her face growing serious. “Miller, what’s wrong?”
I throw back the shot, not bothering with salt or limes. “Grab everything and come upstairs,” I tell her, swiping the bottle off the bar before I get off my stool.
“What?”
“Get it and come on. I want you alone,” I tell her, slapping some money on the bar and heading towards the stairs.
I don’t want an audience. I want Andi all to myself. I want her naked. I want to do wicked things to her body.
***
Andi
I try, rather unsuccessfully, to grab shot glasses, limes, and salt from the bar and follow Miller. I giggle, drunk on both the booze I’ve consumed all night and on Miller’s mere presence.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, leaving the spilled contents of my arms at the base of the stairs and walk up them empty handed.
I’m glad I decided to leave them. I would have dropped them if I had them in hand when I pushed open the door anyway, catching sight of Miller, shirtless, pants hanging off his hips, stripping the bed of the sheets. I all but wipe the drool off my chin as I stand there staring at his body, hardened by all the hours he’s spent running. His body is a work of art.
“What are you doing?” I breathe out, curious why the bed is empty of all its linens, except for the fitted sheet.
He turns to face me, eyes blazing, “This may get messy.”
That’s the understatement of the year.
He crosses the small space between us and yanks my shirt over my head, not bothering with any niceties. My bra and skirt get the same treatment. I’m standing in front of Miller, stripped bare, and his eyes are roaming up and down my body. I shift on my feet, not quite sure what he’s doing. He looks positively feral.
“Get on the bed.”
I do as he asks. He doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for me to argue. I sit on the edge of the bed, feet dangling off the edge, while he moves to the small dresser in the corner and grabs the bottle of tequila he swiped from downstairs.
He comes back to the bed and presses his hand on my chest, nudging me back on the mattress.
“You see, Andi,” he starts, and pours the tiniest bit of liquid at the base of my throat, right in that little divet between my collarbones, “I couldn’t stay downstairs.”
His tongue laps at the liquid, scorching my skin. I gasp at the contact, my chest bucking off the bed. His hand pushes down on my sternum to hold me in place. He moves between my legs to pin me, the denim of his jeans creating a delicious friction against my naked skin. When I stop moving, he rewards me with a kiss, sharing some of the tequila with me.
“This was all I could think about,” he continues, pouring a tiny amount on my nipple, his mouth immediately latching on. I push up against him, but his legs have me immobile. He nips at me instead, causing me to cry out.
“Miller, please,” I beg him, not really sure what I’m begging him for.
“Please what? Stop? I’m not nearly done with you,” he says, moving to the other side and dribbling tequila down my chest. He watches in fascination as it runs over my other nipple and then licks it off.
“You started this, Andi,” he growls, pouring a tiny stream of the tequila down my stomach, licking some of it, but letting the rest pool in my belly button. “You’re gonna let me finish this. I fantasized about doing this the first time we drank together. You won’t deny me now.”
I lose track of where his mouth moves on its descent down my body. He’s the one consuming all the alcohol, but I’m in such a drunken lust that I can’t think straight. I feel like there are mouths, tongues, hands, and fingers everywhere. Miller is feasting on me, like a starved man, and I can’t handle it anymore. He pushes me to the brink and back, countless times, and I just want him inside of me. I need this torture to stop.
His mouth finally comes up to meet mine, just as he pushes into me. I expect rough, animalistic sex, based on what’s been happening in this bed between us and the filthy things that have been coming out of his mouth.
I get the complete opposite.
Miller is so gentle and loving with me, it overwhelms me. His mouth stays connected to mine the entire time he’s inside of me, breaking away only to kiss at my neck or at my chest, or to whisper sweet reassurances to me.
Kiss.
“Andi, baby, you feel so fucking good.”
Kiss.
“I’ll never get enough of you.”
Kiss.
“You were made for me, Andrea Hope.”
Soul-jarring kiss.
When I realize that Miller and I aren’t just having sex, he’s making love to me, my orgasm hits with epic force. He feels it happening, breaking away from our kiss to watch me come undone, then following close behind. It’s a sight I’ll never get tired of seeing.
I can’t help the onslaught of emotion that follows. The tears can’t be contained. I roll to my side when Miller gets up to get rid of the condom, hoping he had enough to drink that he won’t notice that I’m crying, but I have no such luck.
“Andi, baby, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head, trying to wipe the tears, but they’re falling too fast.
Unsatisfied with my answer, he sits up, leans against the old headboard, and pulls me into his chest. He rubs soothing patterns up and down my spine, kisses the top of my head, and lets me cry in his arms. He manages to hang onto me and grab the discarded sheets off the floor to cover us, wrapping us up and warding off the chill of the room.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod my head, but it’s a lie. It makes it worse. How can he do things like that and not expect me to fall in love with him? He promised me when we started this all those months ago that this would be just sex.
It’s not.
It’s messy, dirty, ugly, filthy love.
I’m in love with Miller Ashby.
“Good. Now tell me why you were crying.”
I love you. If I tell you, you’ll run away. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you, but I did. I’m not supposed to love anyone but my husband. You don’t love me.
“I don’t know,” I tell him, burrowing further down into our little nest of blankets.
“Don’t bullshit me, Andi. You promised not to hide things from me. If we need to leave this bed to have the conversation, let’s go.”
He thinks it’s about Charlie. He’s right, in a way, but I can’t tell him that.
“No, it’s not that. I, um,” I start, but stop, taking a few breaths, trying to control the tears that are threatening to come back. “I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed.”
I expect him to press me for more information, but he doesn’t. He grants me the gentlest kiss he’s ever given me. It’s so gentle and pure that my chest hurts from the impact of it.
“I know, baby. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed myself.”
Cue the tears. I bury my face in his chest and let them flow. He lets this go on for a few minutes before asking me something that makes my chest hurt again, but in a much different way.
He places his fingers under my chin, pulling my chin up, whispering, “Is this getting to be too much? Do you want to stop?”
My heart is pounding out of my chest. I close my eyes. I can’t look at his, which are searching mine. “Is that what you want?”
If he says ‘yes’, I may die.
He shakes his head. “Never. I just don’t like seeing you upset.”
“I’ll be fine. I think it’s all the wine. I’m just emotional.”
He kisses my forehead and throws the blankets off of us. “Okay. Just promise me that if you need a break from all this, a break from me, you’ll tell me.”
“I will,” I tell hi
m as he leads us to the bathroom, a sick feeling in my stomach. I don’t know why the night took such a nosedive.
Miller puts me in the tub and gets in behind me, his long legs wrapped around my body. He bathes me with such tenderness and care that I want to let him know how I feel, but I don’t. I’m too scared. We stay in the tub until the water is lukewarm and all our fingers and toes are shriveled. He puts me to bed, slipping me into one of his shirts. He wakes me up in the morning, making slow, lazy love to me before I have to head home and get Charley.
It was perfection.
It was love.
Too bad we’re both too damn scared to admit it.
Chapter Twenty-three
Andi
The semester is in full swing, and I am swamped. I’m consumed with class, homework, papers, projects, observations at our elementary school, study groups, and new friends. Not that I have time for the few friends in my life now, but I’ve met some really cool people. Kellyn and Nick are by far my favorite. Kellyn’s young, a single mom struggling to make ends meet and trying to better herself. Her daughter Molly is a year older than Charley and they love to play together. We take turns watching each other’s girls when we can to give our usual sitters breaks, and it gives the girls a chance to play. Nick’s a few years older than us, and just an all-around good guy. He recently moved back to Fairhope to be close to his parents. I think he’s got a thing for Kellyn, which puts a smile on my face. I hope they can work things out. He’s such a good guy, and she deserves some happiness in her life.
I barely have time to breathe, but I love every second of it. I didn’t realize how much I missed school until I was back in it. I stopped going the day the CACO team showed up at my door to notify me of my husband’s death. I had enough trouble going to class when he was away on a deployment; going to school after he was gone was unimaginable.
I had to quit my job at Page & Palette, but under the condition that they’d let me come back to work holidays and summers if I had the time and they needed the help. I love that little bookstore and hated to leave, but there’s no way I could manage two jobs, Charley, and school. I had to give it up. I couldn’t give up The Shipyard. The money’s better, and nowadays, that’s the only way I get to see Miller. It’s not ideal, but it’s all I have, so I’ll take it.
Miller and I are drifting apart. It’s not intentional, but there’s a space between us, growing bigger and bigger each passing day. I hope and pray every day that it’s a time issue, not a Miller and Andi issue. It’s getting worse since the semester started, but I started to feel it after that epic night I spent at his apartment. I don’t know if he got scared of what’s happening between us, but it’s almost like he’s unconsciously pulling away.
I thought the time apart would help me sort through my feelings for Miller, help me make sense of the emotional battle I fight each day, but it hasn’t. I still don’t know how to process the feelings I’m having. I don’t know if I can allow myself to accept my feelings. I feel like I’m betraying Charlie at every turn, but I can’t just shut off what I feel for Miller, what I crave with Miller.
When I met Charlie, I felt the connection right away. I knew the second I collided with him outside of that bathroom that I would marry him. I was hit with a tidal wave of emotions, one that never waned. I didn’t fight it, didn’t try to swim against the forces pulling me under. I let myself go and allowed it to consume me. It was love, at its most plain and simple level.
My love for Miller snuck up on me, blindsiding me, but its pull is no less strong. It was slow; more like a simple tide than a destructive tidal wave. The thing is, either one can consume you and drown you if you’re not careful. Water is water. They’re both powerful and consuming. I’m fighting the pull right now. I’m trying to figure out how to stop fighting and just let myself drift in Miller’s current. I wish I had the courage to let Miller know what he’s doing to me. Then maybe I could stop fighting and just drift.
I run into the bar, late, of course, but seeing Miller instantly calms me. He pulls up the hinged bar opening and comes around to me, pulling me into his chest. Being in his arms takes down my anxiety a few notches. I can let the stresses from school melt away.
“How was your day, baby?” he asks.
“Crazy, but we finally got our project finished, so I’m done for the weekend.” I just busted ass with Kellyn and Nick so I could try to have at least one night with Miller. I miss him so much.
He pulls his head back and looks down at me. “Done, done? Nothing to work on?”
“Well, not done, done, but nothing major to do. All the big stuff’s out of the way.”
He starts to speak, but we both make a face when we feel his phone buzzing through his pocket. He pulls it out, eyes widening when he sees the screen. I try, unsuccessfully, to hold in a gasp when I see the screen.
Lucy.
“I need to get this,” he says, his voice sounding robotic and detached, as he walks outside.
I’m frozen in place. I don’t know whether I should follow him out there or stay in here and finish setting up the bar, like Lucy calling him in the middle of the afternoon is an ordinary occurrence. Based on the last few times he’s had any sort of contact with her, this isn’t going to be good. That stress that just melted away moments earlier, yeah, it’s back, a thousand fold.
I walk behind the bar, trying to be productive, but I can’t keep my eyes off the windows. He’s out there, pacing back and forth, running his hand through his black hair. Every few minutes he stops and talks, but then he’s back to pacing and his hand is back in his hair. On a good note, the phone isn’t being tossed in the bay or smashed against the pier and he’s not punching walls. Progress.
He finally comes back inside, and I brace for the fallout. His face has changed from carefree to tragic, in the course of the five minute conversation. He doesn’t speak, just moves behind the bar, grabs a glass, and pours a hearty serving of Woodford. He moves back to the other side, sits down in a stool, and throws back half the glass. I let him drink in silence, watching the agony play out on his face. I have no idea what the call was about, but it’s killing me to see him in this much pain. When his hand leaves his hair, I grab it in mine and kiss his knuckles, hoping to soothe away some of his misery.
“It’s Maggie,” he says, his voice tight.
That’s the last thing I thought would come out.
“Maggie?”
“She called Lucy last night; well, around two this morning. She was bleeding and cramping really bad and Finn’s in Ireland dealing with some family stuff. Bennett got her to the hospital and they had to do emergency surgery to deliver the babies.” He stops and swallows the rest of the bourbon. “The babies are holding their own.” He shakes his head, pulling his hand from mine to run it through his hair. “Poor boys don’t even have names yet, because Finn’s trying to get home from Ireland and Maggie won’t wake up.”
I stop breathing for a minute. This girl is like a sister to him. I grab the bourbon from its resting place and pour him another glass. “What do you mean, Miller?” The words are barely audible.
He takes a sip and then looks up at me, his eyes rimmed in red. “She almost died, Andi. It was really bad. If Bennett wouldn’t have gotten there when he did-,” his voice trails off as he scrubs his hands up and down his face. “She’s having trouble waking up from the surgery and whatever caused this to happen in the first place.”
“How’s Lucy doing with all this?” I ask.
“Uh,” he starts, staring down at his glass. “I didn’t ask. She was telling me about the babies. She and her mom have been sitting in the NICU all day since Maggie and Finn can’t be with them. I told her to call me when Maggie wakes up or if anything changes.”
“Do we need to go back to Baton Rouge?” I suddenly remember their adopted little sister and my mother’s instinct kicks in at the thought of her, alone and scared for Maggie and the twins. “Who’s with Ava?”
He looks back up at me,
surprise taking over the angst. “You would do that? Even after last time?”
“Of course.”
He shakes his head and finishes off the last of the Woodford. “Lucy said one of Claire’s friends has Ava. She’s being taken care of. Let’s give it a few days to see what happens. Mags will be fine.” He smiles a devastating smile that relieves some of the pressure in my chest. “She has to be. Maggie’s too damn stubborn not to be.”
I move to his side of the bar, swiveling his stool away from the bar so that I can step between his legs.
“Are you alright?” I ask, searching his face for any indication of a break-down. He just talked to Lucy, for God’s sake.
He kisses my lips, the bourbon overwhelming my senses. “I’m fine, Andi. I’m just worried about Maggie.”
“What can I do?”
“Exactly what you’re doing, baby,” he murmurs into the crown of my head. “And a trip to our field tonight after work. It’s been too long.”
I smile. He’s right. “I can do that.”
He lifts his head from mine, pulling my face up to look at his. “And a sleepover, if someone can keep Charley for you. I want you in my bed tonight, and I want to wake up with you in the morning.”
“I can do that, too. Let me go call Cap,” I say, pulling out of his arms.
I walk back to the office and shut myself inside, under the guise of calling Cappy. I need a minute away from Miller. Cappy was already keeping Charley tonight. I sink down in the chair, my breath coming out in erratic spurts. I don’t know that Miller realizes what just happened. How huge this is. He just had a conversation with Lucy and is fine. There was no fallout. I don’t know if it’s because of the seriousness of the conversation, or if it’s because he’s just not that affected by her anymore. I close my eyes and send up a silent prayer, first and most importantly for Maggie and the babies, and then for Miller. I hope he’s over her. I hope his head catches up to his heart and he realizes that he’s not in love with her anymore.
I get myself under control and leave the office.
The Promise of More: The Home Series, Book Three Page 17
