Page 34 of Tempting Miles
“Hey, are you okay?” he calls from the kitchen.
I nod as I lift a foot to pull off my boots. I wobble a little but manage not to embarrass myself further.
“Yes, I’m sorry. I guess this whole ordeal really drained me,” I say as I shrug out of my coat and hang it by the door.
Slowly, I make my way toward the kitchen. My heartbeat picks up as I get closer to him.
What the actual hell? Am I really about to start having heart palpitations at thirty-six?
Calm down, girl. It’s just a guy.
Ha! Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourselfthat.
“I wasn’t planning on making anything fancy,” he says as I take a seat on one of the stools by the counter. “But if you’re okay with Mediterranean chicken, I’ll be more than happy to feed you.”
“That sounds amazing,” I say, a bright smile spreading across my face. “But please tell me how I can help.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he washes his hands, walks over to the end of the kitchen island, and lights up a candle. Nothing romantic. Just one of those three-wick candles that smell like heaven.
Then he says, “Play Miles’s cooking playlist. Random.”
Music starts pouring out of a tiny speaker tucked into the counter.
A smile spreads across my face as I recognize the song. It’s one of the songs Miles and his siblings played at the fall festival. “Beautiful as You” by Thomas Rhett fills the kitchen, instantly dragging me back to the memory of stuffing my face with greasy, sugary funnel cake just to avoid Joss interrogating me about what it’s been like working with Miles at the ice rink.
“Do you like cooking?” I ask, suddenly wanting to know everything about this man.
“I do,” he replies, heading to the fridge. He starts stacking all kinds of veggies in his arms before placing them almost meticulously on the counter. He sets a pan on the stove, adds a splash of olive oil, and getsto chopping.
I’m not sure what spices he throws in there, but his house smells divine within minutes. Once he has the food going, he grabs a bottle of white wine from a beverage fridge. I never pegged him as a wine guy, but when he shows me the bottle he’s about to uncork, I raise an impressed eyebrow.
“A glass of wine sounds really good right now,” I say, stretching my legs beneath the kitchen island.
He smiles and opens the bottle without effort. I shamelessly stare as the muscles on his forearms flex and shift, making me even hungrier for him.
Goddammit, why did I dare him that night? I have enough going on in my life without thirsting over a man I already know is off limits.
After pouring two glasses, he slides one toward me. I nod in appreciation.
“A toast,” he says, lifting his glass.
“To you, Miles, for offering me shelter and being gracious enough to rescue me.” My cheeks warm as I say it. I’ve never had trouble thanking people, but for some reason, thanking Miles feels different.
He clinks his glass against mine and takes a sip before setting it down on the counter. Then he turns back to the stove, stirring the food and adding more herbs. A splash of wine hits the pan, steaming up almost instantly.
“It smells delicious,” I admit after another sip of my drink. “Is this something you cook often?”
He flashes me a slow, sexy smile as he walks over to stand across from me. “It’s easy and tasty, so yeah. It’s part of the regular rotation.”
I press my lips together, trying to focus my attention on literally anything besides him. Unfortunately, he’s standing right in front of me.
“I guess tonight’s the night for confessions that won’t leave this house,” I say after a beat. “But I’m honestly impressed.”
“Really?” he asks, clearly caught off guard. “Wow.”
“Yeah. You’re… a layered man.” I shrug lightly. “Until tonight, I think I’d only seen the surface.”
He nods slowly and starts tapping his fingers against the counter.
