The Best Next Thing

by Natasha Anders

  Stormy darted through the ajar door leading to Charity’s rooms, and Miles’s pursuit came to an abrupt halt. It was after nine, she usually retired to her side of the house by eight-thirty. Miles had never, ever infringed on her privacy before. In fact, he had no idea what her rooms looked like.

  He stared at the warm light spilling from the doorway into the dark hallway and cocked his head, listening for her inevitable reprimand of Stormy for the intrusion.

  She hadn’t warmed to the friendly pup, rarely acknowledging the dog’s presence or referring to her by name. Miles figured she wasn’t a dog person. He couldn’t imagine her being very impressed with Stormy’s uninvited presence in her rooms. He could hear the faint sounds of music and talking. The television perhaps?

  Shit. What if Stormy peed in Charity’s slippers or something similarly horrid?

  Miles swore beneath his breath. He wondered if he could sneak in, grab the pup, and sneak back out without being spotted?

  He glanced down at himself. He had been in the en suite, stripping for his shower, when he had returned to his room for a fresh razor blade. He had just caught a glimpse of Stormy—the sneak—dashing off with his clean briefs in her mouth, and immediately gave chase. Consequently, he was barefoot and wearing nothing but his unbuttoned jeans. Not quite dressed for company, and he couldn’t imagine what his housekeeper would say if he entered her private quarters naked but for a pair of low riding jeans.

  Still, who knew what Stormy was getting up to in there? He shook his head and, before he even realized his mind had been made up, his feet were carrying him toward the door. He flattened his palm against the wood and slowly pushed it open. The well-oiled hinges didn’t make a sound and he popped his head around to do a quick recon of the area. The door opened into a cozy open-plan kitchen and living room. Charity was seated at the round dining table, her back to the door, laptop open and books spread out in front of her. His eyes darted around the dimly lit room, but Stormy was nowhere in sight.

  That was when he realized that Charity was talking. Her voice was a gentle hum against the backdrop of the jazzy music coming from her laptop, and he strained to hear what she was saying.

  “…so much trouble. I appreciate it, honestly, but you have to stop bringing me these gifts. What would Miles say if he knew of your infidelity?”

  “She’s done this before?” He couldn’t prevent himself from uttering the incredulous question and, sure enough, at the sound of his voice, Stormy’s furry little head popped up over the back of Charity’s sofa.

  As for the woman herself? She gasped in horror, shoved to her feet, and swiveled around to face him.

  She was wearing fuzzy slippers and a thick, comfy looking robe. A pink robe. The soft, feminine color was flattering against her exquisite brown skin. Her hair was bound in a loose, soft braid that framed the oval of her face attractively.

  She was absolutely stunning.

  She had one hand clutched at the neck of her robe, holding the two sides protectively closed, while she stared at him through wide, shocked eyes.

  “M-Mr. Hollingsworth!”

  “Uh uh, none of that now, Mrs. Cole. You’re so busted! Don’t think I didn’t overhear you referring to me as Miles ten seconds ago.”

  Her face bloomed with color, and he suppressed a grin.

  “I’m sorry for intruding, but my dog has absconded with one of my delicate unmentionables. Not for the first time, it would seem.”

  Her full lips twitched, and the almost-smile encouraged him to continue in a similar dry vein. “So, am I to assume that you have an impressive collection of my odd socks and undies?”

  “I do not,” she denied. “I return them every morning while you’re out on your walk.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “These past four nights or so.”

  He sucked a resigned breath in through his clenched teeth while he considered that information. “This is my fault. I’ve been leaving her uncrated while I shower. And she’s always in the room, right where I left her, when I return from the bathroom.”

  “Oh, these visits are usually very fast. She drops her “gift”, begs for a treat, and then dashes back out. I probably shouldn’t have rewarded the behavior. Would I be correct in assuming you thought you’d misplaced the missing items?”

  His eyes dropped to Stormy who had bounded off the couch and was now at his feet, rolling around on her back. She stopped in mid roll and watched him with a comical tilt to her head, mouth open and tongue lolling.

  “Quite,” he said, with a chuckle.

  Charity found it hard to catch her breath with Miles right there, in her private domain. He was shirtless and shoeless, her gaze dropped to those long, masculine bare feet, and she wondered how the hell she could find the sight of his unshod feet so sensuous. Perhaps it was the way his toes kept digging into the plush pile of the rug—as if he were enjoying the texture of it—or maybe she just liked how earthy and approachable it made him seem.

  Her gaze skittered up to his chest and then darted away. In the week since she had seen him in his swim trunks, he had put on even more weight and muscle mass. Those broad shoulders now had more power to them, as did his long, corded arms. And his chest…God, after a week of being around him, having him within touching distance but never allowed to indulge in what was becoming an obsessive need; the urge to pet and stroke every inch of that naked expanse was much stronger in her tonight.

  She watched him all the time. When he was working in the garden, chopping wood, walking with Stormy. She loved seeing him with that dog. He was endlessly patient with the pup. A far cry from the curt, commanding man she had considered him to be in the past.

  And it was bizarre, but the more she looked at him, the less ordinary he appeared. Nothing about him had changed and yet, from one breath to the next, he had transformed into something utterly beautiful. She didn’t understand how it had happened…but now when she looked at him, all she could see was a dangerously attractive man, with striking eyes, strong features, and an irresistible smile.

  Right now, he was using that smile on Stormy who was still on her back, her tongue lolling from her grinning mouth. His eyes, usually so unfathomable were soft with affection.

  “You know you’ve been bad, don’t you, you naughty little bitch? That’s why you’re flirting with me like this.”

  For a shocking moment Charity absolutely believed the words were aimed at her, and she didn’t quite know how to react to them. But good sense reasserted itself seconds later, and she coughed to cover up her irrational misconception.

  The sound drew his notice, and he eyed her curiously.

  “Sorry,” she coughed again, for emphasis, and circled her forefinger in front of her neck. “Ahem, frog in my throat.”

  “Do you need some water?” His eyes were grave with the beginnings of concern.

  “I’m good. Thanks. You never raise your voice at her,” she said, thinking it prudent to change the subject. “Even when she frustrates you or disobeys you.”

  “Of course not,” he responded, sounding shocked. The thought of raising his voice to the dog had clearly never occurred to him. “That would scare her.”

  Such a simple answer. And yet it said so much about his character.

  His eyes roamed around her small home again, and landed on her textbooks and notepad on the kitchen table. She had been studying when Stormy had bounded into the room.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Paperwork,” she lied. This was too personal, something she hadn’t shared even with her family. But she had kept up with her studies, and continued to pay for her practice number, in the hopes that she could one day step into the career that she had abandoned in favor of Blaine.

  “Paperwork?”

  “Yes.” She hoped he would respect the finality in her voice and not probe any further.

  “Okay.” A long pause before he dislodged some of the gravel in his throat and refocused his attention t
o the snoozing dog on the floor. “Come on, Monster Mutt, it’s bedtime. I’m sorry for the intrusion, Charity.”

  Her throat went dry at the sound of her name in that quiet, gruff voice but this time she didn’t protest his use of it. There was no point in clinging to that extra layer of decorum. It had been hard enough thinking of him as Mr. Hollingsworth before his dog began bringing her his underwear as gifts.

  “I didn’t mind,” she said, feeling her lips tilt upward in a small smile. It had been so long since she had smiled spontaneously that the movement felt unfamiliar. “She was just being friendly.”

  “I didn’t think you liked her. Well, dogs in general actually.”

  “I like dogs. But I didn’t think it was prudent to become too attached to her. In case you changed your mind.”

  There was a short, awkward silence and Charity wondered if she had offended him.

  “Why would I change my mind?”

  “You’re a busy man. I thought maybe, after you had time to think about it, you’d decide you didn’t have the time for a puppy

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I’ve come to appreciate that. And I apologize for the unfair assumption.”

  He looked uncomfortable and acknowledged her apology with a curt nod. He bent to scoop Stormy up, and Charity felt a pang of envy as the dog snuggled against that strong, beautiful, naked chest.

  “Have a good night, Charity.”

  “You too.”

  He turned to leave, but Charity spotted the abandoned cotton boxer briefs on her sofa and grabbed them without thinking.

  “Miles.”

  He whirled around at the sound of his name. His intense gaze honed in on her face.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t forget these.” His eyes dropped to her hand and his cheeks actually flushed.

  “Christ,” he muttered, and yanked the underwear from her hand. “I’m so sorry. Truly. They’re clean, I put them out to wear after my shower.”

  “You do know that I do your laundry, right?” He seemed so charmingly flustered that she couldn’t resist teasing him. He shot her an appalled look, his face a study in consternation and mortification.

  “Fuck…I…goodnight.”

  “Goodnight…sir.” Oh, she was feeling so damned brave. She already knew that this blushing, near naked man, with the puppy clutched to his chest didn’t scare her. And now she was testing the limits of her courage by teasing him. She couldn’t remember the last time she had teased a man. Or just enjoyed being around one.

  “Watch it, Mrs. Cole. Or I may ask you to teach me how to make pancakes tomorrow.”

  “I can do that.” The impulsive words were out before she could stop them. But when she considered them, she recognized that she was happy enough with the offer. She was even looking forward to it.

  “You can?”

  “Sure. But not tomorrow.”

  “Oh yes, because of the cleaning service, right?”

  The cleaning service would be in for their fortnightly visit tomorrow. And they would probably stay all day. Charity had already informed Miles that his breakfast would have to be a hit and run affair in the morning.

  “I thought, if it’s a nice day, I’d take Stormy to the beach,” he said. “Would you like to join us?”

  “I have to oversee the cleaning staff.” She didn’t really have to, because they were employed by an independent company, and would have their usual on-site supervisor accompanying them. Charity always felt superfluous when they were here. They were so fast, efficient, and reliable.

  In fact, she usually took the day off when they were scheduled to come.

  “Let me know if you change your mind. Stormy and I would both enjoy your company.”

  He left before she could reply.

  Bacon, one egg—sunny side up—mushrooms, and toast. Aside from the hot breakfast awaiting him at his usual spot in the kitchen the following morning, there was no sign of Charity.

  Miles tried not to be disappointed by her absence and sat to have his solitary breakfast. He didn’t know why he had expected to see her this morning. Perhaps because last night had felt like a breakthrough in their odd relationship. A tacit acknowledgment that perhaps they were ready to explore the limits of what they could say and do to each other.

  But—if not for his plan to go to the beach—this day would probably have followed the usual pattern. Breakfast alone, spend time with Stormy, chat with Amos, try to engage Charity in conversation. And fail. Walk and lunch alone. Watch Charity clean the kitchen, offer to help. Get rejected.

  End of part one.

  Listen to one of his recently purchased audiobooks, try to convince Charity to watch some television with him. Fail again. Play with Stormy, swim, contact his siblings and mother, have dinner. Alone. Bedtime.

  End of part two.

  Rinse and repeat.

  He had come here for the isolation and had resigned himself to the tedium that was bound to accompany that isolation. At least Stormy offered a welcome respite to that tedium. He shouldn’t want more. But he did. And he had since the moment he had set eyes on Charity stripped of her armor that first night.

  But that wasn’t her problem, it was his. And he should respect her desire for solitude and let her do her job without interference. God knew, he was trying, but every so often—like last night—he felt like she enjoyed his company, that she was as intrigued by him as he was by her.

  And the confusing signals were driving him fucking crazy.

  At least today, thanks to the rare crisp and clear day with which the weather gods had gifted them, he was looking forward to something a little different. Stormy’s first visit to the beach.

  He would drive himself, not something he often did, but he had been keen on trying out his Land Rover on some of the challenging off-road terrain. He sighed, put Charity firmly out of his mind, and finished his breakfast.

  It’s just a day at the beach. You deserve a day off. Be brave…

  Be brave.

  She had been so proud of herself last night. Proud because she had borderline flirted with her employer.

  How had she become this person? This timid woman, who considered a mild bit of flirting daring. She, who had once lived for her next thrill. Her parents had been so happy when their wild child had settled into her perfect life, with her perfect husband.

  Now here she stood listening while Miles’s voice drifted farther away as he headed to the garage with Stormy. He was conversationally telling the dog all about the day he had in store for them, and Charity’s body leaned toward the closing door as she listened to him speak.

  She had stepped into the kitchen just as he and Stormy were exiting through the basement door, and she had wavered. Part of her eager to go after them, but the other—terrified—part urging her to stay put and not risk opening herself up even further to him.

  He was her boss, he was too disturbingly attractive…He could hurt her. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically.

  Let him go.

  …

  No. Be brave, Charity.

  “Do you two have room for one more?”

  Miles sucked in a quiet, relieved breath at the sound of the hesitant voice behind him, and he schooled his features into rigid neutrality before turning to face her.

  “A-always.” The word stumbled over his suddenly numb tongue as he took in the familiar, yet wholly unfamiliar, sight of the woman who had begun to occupy his every waking thought.

  She was wearing a pair of snug, faded jeans and a black and red plaid shirt over a white tank top. She had a down jacket flung over one arm, and her unbound hair was streaming over her shoulders, down her back, to her waist. It was everywhere. A gorgeous curtain of silky, messy tresses. A slouchy red beanie futilely attempted to tame the mass, but all it did was give her a bohemian appeal. She was wearing red gloves and dark brown hiking boots on her feet.

  Stormy gave a happy whine at the sight of Charity, and Miles cast a wry look at his dog.
r />   You and me both, girl!

  He was so fucking pleased to see her. He yanked open the passenger door before she could change her mind and she offered him a grateful smile before climbing into the cabin.

  Miles shut the door behind her and turned away to compose himself. He felt like a teenage boy on his first date, terrified he would do or say something to offend her or scare her off. Or just plain humiliate himself.

  He placed Stormy into the doggy booster seat he had purchased—along with a shit ton of other pet paraphernalia—once he had been able to get into town again.

  “So where are we headed?” she asked, as he climbed into the driver’s side.

  “I thought we could go to the beach in Riversend, close to the river mouth. I hear it’s nice there.”

  “Klein Bekkie? It’s very beautiful. You’ve never been?”

  “No. Vicki and Hugh have gone a few times, and they always talk about how untamed it is. And how great the surf is. I’ve seen pictures, it looks like a long stretch of beach, perfect for walking. I thought it would be a great place to focus on Stormy’s recall.”

  He felt like he was chattering inanely, but she seemed interested.

  “What do you mean, her ‘recall’?”

  “Getting her to return to me on command. According to the research I’ve done, it’s a fundamental training tool. And important especially in emergencies. I mean, take last night as an example, I would have been able to stop her in her tracks with just a word.”

  And if he had, they would not be here this morning. So he couldn’t quite regret Stormy’s embarrassing invasion of her room last night.

  “Think she’s ready for that?” Charity cast a doubtful glance over her shoulder at the dog.

  “She’s the right age for it. And she’s clever enough to get it pretty quickly.” He didn’t want to sound too smug, but he was sure his dog was a genius.

  “I haven’t been to Klein Bekkie in a while,” she said, after a short pause. “It’s quiet during winter—usually just joggers, surfers, and kite surfers around. Oh, and anglers. The fishing is pretty good there. Especially at this time of year. There will probably be some other people walking their dogs as well.”