The Do-Over (The Miles High Club Book 4)

I grip Christopher’s hand with white-knuckle force as we walk down the street. I peer around like a child seeing the world for the first time. A million cars, beautiful people, and I can hardly see the sky for skyscrapers. The shops look like luxury stores, nothing at all like where I would normally buy my clothes. Even the mannequins in the windows are hot.

And tiny.

Does anyone sell anything in normal sizes?

Madison Avenue . . . code for teeny tiny.

I look around at all the women who are buzzing around in a hurry, stylish and gorgeous, groomed to perfection. I catch sight of Christopher and me in a shop window, and I inwardly cringe. He’s looking all suave, in black jeans and shirt, and I’m wearing a casual T-shirt and shorts that I’ve practically lived in for over a year.

They’re worn and faded. My hair is all over the place, and I have no makeup on. I look like a complete wreck, and last night’s crying puffy eyes and face don’t help my cause.

I sure am missing our relaxed backpacking life right now.

We walk past a huge fancy boutique, and the mannequin is wearing a black dress and nice shoes. “In here,” Christopher says.

“It looks expensive,” I whisper.

He widens his eyes.

“Fine.”

He pulls me in by the hand. “Hello.” He smiles.

“Hi.” The shop assistants smile as they look him up and down and then to me with a subtle frown.

Great, I must look like his fix-up-the-hooker project or something.

“Can I help you with anything?”

Christopher goes to open his mouth, and I throw him a look and cut him off. “Just looking, thanks.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t even,” I whisper.

He rolls his lips to keep his mouth closed and loiters behind me as I look around.

I see a nice black dress, and I look at the tag.

$4300.00

“What the . . . ,” I whisper as I drop it like a hot potato and keep walking.

He takes it off the rack and throws it over his arm.

“Don’t bother,” I whisper. “That’s daylight robbery, Christopher. I’m never paying that for a dress. Does it have gold fucking stitching or something?”

“Shh . . . no talking,” he whispers as he fakes a smile at the salesgirl.

I widen my eyes, annoyed.

He gestures to a rack of dresses. “What else do you like?”

“Nothing here,” I whisper. “These prices are ludicrous.”

He puts his hand around my waist and pulls me in and kisses me softly as he lowers his voice. “When we get to Bumfuck, Nowhere, you can go shopping wherever you want. But tonight, we have a dinner date for you to meet my family, and we need to buy you a dress and shoes. So humor me and try some things on, or this is going to be an all-day fucking ordeal.”

I stare at him.

“Comprender?”

“Fine.” I flick through the rack. I get to a nice gray dress, and I turn the price tag over, and he snatches it out of my hand before I get a chance to see the price.

I roll my eyes and keep walking.

“Do you have these dresses in her size, please?” Christopher asks the shop assistant.

“I’ll check, sir.” She smiles before walking out the back.

“How does she know what size I am?” I mutter under my breath.

“Because it’s her job,” he mutters back. “You get what you pay for in New York.”

“So there’s a car hiding in that dress, is there?”

He chuckles as he keeps looking. “Maybe.” He takes a few more things off the rack and throws them over his arm.

“Well, where are we going for dinner tonight, anyway?” I ask him. “Do I really need to wear a dress? Couldn’t I just wear jeans?”

He smiles softly and leans in and kisses me. “I love you?”

“Is that a no?” I frown.

“That’s a”—he stops while he chooses his words—“that’s a . . . you wear whatever you want, sweetheart, and I will love you in it.”

I roll my eyes. He thinks I should wear a dress. “Fine.”

The shop assistant comes back over. “I have the dresses waiting in the changing room, ma’am.”

“Hayden,” Christopher corrects her. “Her name is Hayden.”

“Hello, Hayden.” She smiles. “I’m Camelia.”

“Hello, Camelia,” he says in his sexy, deep voice.

“And your name, sir?”

“Christopher Miles.”

Her eyes widen, and she glances to the other girls. “Mr. Miles.”

She knows who he is.

Fuck.

“That’s right.” He smiles. “Hayden has a”—he pauses—“a special occasion tonight, and she’s from out of town. Can you help her find what she’s after, please?”

“Of course, sir.” She smiles knowingly.

Oh crap.

I totally do look like his fix-up-a-hooker project. I exhale heavily as I look around. This is so embarrassing. He walks over to the counter and slides his credit card across to the girl. “Hayden has no clothes with her at all.”

“Yes, sir.”

He comes back and kisses my lips. “I’m going to get a coffee next door, sweetheart. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Camelia.”

You’re leaving me here?

“I’ll be just next door,” he replies as if reading my mind.

“Fine.” I scratch my head in embarrassment and watch as he walks out the front door.

“Hayden.” The assistant smiles, bringing my attention back to her. “Let’s make you absolutely stunning for tonight.”

“Not sure that’s possible.” I exhale, feeling defeated.

“Where are you going, darling?”

“I’m meeting his parents.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “We need to bring out the big guns.” She walks around me as she looks me up and down. “Stephanie,” she calls to the other assistant.

“Yes.”

“Can you ring the salon and make an urgent hair appointment for Hayden, please? She needs a blowout.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” I frown.

Camelia raises an eyebrow. “Everything, darling, everything.”

I glide the lipstick smoothly over and roll my lips to my reflection in the mirror.

“Seriously, though,” Christopher murmurs into my neck as he nibbles down to my collarbone.

“Stop.” I shrug him off and look down at myself. I’m wearing a fitted black wrap dress with sheer sleeves and nude strappy stilettos, and my girls are up high in the boostiest bra of all time. I’m even wearing a sexy G-string. My hair is so amazing I could swear it’s a wig, and my makeup is natural and glowy.

I hate to admit it, but Camelia knows her stuff. I look a million bucks.

Christopher’s hands glide up and down my body. He’s impressed, never having seen me like this before. “Kiss me,” he whispers darkly.

“I just put lipstick on.”

“Kiss me.” His teeth nip my earlobe.

“You do not want to kiss me.” I roll my eyes. “You want to bend me over the bathroom cabinet and fuck me from behind.”

“Hmm.” He smiles as if imagining it. “You’re right, I do. Let’s do that instead. Much better plan.” He lifts one of my legs to sit on the cabinet.

“Listen, after your little-rich-boy act”—I correct myself as I pull my leg down—“poor-boy act, you owe me a montage of multiple orgasms.”

“Ready, willing, and able.” He grabs my hip bones and pumps me with his pelvis.

“Not. Now.” I pull out of his grip and turn to look at my behind. “Do I look okay?”

He grabs my hand and puts it over the large erection in his pants. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a sex maniac, that’s what I think.”

“You could be onto something,” he murmurs against my neck as his teeth graze my skin. “Punish me for it.”

“Stop,” I snap, annoyed. “I’m not going to meet your family for the first time smelling like sex.”

“Hand brake.”

I try to keep a straight face and fail miserably. “Let’s go.”

Half an hour later, the car pulls up to the curb on a busy, congested street, and Christopher opens the door and climbs out. “Thanks.”

“Have a good night.” Hans smiles.

“Thank you.” I smile. Christopher holds his hand out to take mine and helps me from the car, and we begin to walk up the street toward the restaurant. I’m as nervous as all hell. “Any tips?” I ask.

“For what?”

“To meet your family.”

He puts his arm around me and kisses my temple as we walk. “They’re going to love you, Grumps.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I love you.”

I smile up at him, and he stops and kisses me softly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For . . .” He shrugs. “Putting up with me.”

I smile, feeling a lot better about us, and we kiss again. Our lips linger over each other’s. “You ready to do this?” he asks.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He takes my hand and leads me into the restaurant. It’s trendy, and every table is full.

“Good evening, Mr. Miles.” The waiter smiles.

“Hello,” Christopher replies.

“This way.” The waiter turns and walks off, and we follow him. I notice a few people turn their heads to watch Christopher walk past.

Does everyone in this godforsaken town know who he is?

We walk through a large archway into a semiprivate area. Still a part of the main restaurant but a little separated. People are sitting around a huge round table, and they see us and all stand. “Hi, everyone.” Christopher smiles. “This is Hayden.”

“Hi,” I squeak as I look around nervously.

“Hey,” they all cheer, excited.

“This is my brother Jameson and his wife, Emily.”

“Hello.” I feel faint. He didn’t tell me his brother is ridiculously hot.

They both kiss me on the cheek. “Hello.” His wife is pregnant.

“And this is my mother and father, Elizabeth and George.”

“Hello.”

His father kisses my cheek, and his mother pulls me in for a hug. “Hello, darling, it’s so good to finally meet you.” She holds my two hands in hers as she studies me.

She’s so well put together that she looks like a queen or something, super attractive for her age.

“Okay, Mom, you’re being creepy now.” Christopher widens his eyes at her as he pulls out my chair. I fall into it beside his brother’s wife, wishing this night was over already.

Emily fills my glass. “Drink,” she whispers.

I giggle. I like her already. “Good idea.”

“Where are the Anderson Mileses?” Christopher asks.

“Oh, they’ll be late as usual, darling,” his mother says as she picks up her wineglass. “Hayden.” She smiles over at me. “Christopher didn’t tell me you were so beautiful.”

“Oh.” I frown, embarrassed.

“She is, isn’t she?” Christopher smiles proudly as he reaches over and takes my hand in my lap.

Emily watches us and then hunches her shoulders in excitement. She looks around the table at the others, and I feel like an amusement in a freak show.

“So . . .” His mother smiles as she looks between us. “Tell us how you two met.”

“Come on, Mom.” Christopher sighs. “We just got here. Can we leave the fifty questions until Hayden is drunk, please?”

Everyone chuckles, and I sip my wine. Not a drill. For real.

A boy comes running through the restaurant. “Grandma,” he yells as he grabs her in a headlock from behind.

She laughs out loud. “Hello, my sweet Patrick.”

He dives to sit beside her, and she wipes the hair back from his forehead as they talk between themselves. I would say he’s around ten years of age.

“Hello, Patrick.” Everyone smiles.

“This is Patrick, my brother Tristan’s son,” Christopher says. He gestures to me. “This is Hayden.”

Patrick looks over at me in surprise and then back to Christopher. “Where have you been?”

“I went on a trip.”

“Why so long?”

Everyone chuckles.

“Sorry we’re late,” a woman says as she takes off her coat. She’s pretty, with dark hair, and heavily pregnant. “I’m Claire.” She smiles as she shakes my hand. Christopher stands and laughs and takes her into his arms. It’s obvious the two of them are close.

“What have you done with my brother?” he teases.

“He’s coming.” She rolls her eyes.

I turn to see a large boy, a teenager, walking toward us, and behind him is a man who is Christopher’s double. My mouth nearly falls open. The resemblance is uncanny.

“Hi,” he says. “Sorry we’re late.” He smiles and comes straight over to me. “You must be Hayden?”

“Yes.”

He pulls me out of the chair and into his arms for a hug. He’s tall and good looking like the other two brothers. Talk about a gene pool.

Oh . . . he smells good.

“I’m Tristan.”

“Hello.”

“This is my son, Harry.” He introduces me to the large boy. God . . . he must have had this kid when he was ten.

“Hello.” The boy smiles as he shakes my hand.

Tristan pulls the chair out, directing Harry where to sit. “What do you want to drink, babe?”

Claire exhales, clearly sick of being pregnant. “You know what I want to drink.”

He raises a cheeky eyebrow. “Lemonade?”

“Can’t wait,” she mutters dryly.

Claire smiles over at me. “How long have you got to go?” I ask.

“I’m eight months. Hopefully a few weeks.”

Tristan reaches over and puts his hand protectively on her pregnant stomach. “You stay in there and behave yourself,” he says casually. He turns back to talking to Jameson.

Claire rolls her eyes. “Tristan is obsessed with babies. This is our third in four years.”

Emily and I laugh.

“He’ll annoy the poor thing to death.” Claire rolls her eyes again.

I look to the older boys sitting at the table in confusion.

“These are my sons,” she explains. “Tristan’s now too. He adopted them when we got married. Their biological father died.”

“Oh.” I smile as I connect the dots. “I see.”

I look to Tristan with love hearts in my eyes. He took on her children: not at all what I would expect. He’s a good guy.

Harry is watching something on his phone with the volume turned up so loud that everyone can hear it. Tristan gestures to his neck as if saying, Cut it out.

Harry rolls his eyes, and Tristan looks at him deadpan. Harry exhales and turns it down, and I bite my lip to hide my smile.

Patrick is chatting away to his grandmother, and she is laughing and talking to him like she has all the time in the world as he fiddles with her hair. He’s telling her some in-depth story about what happened at baseball practice as she listens to his story intently.

I like her.

I turn my attention to Emily. She has dark hair and is pretty. “How far along are you?”

“Five months.”

Oh, I would have thought further along than that.

“I’m huge.” She exhales. “Baby number four. My stomach is stretched to the shit. It’s like a fucking tent in there.”

Claire hushes her. “It will bounce back.”

Jeez.

Jameson stretches out and puts his arm across the back of Emily’s chair as he talks to the boys. His finger traces a circle on her shoulder.

“Everyone’s babies are so close.” I smile.

“Too close.” Emily rolls her eyes. “Jameson wants the diaper stage over as quick as possible.”

“Makes sense.”

“How do you like New York?” Claire smiles warmly.

“It’s . . .” I shrug.

“It’s a lot to take on,” she whispers.

Emily reaches over and takes my hand in hers. “We were the same.”

They know.

“Tell me this gets easier.”

They exchange looks and laughs. “Oh, sweetie,” Claire says. “It doesn’t, but you do get used to it.”

I force a smile.

“Dad,” Patrick says across the table.

Tristan keeps talking to Jameson and Christopher.

“Dad.”

He still doesn’t hear him.

“Dad.”

Tristan keeps talking.

“Dad.”

“Dad’s talking, Patrick,” Claire says. “Use your manners, please.”

“Excuse me, Dad!” he screams.

The whole table stops talking, and Tristan looks across the table, startled. “Yes, Patrick, what is it?”

“I want fries tonight.”

Tristan looks at him deadpan and sips his beer. “That’s great, buddy. You do that.”

Jameson chuckles, and I try not to smile. It’s obvious the boys are pretty full on.

We chat, and we laugh, and this isn’t what I expected at all.

Harry reaches over and knocks his drink over. It spills all over the table, and Tristan reaches over and mops it up with a napkin as he talks, totally unfazed.

Dinner comes, and we eat as we talk. It’s delicious.

They all make me feel so welcome, and the conversation isn’t forced at all.

Patrick reaches over and knocks his drink over too. Tristan rolls his eyes. “Fuck me dead,” he mouths to Jameson, who is chuckling again.

“Jay.” Emily rubs her chest. “I’m getting angina.”

“That makes two of us,” Tristan mutters dryly as he mops up the mess. “You keep that baby inside of you, Anderson. I’ve got enough on my plate out here.”

“Table,” Jameson corrects him.

I giggle as I watch. Everyone is laughing and talking through the messy chaos, and nobody is batting an eyelid.

I glance across the table to Christopher; his eyes hold mine, and he gives me the best come-fuck-me look of all time.

The air crackles between us as we stare at each other.

Him, his family, these kids . . . the night went well.

Christopher opens the front door and pulls me into the apartment. “Do you want a drink or anything?”

“No thanks.”

He leads me in by the hand and hesitates as he looks up the stairs. “That’s right, we’re burning that bed in the Tinder auditorium, aren’t we?”

I smile, grateful that he can find the joke in it.

He pulls me up the hall downstairs. “Although for future reference, I want it noted that I have never been on Tinder.” He pushes me into a spare bedroom. “We’ll need to burn this bed tomorrow too.” He kisses me roughly as he walks me backward into the room. “It’s your moans that will be ingrained into the paint.”

With his eyes locked onto the task in front of him, he undoes the tie and slowly slides my dress off over my shoulders and throws it onto the floor.

I stand before him in my sexy black lace underwear, and his dark eyes hold mine as he drops to his knee in front of me.

He kisses my hip bones and then my lower stomach, and I feel like I can’t breathe as I watch.

Everything is intensified between us. It’s like we’ve hit a higher level of consciousness.

Things are different now that I know who he really is. He could have any woman in the world, and yet he loves me.

A simple country girl.

He kisses me tenderly through my panties, and his eyes close in ecstasy.

I love this man.

He drops lower and licks up my inner thigh as his dark eyes hold mine. He turns his head and gently bites my thigh again.

Thump, thump, thump, sounds my heartbeat in my ears, and I try to calm my breathing.

He nips my sex through my panties and inhales sharply as his hand goes to his cock. He rearranges it in his pants as if it’s painfully crumpled.

He slides my panties down my legs and takes them off, and I stand before him in stilettos and a black lacy bra.

He hasn’t tried to take my shoes off, so I’m assuming he wants them left on.

He’s so naughty.

With his eyes locked on mine, he runs his fingertips through the lips of my sex. His fingers glisten with the evidence of my arousal, and then he puts them in his mouth and sucks them.

Fuck.

My arousal hits fever pitch.

He stands and walks around me. His eyes are hungry as they drink in every little detail of my naked skin, a hunter sizing up his prey.

He’s different . . . darker.

More in tune with himself, but maybe he’s just being his true self now.

I had the backpacker version . . . now I’m getting the billionaire in all his dirty glory.

He walks behind me and unlatches my bra and slowly takes it off. His hands come around, and his thumbs swipe over my hardened nipples. His teeth graze my earlobe, and goose bumps scatter over my skin.

“Bend over,” he says. His voice is deep and husky.

I frown, not understanding. “What?”

“Bend. Over.”

I bend over, and he inhales sharply as he stares at my sex.

“Good girl,” he coaches me.

Bang, bang, bang, goes my heart in my chest as I lean over. My hands are on my knees.

“Straighten your legs.” He taps my feet and spreads them apart. He touches the fronts of my knees, insinuating he wants me to straighten.

Jeez . . . I’d better start stretching up. I’m not a contortionist, you know.

He stands behind me and runs his hand up my spine. I look through my legs to see the huge bulge in his pants, and I smile.

Dirty bastard.

Without warning, he grabs a handful of my hair and tears my head back. He slides three fingers deep into my sex. My knees go weak.

Crack.

He slaps me across the behind. “Keep your fucking legs straight.”

Jeez.

I try to focus on keeping my legs straight. In high heels it isn’t an easy task.

His fingers plunge deep into my sex as he fucks me with them. The grip he has on my hair is painful, and I screw up my face.

I don’t know what kind of fucking this is . . . but holy hell, it’s good.

My arousal hits a new level. The sound of my wet body sucking him echoes throughout the room. He’s fucking me so deep with his fingers that I can hardly breathe.

I shudder.

“Don’t you dare fucking come,” he moans.

“What?”

“You wait for me. You understand?” His voice is deep and husky, deeply aroused.

My eyes roll back in my head at the sound of his voice.

Okay . . . Billionaire Miles is fucking hot.

He fucks me again with his fingers, and I shudder hard.

Crack.

He slaps my behind, and I let out an unexpected giggle. The fact that I’m loving this is fucked up.

He walks around the front of me, and I stare at his immaculate expensive black shoes. His breath is quivering, and I know he’s hanging on to control by a thread.

He runs his hand down my spine and walks behind me again. He rubs his hand over my skin in a circle, as if slowing himself down. Trying to regain control.

I hear his pants unzip.

I close my eyes and wait. Yes.

Fuck me.

He grabs a handful of my hair and winds it around his hand, giving him full control over my body.

I peer through my legs to see his thick, hard cock hanging heavily between his legs.

Pulsating and angry, engorged with veins, dripping with preejaculate.

Dear lord.

He swipes it through my wet lips, and he chuckles darkly.

I smile. I love that sound.

Then he slams in hard, so hard that the air is knocked from my lungs.

My body begins to spiral out of control.

The painful grip on my hair, the stretch of his large cock. The piston pace of his hard pumps.

My body is at his disposal. The master and his domain.

Slam.

Slam.

Slam.

Oh . . . fuck.

I see stars, and I fall hard into a subspace I’ve never been before. I cry out as I come hard, shuddering out of control.

He pulls out and throws me on the bed onto my back and spreads my legs open.

I lie there quivering like a puppet, and his dark eyes hold mine as he takes his shirt off over his head. His broad shoulders come into view, his thick chest with a scattering of dark hair. The ripples in his stomach, the perfect V of muscle that leads to his perfect package.

He kicks his jeans off, and I hold my breath.

What’s he doing now?

He drops between my legs, and with his fingers he spreads me open and licks me.

His dark eyes hold mine as he takes his time. His arousal hits another level, and he’s all in, whiskers, face. Rough as hell in my most intimate area.

His thick tongue taking no prisoners as it cleans me up. I’ve only just come for him, but I can feel it building again.

Fuck.

How is this man so hot?

He smiles darkly. His lips glisten with my arousal, and my heart free-falls from my chest.

I think we might be hitting 100 percent tonight.