“But is this okay?” he asked, and Maggie felt his hand leave her hip. Then it slid between them, Griffin’s thumb swirling over her as he plunged deep into her core.
Her only response was a gasp as she felt her muscles tighten around him.
“Christ, Maggie,” he hissed, and those were the last words he spoke as they tested the boundaries of this new position, of Maggie’s balance and Griffin’s persistence until finally, she rode him home.
Home. That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it? She got it now, really got it, this whole loving-someone thing. It didn’t matter where they were or what stage in their lives they were in.
“You’re my home,” she whispered as she clung to him on trembling legs.
Griffin kissed her…and kissed her…and though he had finished with her, it was as if he still couldn’t get enough.
“And you’re mine, Pippi. You’ll always be mine.”
Chapter Thirty
Miles
The official pre-dinner serving had begun. Waitstaff circled the main room of the restaurant, which had been transformed into a ballroom, tables and chairs wrapped in white, circling a small dance floor that at the moment stood empty.
Miles had just drained one champagne flute and was exchanging it for a new one when he felt a palm against the small of his back.
“I am off the clock for the rest of the evening.” Alex’s warm breath tickled the hairs on his neck. “Any suggestions on how I should spend my time?”
Another server approached, prompting Miles to treat glass number two like a shot of ouzo. He tipped his head back and swallowed the bubbling liquid in one long gulp. When the serving tray was in reach, he deposited his empty glass but was stopped short from snagging another as Alex’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Finally Miles turned to face him.
“What’s the rush?” Alex asked. “We at least have to make it until midnight.”
Alex grinned, but Miles wasn’t following.
“It’s New Year’s Eve, Miles. Who’s going to finish the countdown with me if you consume a bottle of bubbly before dinner?”
Miles found another server coming from the opposite direction, and with his free hand he snagged his third drink.
“Cheers,” he said, raising his glass. I think I’d rather count flutes.
This wasn’t the truth. Miles wanted nothing more than to kiss Alex at midnight, but once that happened, he knew what came next. Good-bye. His heart-to-heart with Maggie and Jordan had buoyed him to action. He had let Alex in. But the closer they got to midnight, the closer they got to the one variable in the equation Miles couldn’t work around—good-bye.
At least he sipped this glass. He could be civilized. After all, it was only five o’clock. To be drunk at a wedding before the sun had completely set? Well, Miles had some standards.
Alex crossed his arms and gave him the once-over.
“You do wear everything well, don’t you?” Alex asked. “But this just needs a little…” And he reached for the knot on Miles’s tie, maybe straightening it or maybe just looking for an excuse to make physical contact.
Alex himself wasn’t wearing a tie, just a crisp white shirt under a tailored charcoal gray suit. He hadn’t shaved, and Miles tried to ignore how the stubble on his jaw made him even more attractive. The look was effortless and at the same time made Alex seem as if he’d walked off the page of a fashion magazine. The bastard. This was why Miles needed more to drink. Maybe the champagne goggles would make Alex less attractive.
“Try this,” Alex said, grabbing an hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter and bringing it to Miles’s lips. Without thinking, Miles opened his mouth and let him drop the small puffed pastry on his tongue.
“It’s just spanakopita, nothing too complex. But I do hear the chef has a secret ingredient that keeps the masses coming back for more.”
His eyes fluttered closed as his teeth sank into the flaky crust to find the sautéed spinach and feta. Miles had bought the frozen version enough times to know the food, but he also believed Alex and his secret ingredient tease because everything this man made kept topping his list of best thing he ever tasted.
Note to self…more champagne will make his food less attractive, too, right?
“What’s going on, Miles?”
Shit. He used to have the best poker face. Hell, his everyday face was his poker face. No one ever knew what was going on behind the ever-present grin. Maggie was the closest anyone ever got, but even she received the Miles Show every now and then.
“It’s all good,” he responded. “Good food, good drink, good-looking guy at my side…what more could I want?”
Alex rolled his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “Sounds like a pretty good night ahead of you, so why the whole asshole routine?”
Miles raised his brows, then took a sip of his champagne.
“That’s just it. It’s not a routine,” he said. “This is the guy you should have met on the plane, so I’m introducing him to you now.” He held his free hand out as if to shake. “Miles Parker. Nice to meet you.”
But Alex didn’t extend his hand.
“Jesus, Miles. You act like I asked you to move in or something. I asked for a weekend. A fucking weekend. And you’re bailing after twenty-four hours.”
He shrugged. “I’m leaving in the morning anyway. Why not get good-byes out of the way now?” As he said the words, Miles tasted the venom he spat in Alex’s direction, and he hated himself for it. But this was best for both of them. An attachment had been formed, and they both had to know it. Miles was severing it before it became too much.
“You’re absolutely right,” Alex said, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “It was nice to meet you, Miles—at least the Miles I met yesterday. Say good-bye to him for me.” He held up his glass and then drained the rest of it in a gulp. “And you,” Alex continued, “you enjoy your last few hours alone.”
And just like that, Alex walked away.
Miles nursed a Heineken now, the taste of champagne having soured. He was pretty sure he’d reached the topmost level of assholery he’d ever aspired to. But what was the point of prolonging the agony of leaving when he could leave now and drown said leaving at an open bar?
Elaina’s father appeared in the center of the dance floor, his presence alone almost enough to silence the crowd. Miles crossed his fingers that he, too, would sport thick waves of salt and pepper when he was—what? Hosting his own daughter’s wedding? He laughed under his breath, a bitter sound. It wasn’t likely he’d be the kind of parent to grow old with his partner, contemplating empty nesting. He was more likely to be an empty nester for life.
Mr. Tripoli’s broad build masked his slight paunch well enough. And shouldn’t a chef boast a full belly? Ha! There was a strike against Alex—a body too perfect for that of someone you’d trust to prepare your food. Who trusted a chef who looked like he didn’t eat his own creations?
Jesus, he was grasping now. Looking for fault and failing miserably.
“Friends and loved ones,” began Elaina’s father in thick, accented English, his booming voice needing no microphone. “Please join me in welcoming my daughter, Elaina…and now my son, Duncan! Eat and drink, please. And celebrate! Giortazo!”
Guests halted where they were, glasses raised and faces painted with smiles, to watch the grand entrance of the newlyweds. But try as he might, Miles, for once, couldn’t fake it. He raised his bottle, but the smile wouldn’t come. Not when Elaina and Duncan walked in beaming; not when Jordan and Noah entered arm-in-arm, the light catching the engagement ring that had found its way back onto Jordan’s finger; and certainly not after Thea walked in alone, her wedding party counterpart, Griffin, visibly missing from her side—only for him and Maggie to come running in at the last minute, Maggie’s face a glowing giveaway as to why they were late.