Page 69

THIRTEEN

GAVIN

Millie’s apartment is small. Minuscule, really. I want to ream out both my sister and her father for allowing her to live here. I entered the building behind a resident who didn’t bother to make sure the door shut behind him. Then I sat on the floor outside her apartment for three hours.

Not a single person was concerned. That’s a problem.

She tips her head up and gazes at me, her eyes slightly glassy.

“You been drinking, Peaches?”

The smile that spreads across her face quickly turns into a yawn. “Just a couple of glasses of wine with your sister.”

I grasp her wrist and pull her toward her bed. “Come on. It’s been a long two days.”

With her lip caught between her teeth, she gives me a dreamy smile. “I still can’t believe you’re here. You won the cup yesterday!”

My responding laugh is too loud for such a small space. “I didn’t win the cup. Believe me, Aiden has made sure I’m aware of exactly who won it.”

She nuzzles her head into my chest. “Still…” She breathes in deep and sighs. “I can’t believe you’re here instead of celebrating with them.”

“There’s no one in this world I’d rather celebrate with more than you.”And that’s not an exaggeration. If I were anywhere else, I’d only be miserable and thinking about her, regardless of winning the cup. “We’ll celebrate tomorrow, though. Right now, you need sleep.”

The way her tongue darts out and wets her lips as she peers up at me through her lashes pulls a groan from deep inside my chest. It’s been too fucking long since I kissed those lips.

“But what if I don’t want to sleep?” she asks in that sexy rasp of hers.

Clutching her upper arms, I spin her and march her toward her bed. It’s in her living room, along with everything else she owns. Fuck, this place is small.

“Come on, Peaches.”

She sighs but doesn’t put up a fight. Until we reach the bed, and then the little vixen spins around. With a devilish smirk, she crosses her arms, reaches for the fabric at her waist, and lifts it straight over her head, exposing the best set of tits I’ve ever seen.

I love the way this woman never wears a bra. I hate it at the same time.

I bite my fist to keep from touching her. But god, do I want to. She raises her brow at me, as if she’s surprised, or maybe intrigued, by my silence.

I keep my focus fixed firmly on her face. I can’t look at her nipples. Can’t see how they pebble with need. How she arches for me.

But her face is just as tantalizing. And it’s just as much trouble. Because I’ve been dreaming of her gorgeous face since the moment I met her, despite how wrong it is.

She’s my best friend’s daughter.I’m a terrible, terrible person for wanting her. Yet here I am. I flew halfway around the world just to see her.

She twists her lips, her expression teasing. “Look at you, Coach, holding strong.”

I cough out a laugh. That goddamn nickname.

She arches those brows again. “Let’s see how strong your resolve really is.” With her thumbs hooked in her waistband, she shimmies out of her pants and underwear and kicks them across the room.

I curse softly under my breath and look away.

“Ouch,” she mutters. “Not exactly the reaction I expected, but message received. You’re not interested.”

A low rumble works its way out of me as I stalk toward her. I barely find the willpower to stop myself when I’m a breath away, my chest heaving and my hands fisted so I don’t reach for her. “The last thing I am is uninterested.”

Gold eyes meet mine, holding me hostage. I’m her captive, under her control, just as I’ve been since the last time she stripped down and gave me everything.

I’m a goddamn hostage in my own mind. She owns me.

Her shoulders settle, and her expression evens out. “Okay, we’ll sleep then.”

Then she spins around, her peach of an ass swinging as she does, and slips beneath the covers. She scoots to the far side of the mattress, leans back against her pillows, and gives me a sweet smile.

“I’m just going to use the bathroom.” Without waiting for a response, I snag my bag from where I dropped it by the door and hustle into the tiny space. Sure, a moment alone to brush my teeth is great, but really, I need a goddamn cold shower and to slap myself in the face a few times.

But more than anything, I need to not make another move with this girl until I figure out what the fuck my endgame is here. Because I can’t fuck her again unless we can have more. I’m not willing to fuck up my friendship with Ford for anything less.

So I study myself in the mirror and make a promise. I will not fuck my best friend’s daughter.

Not tonight, at least.

I wake up to an empty bed, a pounding head, and a throbbing dick. Spending the night next to a naked Millie, who rolled over and splayed her body across mine as soon as I got into bed, was the purist torture.

I blink up at the ceiling as I find my bearings. There’s a strange noise filtering through her apartment. It’s so low I can barely make it out, but it’s a tune of some sort.

With a grimace, I sit up and scan the room, and when I spot Millie sitting at her kitchen table—if you could call it that—I’m hit with a wave of comfort. It’s so good to have her this close. She has one knee pulled up to her chest, and she’s bouncing her other foot on the floor as she taps out a tune on a small electric piano.

“Peaches,” I rasp.

Her golden eyes find me, and her face lights up. “You’re awake.” She bounds out of her chair and launches herself onto the bed and into my arms.

Oh, to be in my twenties again.

I tangle a hand in her hair and angle her head so I can get a good look at her gorgeous face. Those pink cheeks, bright, excited eyes, and peach lips that smile so wide my chest aches.

“Hi, beautiful.”

She licks her lips, her expression going a little wicked. “It’s tomorrow.”

I chuckle. “It is.”

“And we’ve now slept.”She walks her fingers up my torso idly.

“That we have.”I tighten my hold on her hair just a little.

“So.” She cocks a brow. “What are we going to do now?”

“Food would be good.”

She makes a little growling sound that’s so adorable my resolve weakens. “Food?”

“Yeah, I’m starving.”

With a hmph , she rolls over and lounges against her pillow, taking her warmth and joy with her. With a loud, resigned sigh, she points to the bathroom. “Fine. I’m going to shower, and then I’ll take you to my favorite café.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling at her frustration. What she doesn’t know is that I’m frustrated too. But I have a plan, and I’m sticking to it.

We spend the day stopping in one café after another, along with all of her favorite spots in the city. While we’re wandering through the Louvre, she mentions a small wine bar that sometimes has open mic nights, so I force her to take me there too.

While Millie is cozied up to me in a small velvet booth, entranced by a woman crooning a French song into the mic, I’m entranced by Millie.

I press my face against the crown of her head and breathe her in. “Are you going to sing?”

“No.” She sighs, snuggling closer. “I like to come watch the locals do it.”

“What were you playing when I woke up this morning?”

“Just a little something that came to me while lying in bed.”

“A little something about me?” I angle back and smirk.

She lets out a soft laugh and rolls her eyes. “Possibly.”

“Sing it for me, please.”

Fuck, I’d do anything to hear this girl sing again.

She pulls back and studies me quietly, her mind working. “What do I get if I sing?”

Moving in so close my lips brush the shell of her ear, I ask, “What do you want?”

A shiver works its way through her. “I want you to kiss me.”

I pull back and shake my head, even as my eyes drop to her lips again. They’re glossy but still that same peach color.

Her shoulders fall.

The disappointment radiating from her just about breaks me. Fuck, do I want to give in. But I hold my ground. “Ask me for something else, anything.”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

“I already have. I’m here because I couldn’t stay away. I’m here because I want to be.”

She sucks in a sober breath and nods. “Okay.”

I blink at her, unsure of the meaning behind that one word. “Okay, you’ll sing?”

A small smile curves her lips, highlighted by the glow of the spotlight on the stage. “Yeah, I’ll sing.”

“But I didn’t give you anything.”

“Not true, Coach.” She presses a small kiss against my jaw and stands. “You came to see me.” And then, in a voice so low her words are almost imperceptible, she says, “And that is giving me everything.”

With a wink, she turns and saunters to the pianist. She leans in close as he’s playing the last chords of the current song, and he nods in response to her words.

I don’t speak a word of French, so when he speaks into the mic and the crowd breaks into a round of applause, I follow suit.

As he stands, every person in the room seems to press forward in their seat, almost in anticipation. Electricity sparks in the air, making it clear the crowd is excited about whatever he said.

Millie replaces him at the piano, adjusts the mic, and says something in French, her voice so damn sexy I have to clench my fists to control the possessiveness that overtakes me.

She looks right at me and smiles. “This one’s for you, Coach.”

And then she sings the most heartbreakingly beautiful tune in a language I don’t understand but vow to become fluent in so that I can go home and find out exactly how this girl really feels.

When we get back to her apartment, I take in the inexpensive piano sitting on her table. She deserves the real thing. She deserves a real apartment, with more than one room and an actual kitchen table. I want to promise her all these things. Want to tell her I’ll give her everything.

But something holds me back.

Someone holds me back.

“Will you play the song for me again? But this time in English?”

She drops her focus to the floor and shakes her head. “You still haven’t kissed me.”

My chest goes tight as I study her lips for the hundredth time today. “Believe me, I fucking know.”

She sighs and motions at the space between us. “What is this? You slept in my bed and held me all night. Then you took me from café to café, smiling at me, holding my hand.” Her face is etched with worry as she considers me. “I can tell you’re attracted to me.” She steps closer. “I can tell you want to kiss me. So why haven’t you?”

“Have you talked to your father?”

A small gasp escapes her, and she steps back, almost as if I slapped her. “What?”

I grasp her wrist and brush my thumb across the smooth skin there, hoping she knows my questions come from a place of genuine care. “Have you spoken to your father about music? Did you tell him you were upset when he gave half the company to Lake? Have you talked to him at all?”

She tucks her chin, avoiding my gaze, and shakes her head.

My heart sinks. Dammit. For months I’ve hoped she’d worked to heal those wounds, but nothing has changed.

“You’re upset with me,” she says slowly, like the pieces of a puzzle are slotting together, her version of it, at least.

“No. I’m realistic. I wanted to see if what we had was real. Wanted to know if, outside the sex, this was something more.”

Her lips turn down, and disappointment flashes in her eyes. “And it isn’t?” Her voice is a sad whisper.

I reach for her hand again, and this time, I hold it against my chest and press a kiss to her forehead. With a deep breath in, then back out, I grasp her chin and tilt her face up so I can look into those big golden eyes that captured me the very first day I met her.

“No, Peaches. It’s not more. It’s everything . Being with you this weekend, without the sex , has shown me that I’d rather sit in a room and do absolutely nothing with you than spend an hour living it up with anyone else. This isn’t about sex. It’s not about the forbidden. It’s not a game or a mid-life crisis. I like you. A lot .”

“Then why won’t you kiss me?”

“Because you’re not ready.”

Her brows furrow in an adorable, annoyed expression. “What? How can you say that?”

“Because you’re living in a city you don’t love and spending your days doing work you couldn’t care less about because you refuse to have a conversation with your father. My best friend.” I grasp her chin a little harder, hoping she sees my sincerity and how much I desperately want her to have it all. “You’re not ready for us, and I can’t force you to get there.”

“What are you talking about?” She takes a step back. “I like my job.”

“You want to write music. But you’re hiding in your apartment, and when my sister isn’t working you to death, you’re writing music on a piano fit for a toddler.”

Her eyes go hard and her nostrils flare. Dammit, she’s gorgeous when she’s angry. “Last time I checked, you’re not actually a coach either, Gavin.” She takes another step back, but I follow, cupping her cheek this time.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you, Millie.” I rub my thumb over her smooth skin. “I’m saying this because I care about you. I care about you so fucking much it doesn’t make sense. I’ve been friends with your father for years, and he’d fucking kill me if he knew what I was doing, but I’m doing it anyway because I. Care. About. You.” I annunciate each word, hoping I can get through to her.

She lets out a defeated sigh and crosses her arms. “I’ll talk to him.”

I shake my head. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for you. I want you to do it when you’re ready.”

Her eyes are glassy as she surveys me. “That’s not fair.”

I smile, despite the ache in my chest. “Don’t I know it. Talk to me about fair. The girl I’m crazy about is half my age and my best friend’s daughter. Plus she lives three thousand miles away.”

“How do you even know you’re still crazy about me? You haven’t even kissed me in more than a year.”

I drop my forehead to hers for a breath, then pull back. “You’re working hard for that kiss.”

“Maybe I just need proof of your feelings. And a little motivation.”

With a dark chuckle, I brush my lips against hers, and fuck, do I want to own these lips. I want to shove her back onto her bed, strip off her clothes, and take my time with her. But she’s not ready, and I can’t force it.

“You have my phone number. You know where I live. Figure out what you want in life, Peaches. Until then, I’ll be your friend.”

Darting forward, she clutches my shirt and nips at my lip.

The sensation pulls a groan from me, and my forehead falls to hers. I hold still, our eyes locked on one another, letting her sink those teeth into my flesh, wishing I could give in. But if I do, if I sleep with her again, we’ll end in nothing but devastation.

She needs this time, and she needs to fix things with her father.

And if I’m lucky, one day, she’ll be ready. And I hope like hell that when that day comes, I’m still single.