“Anything?” she questions in a sultry, honeyed tone. The playful flirting immerges quickly, and her eyes sparkle with mischief. The air is thick with swirling desire, so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Closing the distance between us, I murmur, “That’s what I said, Mila. I’m yours.” My tone is low and gruff against her ear. “So, you’re welcome to take what you need.”
The promise is so evident, so fucking clear what I want and need from her. Chill bumps dot her smooth skin, and I can’t help the smirk that lifts the side of my mouth.
“I’ll remember that, Uncle Grayson,” she murmurs so quietly I would have missed it if we weren’t so close. I step away, and just like that, the spell is broken.
“Good girl.” I step past her, strolling into my walk-in closet, and retrieve a pair of boxers. When Gabe told me we’d be working together more often, he offered me space in one of the guest rooms. Being so close to Mila was a perk, and I didn’t refuse when he told me I could move some of my things in.
Awareness prickles my skin the moment I straighten to full height. I know she’s still close. Dropping the towel, I step into my underwear, and a faint, audible gasp comes from behind me, and I realize she was closer than I thought.
I turn slowly, hoping to catch her in the act, but when my gaze lands on the door, it’s empty. She must have scurried off after getting an eyeful, and I can’t stop the satisfied chuckle that rumbles through my chest.
Chapter 3
Mila
Jesus, his ass.
Fuck.
Oh. My. God.
As soon as I’m in the safety of my bedroom, I lean against the door and try to calm my heart rate. I don’t know if he knew I was there, but my feet were cemented, and as much as I wanted to run, I couldn’t. His body looked like it was carved out of marble. Thick, muscled thighs, an ass you could probably bounce a quarter off, and his back chiseled to panty-melting perfection.
He’s your uncle, Mila.
Well, step-uncle, if that’s even a thing.
As much as that mantra replays itself in my head, I can’t stop the dirty thoughts of him from running through my mind. A knock at my door jolts me from the images.
“Sweetheart, you ready?” His deep, gruff voice calls to me.
“Yes, I’ll be out in a minute,” I respond, hoping to have a moment to myself.
“Okay, I’ll be in the kitchen. Don’t be too long. I need to get going.”
“Yes, Grayson . . .” I drag out his name, which earns me a chuckle, and I’m sure he’s shaking his head at me.
Even though I have a physical reaction to him, it’s also my heart that seems to be aching each time I see him with someone else. I can’t love him. I mean, of course, he’s family, and I love that he’s around, but . . . Can I really fall in love with a man I can’t have?
Grabbing my phone and purse, I make my way down to the kitchen to find him drinking his coffee. “I’m ready when you are. Where’s Dad?”
Lifting his gaze, he corners me with those deep, chocolate pools. God, how I would love to drown in them. “He’s getting ready now. He’ll meet me at the office,” he responds quickly before downing the last of his drink and grabbing his keys and wallet. As we head out to the car, I can’t help dragging my gaze over the way his shirt hugs his chiseled torso.
When he’s working with Dad, he’s styled with formal dress shirts and suits, along with a tie that always matches his handkerchief in the breast pocket of his jacket. However, when he’s on a night out, it’s an experience in itself to see him in jeans and T-shirts that always seem to be painted on his muscular body.
He pulls out of the driveway in silence. Something in the air has the hairs on the nape of my neck raised in anticipation. Reaching over, I turn on the radio, hoping the music will drown out the silence.
“I want to get a tattoo.” The confession spills from my lips, and I turn my inquisitive gaze to his. He doesn’t flinch, eyes trained on the road ahead.
“And what is it you’d like inked on your skin forever, sweetheart?” he questions with an indifferent tone.
I shrug. “I want something small. Nothing over the top, since Dad would kill me.” I smirk playfully at the thought of having the tattoo on me forever.
“And when you’re tired of having it, then you’ll want it removed,” he responds confidently, but still doesn’t meet my gaze. “Where did you plan on getting this tattoo?”
“It’s a surprise. I think I’ll get it today.” Lifting my chin, I inform him of my decision, waiting on a reaction which doesn’t come. All he does is nod.