"You could say that."
He lifts me, taking me into his arms and carrying me over the sand. My ear is against his chest, and I can hear his steady heartbeat. Whatever this is, I need it tonight.
He lays me on the passenger seat and presses his lips against my cheek. He looks at me like he knows I'm awake. "I was considering fucking you in that lifeguard stand."
"You should know that I hate you."
"I know." He slides into the driver's seat. "My uncle's place is nearby, but he's not around. I'm going to take you there."
I close my eyes and listen to the air rushing through the moonroof. I feel nothing except the soft vibrations of the car. Then Miles's arms are around me. His hands are pressed into my thigh. My head is against his shoulders. My body fits into his perfectly, even more perfectly than when we have sex.
We're in a strange house, up the stairs, in a bedroom. It feels like a guest room. It's clean and untouched. The bed is even made.
Miles lays me down and undresses me. He does it slowly. His fingertips linger on my skin.
Even though his touch is more sweet than sexual, I burn up with need. My blouse is gone. Then my skirt. I'm still in my bra and panties. That won't do. This feeling, this pain won't do. I need him with me, comforting me, erasing everything else.
I unhook my bra and slide it off my shoulders. His eyes pass over my body, but he doesn't touch me.
"Please," I say. "It can be quick."
He shakes his head. "It won't make you feel better. Trust me. I've tried."
He's wrong. I push my panties to my ankles and kick them off. Miles's eyes are glued to me. He's under my thumb but only enough to watch. Not enough to give me what I want.
I spread my legs and sprawl over the bed in an obvious invitation.
He climbs in next to me, placing his body behind mine. "I'm not fucking you." He slides his arm around my waist. "If you ask again, I'm leaving."
"Why?"
"Because if you ask two more times, I'll say yes, and that isn't happening." He runs his fingers through my hair. "Go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."
He's wrong again. I'll feel worse in the morning. Rosie will still be gone. And I'll still be heavy from the loss.
"If I feel worse, will you fuck me in the morning?" I ask.
He nods. "Sounds fair."
I melt around him. He pulls me closer.
I'm not going to cry on his shoulder. He's not going to fall in love with me.
But he's in bed with me, holding me.
It feels so fucking good, him holding me.
Like we're confidants. Like we're lovers. Like we're going to share every ugly thing in our hearts.
Chapter Thirteen
I wake up alone.
He's gone. The other side of the bed is cold. He's been gone for hours.
I'm in a stranger's house, in a strange, lifeless room.
At least the view is amazing—a long stretch of the deep blue Pacific Ocean and the backyard just below the window. It's straight off a postcard. Aqua pool. Lush garden. Bright yellow sun.