The Takeover (The Miles High Club Book 2)

I wake with a jump and notice it’s light—too light for early morning.

Huh?

I scramble for my phone on the nightstand: 8:45 a.m.

What the hell? We started at eight o’clock this morning. My eyes widen in horror.

Oh my God. I dive out of bed and run to the shower.

Shit.

And my clothes need ironing—oh, this is a disaster. Why am I not more organized?

I shower in record time, grab my clothes, and run around like a lunatic dressing. I hop around, putting my makeup on while looking for my shoes.

Tristan’s briefs are in the middle of the floor, and I scoop them up and shove them in my suitcase. I look around for my room key. Where is it?

Oh, damn it, I’ll get another one from reception this afternoon. I grab my handbag and run.

Ten minutes later I rush into the conference room to find everyone sitting and listening to a woman speak.

I’m puffing and panting, and everyone in the room turns to look at me. “Hi,” I huff. “I don’t know . . . my alarm didn’t go off.” I shrug. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

The lecturer gestures to a chair. “That’s quite all right, dear. Please take a seat.”

I walk through the chairs and slink into a chair in the back row. Damn it. I want the earth to swallow me up. I look so unprofessional.

I glance over to see Tristan biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling as he listens intently to the lecture. His eyes don’t come to me at all. Completely cool, calm, and collected, as usual. Wearing a dark-gray suit, he looks like he’s just stepped off a modeling shoot. Clean shaven, perfectly put together. His dark wavy hair is well kept, with not a hair out of place.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling like a loon.

I know what’s under his suit, and it’s pretty fucking delicious.

We sit at the café and drink our coffee during the afternoon tea break.

Tristan is sitting with his three groupies, and I’m talking to Nelson and Peter, one of the other guys.

Tristan hasn’t acknowledged last night at all, and I’m beginning to wonder if I imagined the entire thing. Mind you, we haven’t been alone at all, but still.

Not even a glance my way.

“So, Tristan,” Saba says in her sexiest voice. “Are we on for tonight? You’ve been promising to party with us girls.”

Tristan’s eyes flick guiltily to me. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m busy.”

I sip my coffee as I watch him navigate this. It’s fun watching him squirm.

“Doing what?” Saba frowns.

“I have a project to finish with Claire. We started it last night, and it still needs work.”

The girls’ faces fall in disappointment.

“No, that’s fine, Tristan,” I interrupt. “I finished the job myself after you left.”

He blinks in disbelief and then narrows his eyes. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.” I sip my coffee, acting innocent.

He glares at me.

“Yeah, that’s probably why I slept so well. Felt so good to finally get the project done, you know?”

“I would have done it better,” he replies flatly.

“Oh, well, you didn’t.” I smile sweetly. “I saved you the job. You should go party with the girls. I’m sure they’re going to be great fun.”

“Yes.” The girls all giggle on cue, and he looks at me deadpan.

The bell rings for us to return, and everyone stands and leaves us alone.

“Finished the job, did you?” he whispers.

I shrug casually. “It had to be done.”

He stands and does his suit jacket up with one hand, unimpressed. “You’re a smart-ass, Anderson.”

“Have fun with the girls tonight,” I whisper. “Although, I really don’t know how you would handle three?”

“You’re going to fucking get it.” He marches off toward the conference room, clearly annoyed, and I smile after him.

I feel a flutter in my psyche; it’s as if the playful part of my personality is waking up from her deep sleep.

The long-forgotten piece of me.

Tristan makes me remember who I was . . . before.

The room is steamy and hot, and I smile sleepily as my head rests on the side of the bathtub. It’s just around ten o’clock, and I’m so relaxed that I’m nearly asleep.

I hear the lock on my door click, and I frown. Huh?

Maybe it’s housekeeping. The door shuts. “Hello?” I call.

“Hi,” Tristan says as he walks into the bathroom. He takes off his suit jacket and throws it over the chair in the corner.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He continues to undress.

“How did you get in here?” I frown.

“A key?” He kicks off his shoes.

“How did you get a key?”

He unzips his pants. “I did what any self-respecting man who’s kicked out of bed in the middle of the night does.” He takes off his shirt. “I took yours.”

My eyes widen. “You stole my key?” I gasp.

“Borrowed it, and relax, we swap body fluids. What’s yours is mine.” He slides down his trousers and briefs. “Move over. I’m getting in.”

“Tristan.”

He steps into the bath, between my legs, and sits down. The water sloshes over the side.

“It’s too hot.” He winces as he goes to turn the cold water on.

“Don’t even think about it,” I mutter.

He smiles and then slides down and closes his eyes. The water sloshes over the sides again.

I watch him for a moment. “How was your date?” I ask.

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Okay, your foursome.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he mumbles. “A reason to tease me for all of eternity.” His hair is all messed up, and his boyish charm is at an all-time high.

I smile, surprised by who he’s turning out to be. I never once pegged him as fun to be around.

He opens one eye to look at me. “What?”

“You really are a very good-looking man, Mr. Miles.”

He smirks. “Is that you giving me a compliment, Anderson?”

I nod in slow motion with a big smile.

He runs his hand up my leg. “Did you really finish yourself off last night?”

“Would it bother you if I did?”

“Yes. It would, actually.”

I pick up his foot and kiss it and then put it back down between my breasts. “No, Tristan, I didn’t.”

He stares at me for a moment, as if processing a thought. He massages my breast with his foot. “Are you lying?”

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know.” He thinks on it for a moment. “You’re a very different species of woman to what I’m used to, Claire.”

“How so?”

“It didn’t bother you one bit that I went out with three women tonight?”

I smile. If we were different, I would no doubt be raging mad, but knowing that Tristan is just for fun and that it could never be like that between us, I’m surprisingly good. “No. Why?” I lift his foot and kiss it again. “Should it?”

“I don’t know.” He frowns as he contemplates his response.

“Do you want me to act jealous?” I ask.

He gives me a lopsided smile. “Perhaps a little. Couldn’t hurt, could it?”

“Tristan,” I whisper as I fall into role-play.

“Yes.”

“I thought we had something special. How could you do this to me?”

He bites his lip to hide his smile. “That’s more like it.”

“After all we’ve been through, I thought I was the one,” I whisper.

He smiles broadly. He likes this game.

I slide across and lie on top of him. His big arms come around me, and my lips take his.

“I kind of like you being jealous,” he whispers.

I smile against his lips as I circle my sex over his hardened erection. “Did you go to the pharmacy today?”

He chuckles. “I bought in bulk.”

The glimmer of perspiration dusts his skin, and he looks up at me with dark eyes.

Tristan.

Tristan fucking Miles.

Sex-god extraordinaire.

I don’t know if this is the same man I slept with last night. The man with me tonight is an absolute rock star between the sheets. I’m in awe.

We’ve been fucking for hours. Like animals, we can’t get enough. We finish and talk for a little while, and then he kisses me, and the entire process begins again.

It’s like the ultimate marathon.

We’re both wet with perspiration, and I’ve never had sex like this before. “Come on,” he whispers. He wants it harder and tighter. I close my eyes and clench. He has my two hip bones in his hands, and he’s guiding me over his cock and positioning me where he wants me.

His pumps get harder . . . deeper.

“Yes,” he moans. “Fuck yes.” His grip becomes tighter.

I close my eyes as I begin to moan. Fuck . . . how many times can the female body come in one night? This is insane.

“Anderson,” he growls as I lose focus. “Fuck me.”

“Ohh,” I murmur as I stare down at the gorgeous man beneath me. His hair is hanging messily over his forehead, his eyes are dark, and his face is alive with satisfaction. This is his element.

Sex is his thing.

There’s a reason the name Tristan fucking Miles came to me. It was a premonition.

The fucking wasn’t silent; it was a verb.

He flips us so that I am on my back. He lifts my legs and puts them over his shoulders and then comes face to face with me.

And we stop still as we stare at each other.

His body is deep inside of mine; the burn of his rough possession holds me captive.

He smiles softly, and my stomach flutters.

Don’t look at me like that.

“Kiss me,” he breathes. “I need you to kiss me.”

I close my eyes to block him out, because damn. This isn’t what this is about.

I need some distance between us—this is too much. Too intense, too personal.

Too . . . intimate.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

I drag them open.

“Kiss me,” he whispers.

“Tris,” I whisper, close to the edge of insanity.

“It’s all right, baby.” He pushes the hair back from my forehead. “I’ve got you.”

My eyes search his. I feel my resistance leave, and as if he senses the exact moment that I hand over my power, his lips take mine.

We kiss for a long time. His tongue swipes through my mouth, mirroring the thrusts of his hips.

He begins to moan—long, satisfied deep breaths—and my head is thrown back into the pillow. “Fuck, Claire . . . this is so fucking good.”

My mouth falls open, and I shudder hard as a freight train of an orgasm rips through me.

His eyes roll back in his head, and then he straightens his arms and widens his legs and slams in deep. He tips his head back and cries out. I feel the telling jerk of his cock as he comes again.

I turn my head to the side to get away. Damn it, he’s under my skin, and I need to get him off.

“Hey,” he says.

I keep my face to the side as I pant. Tears threaten.

I’m completely overwhelmed.

“Anderson.”

I drag my eyes back to him. I like it when he calls me that; it’s playful and mindless . . . not deep and emotional, like how I’m feeling. His eyes hold mine for a moment, and as if reading my mind and knowing exactly what I need in this moment, he says, “You fuck all right for an old duck.”

That was the most unexpected thing I have ever heard. I smirk, then smile, and then break into a chuckle. Oh Lord. This man kills me. I laugh out loud as I stare up at the ceiling. “Only you.”

Unable to hold himself up any longer, he falls on top of me, and he laughs too.

He pulls out of me and kisses me once more and then hops up and goes to the bathroom.

My body is still throbbing from the pounding he has just given it, and I still feel like I’m teetering on the edge of insanity. I lie in the dark, still panting, as a myriad of emotions run through me. I’m sated and full and lethargic, and a strange twinge of fear loiters in the dark corner of my mind. I push it away as fast as I can.

He reappears from the kitchenette in my room and hands me a glass of water. “Here you are.”

I sit up on my elbow and take it. “Thanks.”

“Well, your voice is hoarse from moaning ‘Tristan’ all night.” He shrugs casually. “It’s the least I could do.”

I giggle. “Feeling proud of yourself?”

He puts his hands on his hips and puffs his chest out. He’s soft now and completely natural, but just as beautiful. “Ten feet tall, actually.”

I smile up at him and tap the bed next to me. This man is so unexpected; it’s like he’s two different people. He’s hard on the exterior for the world to see, but as soon as he got naked with me, it was like a different side of him appeared. This Tristan is a lot more appealing, and I wonder how many people get to see this part of his personality. “You should be; I’m very impressed.”

He gets into bed beside me and pulls me into his arms, and I put my head on his chest. “And before you kick me out in two hours,” he says, “I have the morning off, so I’m staying in this bed until everyone has already left for the conference, and then I will leave.” He kisses my temple.

“But if you’re still here,” I whisper, “how will I sneak in my other conference lover for a prebreakfast nooky?”

He reaches down and twists my nipple hard. “Shut up, or I’m going to fuck you into a coma.”

I burst out laughing as I try to escape his grip. “You already did that.”

“I’m going to do it again.”

The group laughs at something the lecturer says as he walks around the room.

It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and I hate to admit it, but Marley was right: this conference was exactly what I needed. I feel refreshed and energized, and of course, that could have a lot to do with the nocturnal company I’m keeping, but whatever it is, it’s worked.

I’ve achieved what we set out to find—a clean and uncluttered mind. Ready to focus and tackle the next six months. I’m even considering signing up for next year’s conference as an early bird to get the pricing discount.

“Hello.” Tristan’s voice comes from the side of the room. In surprise we all turn toward him.

He’s wearing a light-blue suit, a white shirt with a paisley tie, and expensive brown shoes, and his hair is perfectly styled.

I want to beam a big smile at him, but I pretend not to care.

“Mr. Miles,” the lecturer says in greeting.

“Sorry to interrupt; I just came to say goodbye,” he replies, addressing the group.

I glance toward the door and see his black leather suitcase and suit bag waiting for him.

What?

He’s leaving?

He walks to the center of the room. “I have an unexpected meeting in Paris that I have to attend, so this is it from me. My flight leaves in a few hours. I’m on my way to the airport.” He smiles as he looks around at everyone.

What?

“Congratulations on what you have all achieved this week,” he continues. “You should be very proud of yourself for putting yourself out there and attending this conference. Success doesn’t just happen; it is a mind-set. And I urge you to put into practice what you have learned and stop and take the time to celebrate the small victories along the way.” He puts his hands in his suit pockets, and he walks across the stage. “You only get one life. So you need to grab it with both hands.”

His eyes scan everyone in the room as he addresses us, and I wait for them to come my way.

Look at me.

“Put your hands together for Tristan Miles,” the lecturer says. “He’s a very busy man, and for him to donate a week of his time is almost unheard of in the corporate world. Thank you, Mr. Miles.”

Everyone claps, and he does a demure bow. My heart begins to race into a panic. He’s going.

Look at me.

He holds his hands up and claps with the crowd and then turns toward the door and takes his suitcase. After one last wave, he leaves without looking back. I stare at the door he has just left through. Not even a goodbye?

I drop my head.

Fuck.

I know that I should have expected this from him. I knew he was a cold, soul-sucking jerk, and yet somehow I’d convinced myself that I was wrong about him.

Seems not.

“Let’s discuss the theory that was brought up this morning, shall we?” the lecturer calls.

I want to run out there and tell him off for being so insensitive.

But I won’t. My dignity will not allow it.

Like a slap in the face, I’m instantly reminded of who Tristan really is and why I’ve kept him at arm’s length. I knew this about him; I knew all along he was a cold womanizer, but for some reason my mind didn’t reconcile it with the man I’ve slept with.

It doesn’t make me feel any better about last night.

I turn my attention to the window and stare outside at the trees blowing in the wind.

I feel . . . like a number, decidedly cheap.

It’s ten o’clock before I head back to my room. I trudge up the corridor. My feet are sore, and I am looking forward to a long hot shower. We went for a drink after the day’s events, and that turned into dinner. They’re all still going, but I’m not really in the mood.

Welcome to the world of casual sex, Claire, where the only rule is there are no rules. I swipe my key and walk into my room and frown. A huge bunch of red roses sits on the table, a small white card carefully pinned on the red ribbon.

ANDERSON

My heart races as I read—it’s from him.

I nervously open the card.

WE HAVE UNFINISHED BUSINESS.

COME TO PARIS FOR THE WEEKEND.

xoxoxox

“What?” I whisper.

I plop down on the bed and stare at the card in my hand.

This is not what I was expecting at all. After mentally throwing daggers at him all day, this is a huge surprise. I read the card again as I consider his proposal.

I can’t go to fucking Paris. I have to get home to the kids.

I get a vision of spending three days in a city I’ve always dreamed of visiting . . . alone with him . . . it could be so fun.

Damn it . . . I want to go.

I just can’t. Stop it, Claire; it is what it is.

I exhale heavily and make myself a cup of tea.

My phone beeps with a text. It’s from Tristan.

Are you back in your room yet?

I smile softly and put the phone down on the coffee table. He’s expecting me to call him to say thank you. I go to the flowers and stare at them. I touch the petals—the flowers have huge heads and a strong perfume. French roses. I inhale the beautiful scent.

So unexpected.

Well played, Mr. Miles. Well played.

I decide to check on the kids, and I call my mother. “Hello, dear.” I can hear her smile down the phone.

“Hi, Mom. How are you surviving?”

“Oh, we’re having a great time. How are you?”

“Good.” I pace back and forth. I am filled with nervous energy. “Are the kids home?”

“No, they’re all at sports training. They’ve been angels.”

“Listen, Mom.” My eyes close. What the hell am I doing? “I’ve been offered an extension conference in Paris for the weekend.” I scrunch my hand up in my hair. “But I don’t think I’ll go,” I add.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit much to ask of you.”

“Oh no. Go, honey. The boys and I are having a great time. It’s no difference to me when you get home.”

“Really?” I frown.

“Yes, I’m loving the quality time I’m getting with the boys. Let off some steam and have some fun, Claire. If anyone deserves it, it’s you.”

“But what about Patrick? He’ll be fretting.”

“He’s fine and happy, Claire, and, I hate to say it, not missing you at all.”

I smile as hope blooms in my chest. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Oh.” I pause as my mind wanders off on a million tangents. “I’ll think about it. I’ll let you know tomorrow; is that okay?”

“Of course. It must be late there. Get some sleep, and call me tomorrow. But I say go for it. Paris is beautiful, and you’ve never been.”

“Maybe.” I shrug.

“Goodbye.” She hangs up.

In a daze I walk into the bathroom and run the hot water. I need a hot bath to think about this.

An hour later I sit forward and turn the tap off once more. I fill the bath up, let it cool down, let some water out, and repeat the process. My mind is ticking at a million miles per minute.

Tristan is a soul-sucking bastard who left without even a goodbye.

But then . . . he sent roses.

But I don’t want roses, because that’s not who we are . . . but maybe he was just being nice because he couldn’t say goodbye properly?

He’s a bastard . . . but he’s a fun bastard. Or maybe that was just an act, and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

Oh God, I’m so confused.

If I go to Paris, I’m guaranteed laughter and fun.

If I don’t go, there’s no chance of me getting attached to him.

He’s a player. He probably has ten girlfriends. He is not the kind of man you get attached to.

But he’s so fun.

Over the last two nights we have laughed and laughed, and it felt good, even if I knew it was only temporary—just in that moment, it felt really good.

There’s absolutely no chance of a future or anything; I already know that. We’re from two different worlds.

Am I okay to spend a weekend with someone knowing that? I think on it for a moment.

I’ve had enough heartache. Maybe it’s time to throw caution to the wind. Maybe it’s time to just . . . no, it’s just safer not to go. I mean, what’s the point?

Why prolong what was only a one-night thing? We already extended it to two nights. That’s enough.

My phone rings, and the name Tristan lights up the screen. Oh fuck.

I close my eyes and answer. “Hello.”

“Anderson.”

A broad smile crosses my face just at the sound of his voice. “What do you want?” I tease.

He chuckles. “I’m calling to see if you got my gift in your room.”

“Oh.” I smirk. “I haven’t; I’m in Nelson’s room.”

“What the fuck? You better not be.” It’s loud where he is, like a bar or something.

I giggle. “They’re lovely.”

“So?” he asks.

“So what?”

“Come to Paris. Spend the weekend with me.”

I stay silent.

“It’s one of my favorite cities. I can show you around. We can go sightseeing.”

“I thought you were working?”

“Only tomorrow morning.” I hear ice tumble into a glass.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“At the hotel bar.”

“Trolling for your next victim?” I tease.

“Nobody here has what I want.”

I bite my lip as I listen to him.

“You have what I want, Claire.”

“You’re not going to get all sentimental and needy on me, are you?”

“I don’t do sentimental and needy.” He chuckles. “Down and dirty is more my thing.”

I smile goofily. “I don’t know if I can change my flights.”

“I’ll organize our jet to pick you up.”

“You have a plane?” I frown.

“Company plane.”

I stay silent as I think.

“Well?”

“Thank you for the roses,” I whisper to change the subject.

“That’s okay. They were being thrown out from reception, and I didn’t want to waste them. My good deed for the day.”

I smile at his appalling lie.

“Come on, Anderson; don’t make me beg.”

“Fine.”

“Fine . . . as in it’s a chore?” He scoffs. “At least act enthusiastic.”

“I can’t wait to spend the weekend underneath you, Mr. Miles.”

He laughs out loud. “That a girl. I’ll call you tomorrow with the flight times.”

“Okay.”

“Oh . . . and, Claire,” he says, as if it’s an afterthought.

“Yes.”

“Do your Kegel exercises tonight. I want that pussy nice and tight.”

I burst out laughing. “You are an idiot.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Goodbye, Tristan.” I smile.

The phone goes dead.

I throw my phone onto the stack of towels and put my hands over my mouth.

I was supposed to say no.

Oh jeez, that did not go to plan.