The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(104)

My orgasm on his tongue.

I run my fingers through his hair as I watch him. He’s in a black dinner suit on his knees before me—a new arousal takes me over.

Deep and dangerously dark.

Holy hell . . . Tristan fucking Miles.





Chapter 20

The limo pulls into the large circular driveway, and I feel the nerves in my stomach dance. As if reading my mind, Tristan leans in and kisses my temple. “You look beautiful, Anderson.”

I blow out a deep breath. This meet-the-family thing is nerve-racking. The driver opens the door, and Tristan gets out and takes my hand to help me. The driveway and foyer are a hive of activity as the cars roll in one after the other. Beautiful people in black-tie attire are everywhere, and I am so glad that I let Marley talk me into getting that stylist.

My dress is black and fitted, and it has a big thick band that wraps around the top of it from the waist up, creating a strapless look. It’s understated and sexy. Tristan loves it and told me I’m to wear it every day. He even made our driver take photos of us before we climbed into the limo.

He leads me up the stairs and into the ballroom. People are doing double takes as they see us together. “Hi. Hello. Hello, Roger,” Tristan greets people as we walk through to the seating chart.

I smirk over at him.

“What?” he asks.

“You think you’re a rock star or something.”

“I am a fucking rock star, Anderson. When will you get with the program and realize it?” He gives me a sexy wink, and I smile broadly, happy to admit that I’m officially a groupie. He reads the board and looks for where we’re sitting. “Over here.”

My stomach flutters as I look to where he gestured and see his entire family sitting at the table.

Fuck . . . the blood drains from my face.

Meeting the family is always intimidating.

Meeting the Miles family is next-level terrifying. His father is one of the most respected men in New York, and his older brother, Jameson, is known for being one of the biggest assholes in the world. I catch a glimpse of Christopher and Elliot, and I feel slightly better—they’re really nice and not at all what I imagined. I’m glad that I at least know them. “Hello.” Tristan smiles broadly as we approach the table. “This is Claire Anderson.” He presents me like a prized pig.

“Hello.” I smile awkwardly.

“This is my father, George. My mother, Elizabeth. This is Jameson and Emily, and you know Elliot and Christopher.”

They all stand. George shakes my hand. “Hello, Claire, lovely to meet you.”

His mother kisses my cheek. “Hello, dear, so glad you could join us.”

I smile awkwardly, and Emily grabs me into an embrace and chuckles. “I am absolutely thrilled to meet you,” she gasps.

I giggle into the embrace . . . okay, she isn’t what I imagined.

Jameson smiles and then leans in and kisses my cheek. “Lovely to meet you, Claire. I’ve heard so many good things.” He gives me a genuine smile, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Oh, thank God . . . he’s not as scary as I thought.

“Just so you all know, I am Claire’s favorite Miles. Just putting it out there,” Christopher says as he raises his champagne glass to me.

“Actually, I am,” Tristan replies deadpan as he pulls my chair out.

I smile and take a seat next to Emily.

Tristan sits beside me and takes my hand on my lap for reassurance.

I love him.

“So, Claire,” George addresses me as the group listens in. “You own Anderson Media?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Very impressive.”

“Thank you.”

He smiles warmly. “I knew your husband. He was a good man.”

“He was.”

“I attended his funeral. It was a beautiful service.”

I smile sadly, wishing the conversation hadn’t gone this way.

Tristan squeezes my hand, and I gratefully squeeze it back.

Elizabeth changes the subject. “So you have children?”

Oh fuck . . . this is the night from hell. “Yes.” I smile. “Three boys.”

“How do they like Tristan?” Christopher laughs. “I hope they’re giving him a run for his money.”

“It would be payback if they did,” George mutters dryly. “He was a coot of a kid.”

The group laughs, and I feel a little more at ease.

“Do you want to go and get a drink?” Tristan asks me.

“Yes, please,” I answer a little too eagerly.

“I’ll come,” Emily says. She’s attractive and lovely—naturally beautiful and refreshingly unpretentious.

We stand and make our way to the bar. “What do you want, babe?” Tris asks.

“Fucking anything,” I whisper back.

“Okay, drunk and disorderly in front of my parents, coming right up,” he replies.

I grab his hand and pull him back to me as he goes to walk off. “On second thought, one drink. Don’t let me drink any more than that. Being drunk here is my worst nightmare.”

He and Emily chuckle, and he turns to her. “What do you want, Em?”

“Bubbles, please.”

Tristan disappears to the bar, leaving me alone with Emily. “It’s pretty nerve-racking meeting them, isn’t it?” Emily says.