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“I completely forgot about that.” Elliot tapped his chin, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “The posters all over his walls.”
Luca scrubbed his scruff. “Who didn’t have a thing for Winona Ryder?”
“No.” Elliot shook his head. “I once asked for clarification on that. It was all Lydia. Winona Ryder as herself did nothing for him.”
Saoirse arched a brow at me. “I think he still might have a thing for her.”
Luca’s gaze swept over my black T-shirt and skinny cargos, and he grinned. “I think you’re right, Pretty Girl. Good for Miles.”
I shrunk against Miles, who had gone stock-still and hadn’t uttered a single word to defend himself. Who hadn’t had posters on their walls as kids? My obsession had been Adam Driver, circa his Kylo Ren days. And, to be fair, if he walked into this cabin right now, I would have let him toss me around with his oversized baseball mitts.
Miles finally moved, handing the remote to Weston. “You pick something. I’m going to grab a drink.”
He was up and gone before anyone could say anything, leaving me flailing to remain upright as the couch cushions jostled in his absence.
Saoirse cleared her throat. “Sorry, Daisy. I went too far. I shouldn’t have implied he likes you because…you know…”
I stared at her, surprised she was apologizing to me. They’d embarrassed Miles, although I didn’t see what was so—
Realization exploded in my brain.
“The all-black clothes, prickly temperament, bangs—Lydia suits you.”
I reminded Miles of the character he’d had a childhood crush on. Everyone in this room had seen it the moment they’d met me. I’d been the only dumb bunny who’d had no idea.
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. I know why Miles likes me.” Channeling my mama, I threw in a wink to put her at ease. “My cupcakes, of course.”
The topic swiftly changed, getting rid of the lingering awkwardness, and I went to find Miles. He was in the kitchen, his butt propped against the counter, a tumbler of pink lemonade in his hand, a crumpled cupcake wrapper beside him.
I paused at the entry, giving him a devious little grin. “So…Lydia, huh?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t you think I’m sufficiently embarrassed?”
I closed the distance between us, leaning my chest against him. “Do you want to fulfill all your adolescent fantasies with me? Should I call you Beetlejuice?”
He covered my mouth with his hand. “You’re the worst. Couldn’t you have let this slide? Pretend it hadn’t happened?”
I licked his palm, but he didn’t pull his hand away. Not until I bit a chunk of it. Yanking it back, he cradled it to his chest like I’d injured him gravely.
“I do have this dress I wore one Halloween. I was going for the whole goth bride thing.” I bit my bottom lip, and his chest expanded as he heaved a breath. “If I wore that for you, fancied up my bangs a little, I could—”
He cut me off again. This time, with his mouth on mine. He crushed my lips, kissing me roughly. In a split second, I decided to go along with it. I’d never been kissed roughly in my life.
Hands in my hair, he tugged my head back, taking my breath away. I clutched his shirt, my mind in such a whirling spiral, he was the only thing keeping me upright.
Then his tongue delved between my parted lips, and my knees gave out. Miles was there to stop me from falling with his hand on my ass, kneading and lifting me. Spinning, he placed me on the counter and shoved himself between my legs.
“Shut up,” he gritted out.
That was my only chance to take a full breath before he devoured my mouth with such force, I might not ever recover. Not that I was thinking about recovering. I was barely thinking about anything other than his soft, sweet mouth doing demanding, naughty things to mine.
A peel of laughter split the air, and reality slowly returned. Miles pulled back slightly, but he didn’t jump away or apologize.
A man who kissed the way he did had nothing to apologize for, except ruining every single woman who fell apart under his lips.
“We’re not going to talk about this again,” he uttered.
“So, no dress?”
