MICHELA;
I came downstairs twenty minutes later wearing a simple white top and a soft denim skirt that stopped just above my knees.
My long hair was brushed and left loose down my back. I had put on a little lip gloss and nothing else.
Miles was waiting by the front door, keys dangling from one finger, looking unfairly handsome in a dark button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The afternoon light caught the light dusting of hair on his forearms.
The moment he saw me, his eyes did that slow, deliberate once-over that always made my stomach flip and my thighs press together. He didn’t hide the way he looked at me anymore, even though he still tried to keep his glances short and quick.
“You look pretty, kitten,” he said, voice low and warm. “The denim skirt…. It suits
