Breaking Skye (18 page)

Authors: Eden Bradley

BOOK: Breaking Skye

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Now she was talking. “I could go as your date.”

She blinked. “Why would you do that?”

“Why not? That was a ballsy move that deserves a little moral support. Besides, you’re a beautiful girl and I’d like to get to know you better,” he said honestly, enjoying the way she blushed again at the compliment. He’d always found her attractive, and if she hadn’t been so far gone on Tim, he would have asked her out. Maybe he should have anyway—it might have saved her and Tim both some heartache.

When she hesitated, he glanced at his watch. “Dinner’s at six-thirty, right?”

“Yes.” She looked at her watch, too. “I guess I should probably freshen up first.”

“I’m going to go change. I might be a few minutes late but I’ll meet you there, okay?” he said, reaching for his wallet.

“Peter…” She put her hand on his arm. “Are you sure? This feels kind of manipulative, and as much as Tim doesn’t want to screw up our friendship, I don’t want to screw up yours either.”

“Trust me,” he said as he threw down a couple of bills. “You won’t.”

* * *

Was she insane?

Miranda frowned into the ladies’ room mirror as she reapplied her cherry-red lipstick. Peter Vaughn wasn’t just Tim’s roommate, he was his friend. If she showed up with him, Tim was going to think she was trying to make him jealous.

Or that Peter was. She’d never been able to decide exactly how deep their relationship went. Tim had come out about his bisexuality way back when they were college roommates, and though they never acted like they were anything more than friends, she’d sensed a certain tension between them that might have been sexual. Had Peter been unwillingly relegated to Tim’s friend zone the way she had, or had he been allowed to cross over?

The idea was discouraging but it hadn’t kept her from imagining the two of them together and getting hot and tingly all over, especially when she added herself to the picture. Peter was a very handsome man—tall and built like a cyclist, with thick brown hair and clear gray eyes—and of course Tim was just as handsome, though in a different way. His muscular frame made his average height seem more imposing, and his rich auburn hair and friendly blue eyes made him stand out in any crowd. After she got past her initial anxiety about Tim’s bisexuality, she’d spent many an evening entertaining herself with fantasies of being sandwiched between the two of them. She’d never allowed herself to doubt that once Tim finished sowing his wild oats, he’d settle down with her. If he still felt other urges, there was no reason they couldn’t bring another man to their bed occasionally—lots of couples did kinky stuff to spice up their sex lives.

She rolled her eyes. Talk about counting your chickens.

But dammit, she thought she’d had reason to count her chickens. She and Tim had clicked from the very first time they met and had so many interests in common, they never ran out of things to talk about. He didn’t treat her like all the other girls in his damn friend zone. He looked out for her. Teased her. Played video games with her and let her help test out the latest ones. And the way he looked at her sometimes, when he thought she wasn’t looking...

God, she had to stop this. He’d made it clear where they stood, once and for all.

Putting away her lipstick, she ran a comb through her simple chin-length bob with a sigh. Maybe it was time to let it grow out again. Long hair was so much sexier. A few weeks ago someone told her she looked like a blue-eyed Dora the Explorer, and in that moment, she’d never resented her short, Castilian-Spanish genes so much in her life.

But Peter had called her a beautiful girl tonight, and she’d soaked up the simple, direct compliment like rain after a drought. She wished he’d been as forthcoming as she had at the bar—it would be nice to know exactly what his stake was in all this. Did he really want to get to know her, or was he trying to make Tim jealous?

She should have just asked. He certainly hadn’t hesitated to ask her the tough questions.

And he’d listened attentively to her answers, something she appreciated very much. It had been ages since she discussed her feelings for Tim with anyone but her mother because all her friends eventually got tired of her mooning over her high school crush. They wanted her to move on and fall for an actual grown-up, one who did something besides design video games for a living and date women who were taller than him.

They didn’t see what she did, that there was so much more to Tim Crichton than he liked to let on. Yes, he’d inherited a shitload of money from his grandfather and hit it big with his Quantum Alien game before he was old enough to buy liquor. But instead of wasting his life as a full-time playboy the way some young rich men did, he’d worked hard to parlay his wealth and talent into a huge company that donated buckets of money to children’s charities each year.

If she hadn’t been in love with him before, she surely would have fallen after seeing the video of him lying on a hospital bed next to a small, hairless boy in a surgical mask, enjoying a lively two-player game of Quantum Alien. And she wasn’t the only one. Though the video was shot by the boy’s mother with the understanding that it would never be made public, someone posted it online, and when it went viral women began throwing themselves at him left and right.

As if being young, handsome and rich hadn’t attracted enough women.

Tim had been furious when crowds of reporters started showing up at his visits to the hospital, shouting all kinds of intrusive questions at him. When he finally gave one of them an exclusive on-camera interview and told her about the week he’d spent in the children’s hospital after a snowboarding accident when he was sixteen, the media had eaten it up—and then promptly forgotten him because there was no more story to sniff out.

She hadn’t forgotten, though. There was something incredibly special about Tim Crichton…

God, and here she was, mooning over him again. Time to get over it.

Miranda stuffed her comb back into her little sequined clutch, and after one last check to make sure she looked her absolute best, she returned to the foyer between the bar and the restaurant. The breeze from the mall doors gave her a shiver, but she was glad she’d left her coat hanging on the restaurant’s coat rack when a couple of guys gave her interested looks on their way into the bar. Not that she was interested in them—she just appreciated the validation of her wardrobe choice for tonight. Her sequined tank dress, whose hem ended a couple of inches above her knee, might be a little fancy for the occasion, but she’d rather be overdressed than underdressed. She had a statement to make.

Taking a deep breath, she gave the hostess Tim’s name and was directed to the private room at the back of the restaurant. Tim was already there, greeting people at the door with his typical date, a tall Nordic goddess with plenty of cleavage. Where did he find them all? Was there some plant that manufactured a new girlfriend to his specs every month?

Her heart contracted painfully at the sight of him. She’d loved him for so long everything about him was imprinted on her memory. As usual, his auburn hair looked like it had been styled with a hand mixer, his jaw sported designer stubble and he was dressed eclectically—his black slacks, gray silk shirt and red-and-black striped tie were offset by clunky boots and a leather jacket.

He wasn’t quick enough to conceal his surprise at seeing her, but he covered it with an over-bright smile and gave her the same quick, impersonal hug he always did.

“Miranda. Glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” she murmured, trying not to drink up his familiar leathery scent.

His surprise made her feel self-conscious and at the same time strengthened her conviction that she’d done the right thing by coming tonight. No doubt he’d thought she was at home crying her eyes out. Well she’d show him—assuming Peter still intended to show up. God,
please
let him show up. She needed an ally tonight.

Tim slid his arm around the blonde, who was probably about his height but whose do-me heels made her look several inches taller.

“Alyssa Burns,” he said, “meet Miranda Girard, one of my classmates.”

The demotion from close friend to classmate hit her like a wrecking ball, and she was still trying to process the pain into a coherent reply to Alyssa’s greeting when Tim’s incredulous blue eyes focused over her shoulder. “Dude, what’s the occasion?”

“I’ve got a hot date.”

Miranda turned and smiled up at Peter tremulously, her relief so intense she almost teared up. How had she ever imagined she could make it through this evening alone?

Apparently one look at her face was the only cue he needed.

“There’s my gorgeous girl!” he declared before sweeping her into his arms and kissing her like he’d been out to sea, missing the softness of a woman for years.

Gratitude alone would have been enough to make her sink into Peter’s embrace with a whimper of surrender—his timing, sensitivity and flare for the dramatic were exquisite.

But it was pure, unadulterated lust that made her part her lips and greet his demanding tongue with her own. He smelled like spice and sin but tasted like spearmint, and his chest and abs felt like rock-hard heaven against her boneless body.

Miranda had never experienced anything like him before, and she strained to get closer, clutching his neck and delighting in the damp, soft hair at his nape.

In return, Peter hummed low in his throat and spread his feet as he tipped her back a little further, holding her head in place with one hand and pressing her hips against his with the other. God, he was so strong!

And he had an erection.

The realization sparked wildfires in all her most needy, neglected places and she groaned, sucking on his tongue, pressing harder against him. She’d been holding back for so long, waiting for something exactly like this. She wanted more, wanted her dress
gone
so she could wrap her legs around his waist and—

Peter tore his mouth from hers and eased his hold just a bit as he straightened, breathing heavily. “Save some for later, baby,” he said in her ear. “We’ve got all night.”

Miranda surfaced slowly, finally hearing the clinking of glassware and the low rumble of conversation over the pounding of her heart as Peter let her slip down his long body to her feet. He didn’t let her go, a fact for which she was profoundly grateful since her legs were as wobbly as a newborn colt’s.

He nuzzled her ear, clearly trying to get his breathing under control—that, and his erection, which still stood firm and hot between their bellies. Wow. If he wasn’t into women, he was one hell of an actor.

Then she remembered that Tim was probably still standing behind her, waiting to greet their other classmates, and she laughed breathlessly without opening her eyes.

“You laughing at my distress, little girl?” Peter murmured, backing up enough to press soft kisses across her cheek to her lips.

Kissing him back languidly, still a little bit in shock, she shook her head. “This is insane.”

“Insanely good.” He let go enough for her to stand on her own and rubbed her back. “Sorry,” he said to Tim in a louder voice. “It was a long week without her.”

“I guess so,” Tim replied flatly. “You look like a rodeo clown, Pete. And here, Miranda, you dropped this.”

Miranda’s eyes popped open and she laughed at Peter. “You stole all my lipstick,” she accused, accepting her clutch from Tim with barely a glance.

Peter’s gray eyes smiled down at her as he stepped back and pulled a hankie out of his pocket. “My bad,” he said, scrubbing at his lipstick-smeared lips. “I’m sure it looked better on you.”

“I don’t know. You make an awfully handsome rodeo clown.”

He sent her a coy look. “I’m afraid of cowboys.” When she snickered, he folded the hankie the other direction and handed it to her. “While I find the rodeo clown look charming on you, too, it would probably raise a few eyebrows at our table.”

As she wiped off what was left of her lipstick, Miranda finally noticed the rest of him and her eyes widened. “Wow, look at you.”

Talk about a transformation—in barely fifteen minutes, he’d apparently showered, shaved and combed his short brown hair, which usually looked as though it had been styled with the same hand mixer as Tim’s, into a neat side part. He’d also changed into a charcoal suit with a snowy dress shirt and matching turquoise paisley vest and tie.

Peter Vaughn was freaking gorgeous. And he was looking at her as if she were the only woman in the room. The only woman in the entire world.

Breathing suddenly became difficult and her heart thumped unevenly. He was acting, for God’s sake! She needed to dial back the warm fuzzies before she made an idiot out of herself. Again. No need to transfer one lifetime obsession for another just because of a kiss.

“You want something from the bar?” he asked.

Miranda shook her head. “I’ll just have wine with dinner, thank you.”

Without another word, Peter laced his fingers with hers and led her right past Tim.

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