The Best Next Thing

by Natasha Anders

  Miles looked up and sure enough his naughty little shit of a dog was standing a few yards away, staring at them with a quizzical tilt of her head.

  “Sit down,” Charity commanded him. “She’ll come to us.”

  It went against his every instinct not to go after the pup, but when Charity sat down, grabbed his hand, and tugged him onto the sand beside her, he was unable to resist. Both because her hand felt amazing in his and because he literally didn’t have the strength.

  Charity was on her butt with her knees bent and spread, the backpack tucked between her thighs. She opened the top and rummaged inside before producing a couple of Granny Smith apples.

  Miles accepted the one she offered him. She scrounged some more and found an extra bottle of water, which she uncapped and took a thirsty gulp from.

  Stormy inched closer.

  “Ignore her,” Charity advised. She took a hearty bite from her apple and made a “yummy” sound while she chewed. It was meant to entice the dog and in no way supposed to be sexy, and yet Miles found himself mildly turned on by the throaty sounds and the way she was smacking her lips. He was unabashedly staring at her, enjoying the unintentionally erotic way she chewed and swallowed that damned fruit. Loving how every few seconds she had to brush her hair from her face. Worshiping the curve of her cheek and the smooth, silky looking expanse of her throat. Adoring how great she smelled and wishing he could bury his nose in the hollow of her throat and just inhale.

  She was focused on Stormy, but Miles—content now that he knew his dog wasn’t running for the hills—was entirely absorbed by Charity.

  He was so captivated that it was a shock when she swung that sultry, dark gaze toward him and caught him staring. The smiled faded from her full lips and her wide eyes bounced back and forth between his before they dropped to his mouth.

  She licked her lips. And Miles suppressed a shudder and bit back a groan of longing. Not taking his eyes from hers, he leaned toward her until their lips were a mere hairsbreadth apart—and then waited. Giving her the choice…praying he wasn’t reading her wrong but not wanting to assume. Not when his position as her employer gave him so much authority over her. This had to be her choice and, if her decision went contrary to what he wanted, he had to respect that.

  She lifted her free hand to palm his cheek, and his breath hitched in his chest. Her thumb ran back and forth over the edge of his jaw, abrading on his two-day-old stubble.

  “I’ve never seen you unshaven before this stay.” Her voice was contemplative and didn’t give him any indication of her feelings. But right now all he could focus on was the delicate brush of her lips against his as she formed the words.

  “I…” The word emerged on an embarrassing, throaty rumble, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. “I’m trying something new.”

  “A beard?”

  “Piracy.”

  Her lips parted on a delighted smile and without any warning she bridged the infinitesimal gap between his mouth and hers and kissed him. Her mouth was soft and tart from the apple but still the sweetest damned thing he had ever tasted.

  He made an anguished sound that he didn’t recognize as his voice, and his hand went up to cup her neck just below her ear. He waited, wanting to see what she would do next, but she kept the kiss light and innocent. He didn’t want innocent, he wanted to be the fucking pirate he had jokingly referred to earlier. He wanted to plunder, pillage, and pursue. He wanted to ravage her mouth with his and leave no doubt as to his intentions.

  But he reined it in, sensing that she needed a lighter hand. He didn’t want to ruin the possibility of more with her.

  She sighed softly, the sound laden with a sadness that confused him. Alarmed him. Why would she be sad? Yes, this was less than he wanted, but it was also so much more than he’d expected. Didn’t it mean the same to her? Was that why she sounded so damned desolate.

  She drew back and shifted away from him. The movement was small but deliberate. Where before there hadn’t been space to squeeze an envelope between them; now the air circulating in the chasm she had placed between their bodies felt ice cold.

  Miles couldn’t take his eyes off her. With her arms caging her bent knees, and her hands clasped tightly together, she appeared to have closed herself off both physically and emotionally. And it was frustrating to witness.

  She stared at the ocean. Not acknowledging him, or what had just happened between them.

  Stormy whined and Miles looked at the puppy who was sitting with her back to the water and watching them. More specifically—ravenously eyeing the apple core that Miles had dropped in the sand when Charity had kissed him. He picked up the sandy core and dropped it into a poop bag, before looking at the dog again.

  “Come,” he called, snapping his fingers to punctuate the command, and Charity made a soft snorting sound. His eyes jerked back to her face and—even though she was still gazing at the ocean—that smile was back. Relieved that she still seemed to be in good spirits, he waited for Stormy to obey him, before refocusing his attention on Charity.

  “What’s funny?” he asked, lifting Stormy into his lap and fluffing her ears affectionately.

  “I’ll tell you some other time,” she said.

  “When?”

  “When I think the time is right.”

  Well, what the fuck did that mean?

  “Do you enjoy being an enigma?” He tried to sound teasing, but instead the note fell flat, and he sounded curt and a little resentful instead. That was all it took to chase the smile from her lips.

  She looked at him, her eyes somber. “No. And I don’t want to be considered a challenge either. A fun trophy to hunt.”

  “Is that what you think is happening here?”

  “I’m not sure what’s happening here, I’m merely telling you what I hope it’s not.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “We’ll see.” She pushed to her feet and stepped away from him to dust sand from the seat of her jeans. “I thought you were going to work on that naughty dog’s recall. And if what happened earlier is any indication, she definitely needs it.”

  He supposed that meant the subject was closed.

  For now.

  Stormy was being a brat. Charity tried not to laugh at Miles’s comical frustration as he tried his best to teach the puppy to “sit” and “stay”. She sat like a champ, but “stay” was a problem. She seemed to know exactly what Miles wanted and stayed put about 50 percent of the time. But the instant anything more interesting came along, she took off in pursuit.

  Thus far; she had been diverted by a tangle of rotting seaweed, chased a flock of seagulls, and followed a crab into the waves only to run away in shock when the water had “chased” her. The latter, of course, had resulted in a fun—for her—game of keep away with the waves.

  Miles appeared both exasperated and entertained by her. More often than not, he had an amused grin on his face while he was issuing half-hearted commands or reprimands.

  Charity couldn’t take her eyes off him. But whenever he glanced over at her, she shifted her attention to the puppy, not wanting to be caught staring. She liked watching him. With his unruly, windswept black hair, and his dark stubble, despite the faded jeans and that dark blue hoodie, he definitely resembled the pirate he had jokingly claimed to be earlier.

  Her fingers—the same ones which had so enjoyed stroking his prickly stubble—lifted to trace her still tingling lips. She knew that he had wanted more than that soft kiss, but he hadn’t made any protest when she had moved away from him.

  She contemplated the kiss. She had liked his lips; curved, firm and smooth, she had enjoyed how mobile they had felt beneath hers. She had daringly traced the seam of his mouth with her tongue, but he hadn’t taken it as an invitation to stick his tongue down her throat. He had merely allowed her to explore as she pleased.

  But she regretted not taking the time to discover more. She still wanted to touch the chest that so fascinated her, wanted to feel
his weight on top of her, and his thighs between hers…her nipples hardened at the exciting thought. And she very nearly forgot herself and touched them.

  Her breathing accelerated, and the long-neglected inner walls of her pussy tightened in anticipation. She wanted to feel him there. Inside her. Hard. Hot. She wanted him above her…No better; beneath her, and she wanted him to command her to come. In that deep, controlled voice.

  The thought of it excited her, thrilled her. But also terrified her. How could she be so helplessly aroused at the thought of allowing any man such control over her again?

  How dare you touch yourself while you’re sucking my cock, you little whore? I didn’t say you could come!

  She was nearly overwhelmed by the surge of nausea that hit her at the uninvited, repulsive memory. And she shuddered in all-consuming horror.

  Her burgeoning arousal was immediately dampened.

  She could never again trust anyone to have such absolute dominion over her mind, body, and soul.

  Never again.

  Stormy’s shrill barking wrenched her from her horrific recollections, and she looked up to see what had stirred the pup into such a frenzy. Charity recognized the huge scarred dog—a boxer—before she even registered the jogger who had stopped to shake hands with Miles.

  Stormy, showing more wisdom than Charity would ever have given her credit for, dove behind Miles legs and barked at the man and dog from between his calves. The boxer, so much more well-behaved than the pup stared off into the distance, ignoring everyone around him, while his owner—Charity’s self-defense instructor—Sam Brand, shook Miles’s hand.

  “Hey, I heard you were in town,” Sam said by way of greeting. Not even a hint of wind in his voice to indicate that he’d just been full on running over sand dunes.

  “Yes, I arrived a couple of weeks ago. Stormy, sit!”

  Shockingly the pup obeyed and stopped barking, but she continued to voice the occasional kittenish growl at Sam’s dog, Trevor. The larger dog tossed her a disdainful glance before looking away again.

  “Sorry, Sam, she’s a former stray. Showed up in the middle of a storm. I’ve been attempting to train her. With limited success.”

  “That’s okay, Trevor is used to little dogs with Napoleon complexes. He won’t hurt her. Training takes time and patience. The veterinary practice offers puppy training and socialization classes on Wednesdays if you’re interested.”

  “I might look into that. Dr. McGregor, right?”

  “That’s the one. He’s my future father-in-law.”

  The familiarity between the two men surprised Charity. She hadn’t realized that they were this well acquainted. They were both English, maybe it was an expat thing?

  “Sam, I take it you know Charity?” Miles asked, and Charity, who had been hovering about a yard away, nodded and smiled awkwardly when both men looked at her.

  The two men were similar in height, both a couple of inches under six feet. But while Sam was blond and sported a healthy tan, Miles was dark and—even though he wasn’t nearly as pale as he had been two weeks ago—still had residual sickbed pallor. The winter sun had added some color to his face, and Charity was once again struck by how much healthier he looked.

  “Of course, I know her. She’s my star pupil. How’re you doing, Charity? We missed you these last few sessions. You know how much everybody enjoys watching you kick Grey’s butt.”

  Greyson Chapman—still quite new to town—was the other instructor.

  “Pupil?” Miles asked, his brows beetling.

  “Self-defense,” Sam said. “We do a combination of MMA, Muay Thai, boxing, and Krav Maga. Any rough and ready way to get a woman out of a nasty situation really. Charity has a real knack for it.”

  “That’s what you meant by those special Wednesday classes?” Miles watched Charity closely, and she fought hard to keep a discomfited flush at bay. She preferred to keep her private business, private.

  “Yes.”

  “So not Tae Bo?”

  “Tae Bo?” Sam laughed, sounding genuinely amused by Miles’s incorrect assumption. “She’s taken a real shine to MMA in particular and could probably kick your arse in about seventy-five different ways.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.” The admiration in Miles’s voice flustered her. She couldn’t remember the last time anybody had sounded so proud of her. Not even her family. Lately all she got from her parents or sister was disappointment and confusion. Not that she could blame them. Blaine had ruined everything, even her relationships with her family.

  Sam’s next question—aimed at Miles—jerked her right back into the present, “How are you doing after your brush with death?”

  The dramatic turn of phrase startled Charity. She knew he had spent some time in the ICU but, despite that, it had never occurred to her that he could have died from his illness. She found the possibility more than a little distressing.

  “Fuck off, it was hardly a brush with death, Brand.”

  “Weeks in ICU, hooked up to machines? That sounds pretty dire to me.”

  “Who the hell told you that?”

  “In my line of work, information is power, my friend.”

  “And in my line of work a rumor like that can, and will, result in plummeting stock prices and nervous shareholders.”

  “Fortunately for you, it wasn’t common knowledge.”

  “I commissioned Tyler to guard Vicki, not to divulge my private information to you.” Miles sounded only mildly annoyed. In fact, he sounded amused. Blaine would have considered something like this a humiliating breach in confidentiality. And then he would have gone home and taken his anger out on Charity.

  “Tyler would never leak a client’s business to anyone. Not even to me. You know that’s not how we operate. I have other means.”

  “I was ill,” Miles confirmed, with a dismissive shrug. “I’m here to recuperate. And I left the company in capable hands.”

  “Your brother’s?”

  “Jesus, no. Bryan’s. Hugh is assisting him. They’ve got it covered.”

  “You’ve been calling them every day, haven’t you?” Sam asked, on a laugh, and Miles grinned.

  “I speak with Bryan once a week but after a very brief, uninformative update, he starts talking about his fucking golf swing or his tennis serve. He knows I find both sports tedious and will do anything to avoid hearing about them.”

  “Good for him.”

  “Yeah, even my assistant won’t tell me anything other than ‘it’s all fine’.”

  Sam laughed again. “How’s Tyler working out?”

  “Swimmingly, if the amount of complaining Vicki has done since he’s started is anything to go by.”

  “That’s my boy.” Sam nodded. “Listen, my fiancée, Lia, would have my balls if I don’t invite you around for dinner sometime. She’s been on me to give you a call since she heard you were in town. She’s keen to meet you. Charity, I know she’d love it if you joined us as well.”

  The latter seemed tacked on as an afterthought, and Charity smiled politely and uttered a noncommittal sound in response to the invitation. She would not be joining them for dinner. How would that even work? She was on nodding acquaintance with Lia McGregor and on friendly but impersonal terms with Sam. And Miles was her boss. It would be awkward as hell. What would they talk about?

  She was saved from a proper response by Stormy. The pup, emboldened by the fact that Trevor appeared wholly disinterested in her, ventured out from behind Miles’s legs and confidently trotted up to the bigger dog for a sniff.

  When she couldn’t reach his butt, she went onto her hind legs in an attempt to make his acquaintance in the time-honored canine way. Trevor, realizing what was happening at his rear, turned smartly to face her.

  Stormy yelped and fell over backward before scuttling back behind Miles’s legs.

  Both Sam and Miles hooted at the pup’s antics but Charity was, once again, captivated by the way the laughter transformed Miles’s face. The lines and
angles shifted attractively; previously smooth surfaces wrinkled and creased, the dimple deepened, his teeth, so white and straight, contrasted strikingly against the dark stubble.

  She fell a little bit in like with her boss in that moment, and the consequences of that recognition alarmed her.

  He and Sam were shaking hands again and Charity, still shaken by her revelation, automatically smiled when Sam told he’d see her soon.

  “Let’s go, Trev,” he called to the dog and, with a final wave, took off at a breakneck speed over the dunes.

  Stormy started to give chase but skidded to a halt and tumbled butt over head when Miles uttered a sharp, “No! Stay!”

  He slanted a disbelieving look at Charity before lavishly praising the dog for her obedience and giving her a treat.

  “I didn’t think she’d listen,” he admitted.

  “I think your tone of voice shocked her into obedience,” Charity said, with a laugh.

  “Too sharp?”

  “It worked.”

  “Let’s head back. I think she’s flagging.” He raised his eyebrows at her before lifting his shoulders with a sheepish smile. “And I know I’m flagging a lot.”

  She liked that he was confident enough in his masculinity to admit to that.

  “You’re able to walk a lot farther now than when you first arrived. It’s pretty impressive how fast you’re recovering.”

  “Glad you’re impressed. I feel like it’s taking fucking forever to get back to normal.”

  “You have to be patient.”

  “Patience has never been my strength. I’m an instant gratification kind of guy.”

  Somehow, she doubted that. It took patience to build a business from scratch into a multimillion-pound organization. He had to be patient to be a father figure to his much younger siblings and still keep their love and respect. It took a boatload of perseverance to maintain his good humor and affection while dealing with a mischievous puppy. And he had shown admirable restraint earlier, when he had so clearly wanted to kiss her, but had waited for her to make the first move.