Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Kids, a family, marriage.
“Marriage between a step-uncle and his step-niece isn’t illegal,” I mutter.
“So, you’ve looked it up?”
I sigh shakily. “I’m just saying, let’s say everything you said came true. There’s nothing legally standing in the way of that happening.”
“What about morally?”
“It would be unfair to Mom and Noah. It would be wrong in that way.”
“But not for its own sake? You see no problem with marrying your step-uncle?”
“Not if the circumstances were different.” My words flow out passionately.
I can get on board with resisting Miles for Mom’s sake and resisting him because it would crush his little brother, but not with the idea that there’s anything inherently wrong with us being together.
It’s like I told her. It’s not as if Miles and I are family in any true sense.
“I didn’t mean to rant,” Tess mutters. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, and I can’t lie. The whole uncle thing? I don’t know. You’re right. You didn’t grow up with him. He’s not your uncle, really, but it’s still…”
“What?” I urge.
“Icky, I guess.”
I disagree, but I’m not in the mood to argue about it, especially since I’m supposed to do everything I can to tame this hunger, not defend it. The conversation continues, but I can’t stop thinking about Tess’s words.
Icky.
It’s the exact opposite for me. It’s steamy, lust-filled, and brimming with the potential for love—the furthest from icky as possible.
I spend most of the day in my room, shamelessly avoiding any chance I’ll see Miles again. I’m supposed to work on recipes for a book I’ve been putting together for a couple of years. Somehow I end up on Miles’ professional work page online, the one that shows him standing outside countless buildings with his lips curved into a subtle smile, more of a smirk.
I stop at one which shows him outside a hotel in Turkey. He’s wearing a sleeveless top and shorts, his muscled arms tanned, and his silver hair catching the light.
When the knock comes at my door, I almost jump. I’m way too skittish.
“Layla?” Mom calls.
I spin in my desk chair. “Come in.”
She smiles at me from the doorframe. “I thought you might be taking a nap. You haven’t been downstairs in hours.”
I got carried away with my work.
I almost say it, but I don’t want to lie to her more than I already have if I can call withholding my desire a lie.
“I just wanted to remind you Noah and I are having dinner at his boss’s this evening.”
A heavy weight drops in my belly. A thud, ricocheting as my mind births a thousand possibilities of what could happen with Miles and me alone in the house.
“That’s right. I forgot.”
“It’s not ideal timing with Miles just arriving, but you know how badly Noah wants that promotion. Miles said he should go for it.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Of course. He wants his little brother to do well.”
Mom walks into the room and sits on my bed.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “You’ve seemed quiet all day. You can always find work elsewhere if the restaurant is getting too tough. You don’t have to tolerate that man’s crap just because you want to work in that industry.”
“You were the one who got me the job,” I remind her.
She was passing the restaurant when she spotted the help wanted sign, and after going inside, she secured me an interview.
“I know, but that doesn’t mean you have to put up with it.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Honestly. I just want you to be happy.”
She narrows her eyes. “Me? Why wouldn’t I be happy?”
I go to her, sitting and wrapping my arm around her.
“What I mean is, I’m happy that you’re happy. That’s all.”
She hugs me tightly. “I love you.”
As I form the reply, I feel like a traitor, but not telling her I love her isn’t an option. It’s the truth, despite everything.
Once Mom’s gone, I go downstairs and show my face before she and Noah leave for dinner. If this is going to work, I’ll have to do my best to behave normally.
Is he kidding? As soon as I get downstairs, the challenge becomes even more difficult. Miles and Noah are in the garden, working out together in the late-day sunlight. Miles stands over the weight bench, shirtless.
From the kitchen window, I devour the sight of his body, sweat gliding down his skin, emphasizing the muscles of his abs.
When he helps Noah replace the bar, his arms tense, and his veins throb.
“Isn’t it wonderful seeing Noah so happy?”
I didn’t even know Mom was in here with me. She stands at the counter, wiping it down. When did she come in here? How long have I been staring?
“He loves having his big brother back,” she goes on. “Neither of them is super emotional, but I can tell. It’s like he’s got an extra skip in his step.”