heard her draw in a deep breath. “I’d really like to see you again. I guess that’s kind of obvious, considering everything that happened this morning.” She hesitated. “So, call me, all right?” She left her phone number, then the message ended.
Miller really wanted to see her again, too.
Really
wanted to see her again.
Daniel glanced at him one more time, and Miller realized he was standing there, staring at nothing, listening to nothing. He quickly hung up the phone.
“Everything all right?” Daniel asked.
“Yeah.” He was well aware that Daniel had said not one word about the fact that Miller hadn’t come back to the hotel last night until after dawn. The kid hadn’t even lifted an eyebrow.
But now Daniel cleared his throat. “John, I don’t mean to pry, but—”
“Then don’t,” Miller said shortly. “Not that it’s any of your business, but nothing happened last night.” But even as he said the words, Miller knew they were a lie. Something
had
happened last night. Mariah Robinson had touched him, and for nearly eight hours, his demons had been kept at bay.
Something very big had happened last night.
For the first time since forever, John Miller had slept.
* * *
M ARIAH WAS DRESSING UP.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn anything besides shorts and a T-shirt or a bathing suit. She’d gone to Serena’s other parties in casual clothes. But tonight, she’d pulled her full collection of dresses—all four of ’em—out of the back of her closet. Three of them were pretty standard Sunday-best, goin’-to-meeting-type affairs, with tiny, demure flowers and conservative necklines.
The fourth was black. It was a short-sleeved sheath cut fashionably above the knee, with a sweetheart neckline that would draw one’s eyes—preferably Jonathan Mills’s eyes—to her plentiful assets. Her full breasts were, depending on her mood, one of her best features or one of her worst. Tonight, she was going to think positively. Tonight they were an asset.
She briefly considered sheer black stockings, but rejected them in place of bare legs and a healthy coating of Cutter’s—in consideration of the sultry evening heat.
Usually when she went out with a man, she wore flats, but Jonathan Mills was tall enough for her to wear heels. They might make her stand nose to nose with him, but she
wouldn’t
tower over him.
Since the moment he’d called to tell her that he wasn’t available for dinner but he’d love to go to the party with her, Mariah had been walking on air. She was ridiculously excited about seeing him again—she’d thought about almost nothing else all afternoon.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt thisway. Even in college, when she was first dating Trevor, she hadn’t felt this giddy.
Even the dark cloud of anxiety cast by John’s potentially terminal illness didn’t faze her tonight. They’d caught the cancer early, he’d told her. The survival rate for this type of cancer was high. He was going to live. Positive thinking.
Mariah felt another surge of anticipation as she slipped into her shoes and stepped back to look at herself in the mirror.
She looked… sexy. She looked… well proportioned. It was true that those proportions were extra large, but they had to be to fit her height. And in this case, she was using her body to her advantage. In this dress, with this neckline, she had cleavage with a capital
C
. All that without a WonderBra in sight.
The doorbell rang, and she smoothed the dress over her hips one last time, leaning closer to check her lipstick.
Ready or not, her date had come.
Praying that she wasn’t coming on too strong, what with the attack of the monster cleavage and all, Mariah opened her front door.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly.
John’s eyes skimmed down her once, then twice, then more slowly, before coming back to rest on her face as he smiled. “Wow. You look… incredible.”
She stepped back and opened the
Miller really wanted to see her again, too.
Really
wanted to see her again.
Daniel glanced at him one more time, and Miller realized he was standing there, staring at nothing, listening to nothing. He quickly hung up the phone.
“Everything all right?” Daniel asked.
“Yeah.” He was well aware that Daniel had said not one word about the fact that Miller hadn’t come back to the hotel last night until after dawn. The kid hadn’t even lifted an eyebrow.
But now Daniel cleared his throat. “John, I don’t mean to pry, but—”
“Then don’t,” Miller said shortly. “Not that it’s any of your business, but nothing happened last night.” But even as he said the words, Miller knew they were a lie. Something
had
happened last night. Mariah Robinson had touched him, and for nearly eight hours, his demons had been kept at bay.
Something very big had happened last night.
For the first time since forever, John Miller had slept.
* * *
M ARIAH WAS DRESSING UP.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn anything besides shorts and a T-shirt or a bathing suit. She’d gone to Serena’s other parties in casual clothes. But tonight, she’d pulled her full collection of dresses—all four of ’em—out of the back of her closet. Three of them were pretty standard Sunday-best, goin’-to-meeting-type affairs, with tiny, demure flowers and conservative necklines.
The fourth was black. It was a short-sleeved sheath cut fashionably above the knee, with a sweetheart neckline that would draw one’s eyes—preferably Jonathan Mills’s eyes—to her plentiful assets. Her full breasts were, depending on her mood, one of her best features or one of her worst. Tonight, she was going to think positively. Tonight they were an asset.
She briefly considered sheer black stockings, but rejected them in place of bare legs and a healthy coating of Cutter’s—in consideration of the sultry evening heat.
Usually when she went out with a man, she wore flats, but Jonathan Mills was tall enough for her to wear heels. They might make her stand nose to nose with him, but she
wouldn’t
tower over him.
Since the moment he’d called to tell her that he wasn’t available for dinner but he’d love to go to the party with her, Mariah had been walking on air. She was ridiculously excited about seeing him again—she’d thought about almost nothing else all afternoon.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt thisway. Even in college, when she was first dating Trevor, she hadn’t felt this giddy.
Even the dark cloud of anxiety cast by John’s potentially terminal illness didn’t faze her tonight. They’d caught the cancer early, he’d told her. The survival rate for this type of cancer was high. He was going to live. Positive thinking.
Mariah felt another surge of anticipation as she slipped into her shoes and stepped back to look at herself in the mirror.
She looked… sexy. She looked… well proportioned. It was true that those proportions were extra large, but they had to be to fit her height. And in this case, she was using her body to her advantage. In this dress, with this neckline, she had cleavage with a capital
C
. All that without a WonderBra in sight.
The doorbell rang, and she smoothed the dress over her hips one last time, leaning closer to check her lipstick.
Ready or not, her date had come.
Praying that she wasn’t coming on too strong, what with the attack of the monster cleavage and all, Mariah opened her front door.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly.
John’s eyes skimmed down her once, then twice, then more slowly, before coming back to rest on her face as he smiled. “Wow. You look… incredible.”
She stepped back and opened the
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