My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,62
to the screen and read the message.
To: MaybeWillisgmail
From: Taylor.McHoughBeaconHouse
Subject: Interview Request
Good morning, Ms. Willis,
After reviewing your resume and seeing your lengthy list of credentials, we would like to schedule an in-person interview with you next week.
Does Friday, June 28th at 12:00 p.m. work for you?
I look forward to hearing from you.
Friendly regards,
Taylor McHough
Editor in Chief, Beacon House
“Oh my God,” I whisper and look up to meet his curious eyes. “Oh. My. God.”
“What?” Milo asks again. “What’s going on?”
“Beacon House wants to interview me!” I practically shout into the otherwise quiet night air. “They want me to come in Friday for a freaking interview!”
Milo’s smile beams. “I knew you could do it, kid.”
The excitement and joy become overwhelming, and before I know it, I’m catapulting myself into his arms and wrapping my legs around his waist like a little monkey.
“Milo!” I exclaim. “Beacon House wants to interview me!”
He grins and looks down at me. “I heard.”
“Friday, Milo! I have an interview this Friday!”
A soft chuckle leaves his lips. “Proud of you, kid.”
“Holy macaroni salad at a barbecue! I can’t believe it! God, Milo! Thank you so much for making this happen! I couldn’t have done any of this without you!”
Those big blue eyes of his glisten and shine, and I can’t stop myself from getting lost in them. From getting lost in him. Interview and excitement long forgotten, all I seem to be able to see is him.
And I’m still in his arms, his strong hands keeping me there by gripping my hips.
And then we’re both quiet and just…looking at each other. Searching the other’s eyes. My gaze flitters between his eyes and his lips, and I’m just so tempted.
So tempted to lean forward and find out if his lips are as soft as they look.
“Milo,” I whisper his name, but he doesn’t respond.
Instead, he fixates his gaze on my mouth.
He. Is. Staring. At. My. Lips.
Lena’s advice plays inside my head, and I know I’d be an idiot if I let this moment pass me by.
So, I don’t.
One inch, two inches, I move my mouth toward his until our lips are just barely brushing.
And right before I find the courage to finish the job, to actually kiss him, Milo takes me by surprise and presses his mouth to mine, stealing my fucking breath.
God, his lips are so soft. So full. So perfect.
A quiet moan escapes my throat when he slips his tongue inside my mouth to dance with mine.
Gently, slowly at first, until a barely there growl leaves his mouth and enters mine.
Our kiss turns fast and deep. My hands are in his hair, gripping the thick locks in fervor, and his strong hands caress my ass.
And we just keep kissing.
Lord Almighty, he tastes so good. Like mint and honey and heaven and Milo.
I dreamed about kissing him at least a thousand times, but not once did I ever anticipate it would be this good. Feel this good.
I never want it to end.
But at the same time, I know it needs to end.
And for some strange reason, I know that I need to be the one to end it.
When our kiss starts to slow, I ease myself from his perfect, lush mouth. But before I remove myself from his arms completely, I place one final, lingering kiss to his lips.
Silence fills the space between us, and it takes me a good thirty seconds before I can find my voice again.
“Thank you for bringing me home,” I whisper and look up into the stunning blue of his eyes. “And thank you for coming to the party. I had fun with you.”
“I had fun with you too.”
The temptation to catapult myself into his arms and kiss his fucking face off is so strong, but I compose myself, swallowing down the urge, and focus on ending the night on the least awkward note possible.
“Good night, Milo.”
He leans forward and presses one final kiss to my forehead. “Good night, kid.”
And just like that, we part ways.
I walk into my building.
And Milo heads to his car.
But I can’t deny that my heart is so full, it’s damn near bursting.
I kissed Milo Ives.
And more than that, he kissed me right back.
Maybe
When the sun filters into my bedroom and the clock barely strikes eight, I am up and out of bed with the kind of energy even Red Bull and coffee can’t provide.
If I didn’t know last night actually happened, I would think it was a damn dream.