Page 32 of Deception & Daylight (Oak Ridge #3)

Mags

? You Should Probably Leave - Chris Stapleton

I smooth my hands down the long, pastel floral skirt then fix the knot in the side of my plain white tee.

The floral scent of my shampoo hits me as I adjust the clip sweeping half of my hair off my face, leaving the rest down in loose waves.

After a quick glimpse in the mirror, I slip on my white sneakers and head down the stairs.

Lucy is snuggled up on the loveseat in the sitting room with Dr. Nate, a tea tray propped on the coffee table.

She glances at me through the double doors, smiling softly.

I lift my hand in a wave, lingering long enough to see her rest her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh.

A gust of wind ruffles my hair when I step out onto the porch. Miles is standing at the end of the cobblestone walkway leaning against his black truck, ankles crossed, and muscled forearms bulging beneath a light blue henley as he scrolls absently on his phone.

I’m near ly suffocated by the sheer, unadulterated awe in his expression when he looks up at me.

He looks at me like I’m something precious, and that thought is absolutely terrifying.

But then he gives me that all too familiar smirk and all the tension dissipates.

“Your chariot awaits,” he says, opening the passenger door.

“Such a gentleman.”

“For now.”The combination of his gruff voice and the promise of what’s to come sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through my veins as I climb into his truck.

Once I’m securely buckled in, he closes the door and hops into the driver’s seat. The radio blares to life, and he grimaces, scrambling to adjust the volume. “Sorry, I always forget to turn it down before I get out.”

“Fuck it. I love this song,” I twist the knob back so it drowns out all the noise and before I know it, we’re barreling down the back roads with the windows rolled down, screaming the lyrics at the top of our lungs.

With the wind whipping through my hair, a sense of freedom washes over me.

Miles flashes me a beaming smile that nearly melts my panties.

It’s so easy to forget everything that happened between us when he looks at me like that.

When we pull up to the lake, he backs up to an overlook near the shoreline and puts it in park. “Wait right here.”

He disappears around back, and curiosity gets the better of me.

I swivel in my seat, catching sight of him through the back windshield where he’s standing in the truck bed, preparing a pallet of blankets and pillows.

With pursed lips and a quirk in his brow, he gestures for me to turn back around.

I begrudgingly obey, fidgeting in my seat as the rising tide of anticipation consumes me.

Several agonizing minutes later, my door is thrown open and I’m scooped up bridal style into Miles’ strong arms. When he acts like he’s going to toss me into the truck bed, I squeal and cling to his neck for dear life.

When I realize his intention, I slap him on the back of his head.

He chuckles softly, “Fuck, I love seeing you all riled up.”

He carefully deposits me on the tailgate and I instantly miss the contact as the cool breeze drifting off the lake hits my exposed skin.

He hops up beside me, digging around in a basket for a minute before he comes back with a button down that matches the blue of his eyes and places it around my shoulders.

It smells like him, woodsy with a hint of spice.

The view of the lake is breathtaking, and I can just make out the faint silhouette of a mountain range in the distance.

The sun will be setting soon, casting a warm glow over the landscape, and I long for the peace it’ll bring.

I could write a million flowery sentences about this place, but none of them would be adequate.

Miles leans back on his hands, legs dangling over the open tailgate.

I curl mine under myself, putting my shoulder in contact with his chest, but he doesn’t pull away.

An unfamiliar feeling of unease bubbles to the surface as silence stretches between us.

Our first date, if you can even call it that, was in a crowded bar and, while we’ve been alone together before, somehow this feels much more intimate.

I can’t help but feel like something has changed between us.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he asks, his hand sweeping gently over my forearm. I feel his eyes on me, but I continue to stare out at the horizon.

“What are we doing, Miles?”

“Well, about a week ago, you paid two thousand dollars to go on a date with me, and now we’re here.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Try again.”

“I’m on a date with a beautiful woman who hates me but somehow still manages to make my heart skip a beat every time I see her. Better?”

When did I let my guard down? When did I stop hating him long enough to allow myself to open up to him and soothe the ache he left behind two years ago? It happened slowly, subconsciously, and now I don’t know how to rebuild the walls that crumbled with every sweet caress and lingering touch.

The pretense is slipping and with every new piece of Miles that’s uncovered, I find myself losing a little more of my resolve.

The trouble is, I can’t find it in me to care.

Even before I returned to Oak Ridge, I was growing weary of the push and pull; tired of fighting with the warring sides of my subconscious.

Maybe it’s time to move on from the past — time to forgive.

I take a moment to think, considering how much I want to let him see. Vulnerability isn’t my strong suit. Eventually, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and respond, “I don’t hate you.”

In one swift motion, Miles has me pinned beneath him with my arms above my head. “Say it again.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Fucking finally,” he says. And then his lips are on mine.

Somehow, this kiss feels different from all the others, but I don’t have time to think too deeply about it as his hardness presses between my thighs.

A breathy sigh escapes me and then he’s gone.

I groan from the loss of him and he laughs, offering me a hand up.

“Come on, Wildcat. I have big plans and it doesn’t involve fucking you senseless in the back of my truck until much later. ”

“You keep making promises. When are you gonna make good on them?”

“That bratty mouth of yours is just begging for my cock.”

“Now you’re getting the idea.”

His thumb traces the line of my bottom lip and my breath hitches. “As much as I want to see what this mouth will look like stuffed full of me, that’s not what we need right now. We’ve never had trouble letti ng our bodies talk. Right now, I want to spend time showing you who and what I really am.”

“And what is that, Miles Barlow?”

“Yours, Maggie Watson. Let me prove it to you.”

Miles

The words trip off my tongue before I can think better of it.

At best, they’re a promise, at worst, they’re far too simple for the depth of what I feel for this woman.

She sighs, leaning her head on my shoulder as her eyes scan the horizon, but my gaze is fixed on her delicate features illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and capture the moment.

Maggie startles at the sound of the shutter, glancing down at my phone with an almost wistful expression on her face.

“Well, it’s better than the last selfie, at least. It’s unfortunate you’re just so terribly unattractive,” she teases.

I screw up my face into something grotesque and snap another one. “Better?”

“It’s definitely an improvement.”

For a fleeting moment, I wonder if we could’ve had this effortlessness between us if I had come clean years ago. What would our relationship be like now if I hadn’t let Matty blackmail me into submission? She may never know the lengths I’ve gone to in order to protect her, but it’s better this way.

“Hungry?” I ask.

“I could eat.”

I quirk a brow, which gets an eye roll in return.

Hopping down from the tailgate, I leave Mags in the bed of my truck, returning with a picnic basket in tow.

I place it on the blue patchwork quilt I borrowed from the inn, pulling out a loaf of French bread, along with a bottle of wine and a small charcuterie board.

“Wow. This looks incredible.” As if on cue, her stomach rumbles, and her face flushes in the most adorable way.

I’d much rather lay her out and find other ways to get that color into her cheeks.

Instead, I lift a strawberry to her mouth and watch as she takes a bite.

Her lips brush against my fingertips and she moans, sending a signal straight to my dick, and I have to stifle a groan as I adjust myself behind my jeans.

I watch as she quietly slathers Nutella on a piece of bread, scanning her face for any lingering signs from the attack that brought her here.

The bruises have faded, but there’s still a sadness she’s trying but failing to hide.

I know that look — the persistent, oppressive misery tucked just beneath the surface.

Her smiles are forced, and in that moment I make it my mission to change that.

“You have a little something…” I gesture towards the corner of her mouth where there’s a smear of chocolate. Her tongue peeks out but doesn’t quite reach its target. “Here. Let me”

I bring my thumb to the spot, but before I can retreat, she takes it into her mouth and licks, moaning around my finger. “Careful, Wildcat. Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.”

“I very much intend to finish. And if you’re a good boy, maybe you will, too.”Fuck, why is that hot? She might be the only woman in the world who could make me relinquish control.

“Eat. You’re gonna need the energy for later.”