Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
We have to move on with our own lives.
Just not with each other.
It’s bittersweet when I finally have the time and space to hear myself think.
It’s what I’ve needed since he had his change of heart, but knowing he’s given up on us rattles my head.
The finality of it stings so deep.
The next day, there’s a break in the blustery winds and rain. I’m taking my dogs on a walk on our usual path along the beach and then into town.
We’re about to turn around the block when Benson comes out of the general store and waves at me, holding the door.
I wave back out of instinct. But should I turn around?
Oh, no.
If Benson is here, his boss is probably close by.
I take a deep breath and suck it up.
If we’re both determined to stay in this little town as neighbors, we’re going to see each other. And one day, I’m bound to see him with another woman.
That will be a lot worse.
The dark thought puts a lump in my throat so big I can’t breathe.
But I can’t spend my life running, and seeing Miles now and then feels like good practice for what’s coming.
Sure enough, I see him walking out of the general store a second later.
I almost smile before I catch myself.
His arms are bursting with canvases and art supplies. It’s impressive that he just keeps painting his way through everything that’s happened. Or maybe he’s just starting again?
My heart sinks because I’ll never find out.
There was a time when I didn’t have to guess what was going on in his life.
But I made my decision, didn’t I?
Still, Coffee spots him and takes off in a mad dash. Cream is right behind him, belting out loud yips.
I tighten my grip on the leashes and use my body weight to pull them back. As if I have the strength to hold almost two hundred pounds of combined Doberman insanity.
“No, no, guys—heel!”
They jerk to a stop—barely—still straining on their leashes with intense looks and wagging tails.
Miles meets my eyes. His mouth opens.
God, he’s so beautiful.
He’s going to say something, and whatever it is it will leave me a sobbing mess.
With the leashes still twined tightly around my hand, I yank the dogs toward me and run back the way I came.
Yep.
Still addicted.
I can’t get caught up in him again.
Even if I gave in and told him I love every part of him, there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t change his mind again.
No promise he’d ever accept me, understand me, and try to build a life for us.
Right now, it’s a chase.
A game he’s losing, and billionaire beasts as driven as Miles Cromwell hate accepting defeat.
Once I’ve admitted I’m still in love with him, he’s won.
He’ll need to find a new game.
I can’t take that kind of heartbreak again.
Back at home, I draw a hot bath, down some more wine—don’t worry, I’ve started limiting myself to two glasses at a time—and doze off among the bubbles with my head propped up.
When I open my eyes, I’m back on Miles’ yacht.
We’re in warm waters. The high sun feels almost tropical.
He steals me away to the master cabin without uttering a word.
There’s a familiar nude picture of me on the wall, but there’s a curtain over it.
“Nothing will ever do you justice in the flesh,” he growls before he kisses me. “Fuck, kitten. You’ve kept me waiting forever.”
I don’t resist as he pushes me against the wall and devours me, each heady stroke of his tongue reaching down inside me.
He sets me on fire like no one ever will.
When I blink, we’re still in his bed, and we’re not making love.
The sex is over.
Shame.
But Miles cradles me, peppering my neck with tender kisses, raking his stubble against my skin like he’s marking me. The sensation makes me giggle, but the whole moment is sweeter than chocolate.
Then he places his hand over my stomach and asks, “Should we go?”
I don’t understand.
Not until I take a deep breath and look down. The usual chonkyness around my belly is more like a proper balloon.
Holy shit, I’m—
“Maybe. I’m not sure,” I answer.
“I vote go, kitten. If I’m wrong, they’ll send us home. But I’d feel better if we went to the hospital.” He helps me up.
That’s when I wake up with tears in my eyes, mourning everything that might’ve been, and all the things that will never be.
Screw the two-glass rule.
Miles effing Cromwell, why did you have to send me away that day?
Why couldn’t you have just let me in, let me help, and proved you get me?
The irony is I ended up helping anyway, and he knows how much I helped him.
How much does a good deed matter if we’re both miserable?
Sometimes, I forget this is a game.
But I’m starting to wish everything that’s happened ever since Gram died was just a bittersweet dream.