Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)

“That’s why. She likes believing and it’s a link to Lindsay and a happy time. I don’t think there’s any reason to dispel the notion until she’s ready.”

He lifts his chin. “What do you believe in? Baths? Knitting? Heartwarming movies? How much fun you have with me?” He smiles, but it holds a hint of nerves, like he’s keen for my yes, and worried he won’t get it.

“Of course I believe in you.” I lean back, sinking into the sea of pillows. He pats his thigh, a sign for me to put my feet up on him. For a nanosecond, I consider the risk. But we’ve been there, done that. I can handle my feet on his thighs. I oblige, untangling them from under me and dropping them on his legs.

Miller tugs on my right sock, yanking it off my foot.

“You’re stripping me,” I tease as I take a drink, enjoying the wine and how easily we’ve slid back into familiar, friendly territory. Even the naughty flirting can’t take us out of where we best belong.

“I want to check out your feet, woman.”

I laugh as he tugs off the other sock. “Why on earth do you want to see my feet?”

“I’m not afraid of feet.”

“You’re an amazing man. So fearless.”

“Watch it, or I might nibble on your toes.”

I hold up a finger. “That, I believe in. Your ability to resist my toes.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.” He tugs my foot toward his mouth, baring his teeth as if to bite my big toe. I wriggle away, and he laughs, letting my foot sink to his lap. He switches gears, digging his thumbs into my foot, rubbing. Instantly, I moan in pleasure.

“I believe in foot rubs. And I believe in your friendship,” I say, because I want him to know no matter how much we flirt, I’ll stay on this side of the divide, since that’s what he wants.

And what I need.

He smiles as he kneads deeper into the arch of my foot. “What else do you believe in?”

I swirl the wine in the glass and take another gulp. “I believe in good wine. I believe in tea with honey.”

“I’ll drink to that too.” He grabs his glass and swallows, then returns to my feet.

I gaze at the window and the sky beyond, where a faint orange glow hints at snow. “I believe that when it snows in New York, wondrous things can happen that wouldn’t ordinarily occur.”

“Because of snow?”

“Definitely. Snow makes you believe that everything can be beautiful and perfect even for just a sliver of time. You look outside, and it feels calm and peaceful in this most crazy city.”

He tilts his head as if considering that. “True. We know it won’t be that way in the morning. Everything will change, and slush and dirt and honking trucks will take over once again.”

“But at two in the morning, it’s lovely.”

His gaze strays to his phone, as if he’s checking the time—12:09 lights up the screen. “It’s not two yet.” He digs harder into my feet, his eyes returning to mine. “But I’d like it to be.”

As he looks at me, tingles slide down my body. I’d like it to be two in the morning. Two seems like the perfect time—the only time—for what I want. For a stolen hour with this man, for a moment I might regret but I’ll take the chance on anyway because of how he makes me feel.

Like I’m floating.

Like I can do anything.

Like nothing would ever hurt if we crossed the line.

I spend so much of my time striving toward goals, planning for the future. What if I let go for one night? Maybe just once?

My breath catches, but somehow I find the words to keep the night unfolding. “What about you? What do you believe in?” I poke his stomach with my toe.

His hard stomach.

Whoa. Miller has firm abs. “Nice washboard. Been hiding these from me?” I press harder against his stomach.

He grabs my foot and drags my toes over the fabric of the Henley covering his abs. “I’m not hiding them anymore,” he says.

I’m not a foot fetishist, and I don’t think he is either, but I want to thank the good Lord for making toes, since Miller’s using mine to let me cop a feel of his belly.

“I need to add your stomach to my list of beliefs. I definitely believe in your abs now. I’ve seen the light.”

He laughs, tipping his head back, and I sneak a peek at the stubble on his jaw, at his alluring eleven o’clock shadow. That stubble. I want to feel it sliding against my cheek. I want to know its sandpaper scratch.

He looks down at my feet. “I believe that green toenail polish is adorable and sexy. I also believe that you have strangely beautiful feet.”

“You do have a foot fetish,” I whisper in surprise.

“I don’t. I don’t know why your feet are beautiful all of a sudden. They just are.” But he’s not looking at my feet. He’s staring at my face, and my cheeks flush, hot from his gaze.

Have I had too much to drink? I feel tipsy, but I’ve barely touched a drop.

“What else do you believe in?” I ask, because I don’t want to stop. I want us to touch in these little ways, to talk, and to tango mercilessly closer to a risky truth.

“My brothers. Hot chocolate. The good in young people like Jackson and Chloe.” Answers pour out of him like water, his tone shifting to serious. “I believe in music too. I believe it’s the one universal language in the world, and that songs can connect people. When I play and sing, I feel that connection with others. Like you.”

“I believe in that too,” I say, my voice feathery.

He drags a fingertip over the top of my foot, and I nearly cry out in pleasure. How is it possible to be ignited from a finger across my instep?

“I think people are happier when they listen to music. Maybe they love more deeply, or kiss more fervently, or maybe they take someone to bed. I think music helps people to love. I feel like that’s my small contribution to the world,” he adds, and his expression is etched with a new vulnerability.

My heart slams against my rib cage. I love that he feels that way about what he creates.

“I’m happier when I’m listening to music,” I whisper, as Frank Sinatra’s voice fills my head, and Miller moves his hands up my ankle.

“I believe in Skittles too,” he continues, darting back to his playful side again, and I release some of the tightness in my hands. “And ice skating and Donkey Kong. And I definitely believe in these calf muscles you have.” He squeezes my calf, and I wriggle because it tickles. “Where have you been hiding these insane calf muscles?”

“Same place you hid your abs?”

He smiles as he rubs, and I’m right back in this brave new land of lust. I fight like hell to remember why Miller and I are a risk—but after midnight, desire is stronger than reason.

“You feel good like this,” he says as he rubs.

I can hear my pulse hammer; I can feel every heavy and tender beat of my heart. I swallow, and my throat is dry. I’m thirsty, so thirsty for a kiss.

He squeezes my leg, like he’s trying to get my attention. His eyes are etched with contrition. “I believe I’m a fool for not realizing we could sing so well together sooner, and I want to sing with you again. I want to make more music with you,” he says, and it sounds like a desperate plea.

“Don’t stop, then,” I say, and I’m not only answering him. I’m telling him what I want.

“I believe, too, that sometimes lines get blurred,” he says as his hands slide up my leg to my knee.

Movement at the window catches my eye. My pitch rises as I point. “Miller. It’s snowing.”

That’s all it takes. He kneels forward, brushes my hair from my face, and brings his lips to mine. “Let’s pretend it’s two in the morning,” he whispers against my mouth.

His lips sweep over mine, and the world blurs deliciously. As he kisses me, my body turns to honey. I sink into the dizzying sensation of our lips connecting, and I fall into this moment, so wonderful and lush, as his mouth explores mine. He nibbles on the corner of my lips, then kisses more deeply.

Our tongues skate together, and I pretend this isn’t risky. I slide my hands up into his hair, threading my fingers through soft locks I’ve longed to touch without ever realizing.

Any question as to whether he feels the same escapes into the ether as I tug him closer. He presses his body to mine, his erection hard and heavy against me.