Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Annoyed with himself, Miles started a conversation with Christian, who was seated next to him.
“… they’re out of danger, but my dad will need extensive rehabilitation for his damaged spine. My mother had a head wound, and now she has some memory problems, but the doctors think she should get better in time…”
Miles could barely pay attention anymore. He could finally feel Ian’s gaze on him—he wouldn’t mistake that feeling for anything else—and it was a struggle not to turn his head.
After a few moments, he lost the battle with himself and shot him a quick look.
But Ian wasn’t looking at him. He was leaned back in his chair, sipping his wine idly as he conversed with Alexander.
Miles deflated. Had he imagined it?
Why wasn’t Ian looking at him? They’d parted on friendly terms, technically. There was no reason for them not to talk. Like friends. Except Miles couldn’t see Ian as a friend. Maybe he never had, not really. He saw a man first, always. He didn’t know what it was about Ian that made him so aware of Ian’s body, his hands, his eyes, his wry lips. Objectively, Ian wasn’t the most handsome man in the room; Alexander was. Alexander was a blue-eyed brunet too, with truly Hollywood looks. Ian’s features, while handsome, were too sharp, too hard. Objectively, he shouldn’t seem like the most attractive man in the room.
But fuck, he totally was the hottest. Miles wanted to lick along that razor-sharp jawline and suck at that Adam’s apple. He wanted to bury his fingers in Ian’s hair, pull Ian’s face to his own neck, and beg him for more marks and hickeys.
Swallowing, Miles dragged his eyes away—only to find Shawn’s watchful gaze on him.
Dammit. That was another reason why he couldn’t just be friendly to Ian: Miles was the Rutledges’ guest, their friend. Derek and Shawn definitely wouldn’t understand his pining after the man who was supposedly out to ruin them.
But was he?
Frowning, Miles returned his gaze to his salad.
Was Ian really as ruthless as Derek thought?
Miles’s fork paused on its way to his mouth.
Maybe he should find out. Maybe he should get Ian alone, just to ask him about his intentions. After all, didn’t he owe Derek and Shawn? The least he could do to repay their kindness was to find out for sure whether Ian really was playing some dishonest game or not.
The more Miles thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He wanted to help Derek and Shawn, and he liked the thought of just asking openly instead of some underhanded, ridiculous tactics like spying.
Decision made, Miles returned his eyes to Ian.
He found Ian’s gaze on his plate, his jaw set as he cut the roast beef in front of him. His thoughts seemed faraway, his eyes cold and distant.
Miles cleared his throat a little. “Ian?”
Everyone’s attention seemed to turn to him, the conversations coming to an abrupt halt, but Miles kept his gaze only on Ian, who finally looked at him, giving him his full attention.
Miles wondered how fucking messed up it was that he relished having that attention on him, that for the first time since he’d left Ian’s house, he didn’t feel off-balance. Ian was looking at him, and everything was finally right with the world. Ian’s eyes weren’t distant or cold anymore. They were intent and sharp. And they were locked on Miles.
Where they belonged, always.
Ignoring the frankly disturbing thought, Miles said, “Can I talk to you? Alone.”
“Now?” Shawn cut in. “You can talk after dinner, Miles.”
The polite thing to do would have been to look at Shawn. But he couldn’t look away from Ian.
It felt like an eternity passed before Ian replied. “Sure.” He stood and headed toward the door.
Acutely aware of Derek’s heavy gaze on them, Miles followed him out of the room.
As soon as they were out in the hall, Miles crossed his arms over his chest and said, fixing his eyes on the far wall, “Is it true that you want to ruin the Rutledges?”
“Rutledge told you that?” Ian said, sounding coldly amused.
Biting his bottom lip, Miles nodded. Bloody hell, he felt so off-balance, unsure where they stood with each other.
“I didn’t know you were that close to the Rutledges.”
Miles shrugged. “Not all that close,” he mumbled, looking down at his shoes. He could see Ian’s black shoes in his peripheral vision.
“But you still moved back in with them.” Ian’s voice had a strange undertone.
Miles shrugged again. “You didn’t answer my question.”
The black shoes moved closer and stopped in front of him.
A warm, large hand settled on his neck.
Miles shuddered, his breath hitching.
A thumb brushed over the spot under his jaw. “You missed one here,” Ian said. He pressed against that spot, causing dull pain.
Miles was trembling so badly he felt like he could break apart at any moment. They were over, they were done, they were supposed to be talking about something important, but now he couldn’t remember what it was, his mind foggy and slow. He was breathing unsteadily, inhaling the familiar scent of Ian’s aftershave.