Fashion advice
Regan was waiting for him when he arrived, and miraculously the rest of her household was absent again. So it was with a genial goodbye to Dorus - he had learned the watchful house elf’s name - that he pulled Regan into his arms and whisked them away to wizarding London. When they arrived at the far end of the street Miles didn’t release her, instead pressing a brief but intense kiss to her lips.
“I’ve been waiting all week to do that.”
Surprised by both the kiss itself and its also-unexpected fervor, Regan gave a tiny squeak as Miles greeted her sans audience, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat to steady herself. Feeling her cheeks go pink, she regarded her companion as he straightened, a smile gracing her lips despite her startlement.
"Was it worth the week, then?" she queried cheekily, still a bit breathless.
“It was a good start. I may have to stock up before the day is done so that I’ll make it through the days to come,” he replied with a wink.
Maneuvering to Regan’s side, Miles rested his arm casually around her waist and started them down the road. He didn’t have too many things to pick up, just a few clothes for the cold season and some books he’d ordered. Once the needs were out of the way, he planned to pop into Fortescue’s to get them a treat. It was not the most exciting outing, but he enjoyed Regan’s company and the reality was that he lived a fairly simple life. He wanted her to be a part of it and it would serve little purpose to portray himself as something he wasn’t.
“The first order of business is that I need your help picking out some new jumpers and warm trousers. I’m trusting you to tell me if they make me look fat.”
"Not possible," Regan muttered to herself, tucked neatly as she was against the evidence that Miles was quite fit. She'd never been asked to help a man choose clothing before; Tristan had always been perfectly content to dress himself, and while she had favorites among the articles in his wardrobe, he'd never asked her opinion.
"I am uncertain whether I am suited to this task, as I shall certainly think you look very well in whatever you choose, but I shall try to be of as much assistance as I am able," she offered. "Most of my recent shopping excursions have involved either Tess, who is seven, or Rose or Mira, who both seem to find me a highly entertaining fashion doll."
“You know what you like. That’s all the suitability required.” Miles was perfectly capable of picking out his own clothes. He’d done so since he was old enough to have a preference in such things. Just the same, a woman’s point of view was always useful, particularly one with whom he planned to spend quite a lot of time.
His brow rose as he considered the last bit of what Regan had said. “Perhaps I should tag along on one of your shopping excursions. I’d be quite interested to see how your friends enjoy dressing you.”
Eyes wide in unfeigned horror, Regan shook her head swiftly, her grip at Miles' bicep tightening for a moment. "I don't think that would be wise," she insisted, knowing she must be brightly tinged since she could not keep the images from her last trip to Paris with Mira out if her mind, try as she might.
Mira was delightful, and honestly had excellent taste, but her propensity for turning up with naughty articles of underthings did not bode well for Miles being involved, if Regan's intention was to endure without fainting. "You could go along with Rose, if you really wanted, but I imagine most people would find it quite like being found intriguing by a tropical bird speaking a foreign language."
It did not escape his notice that only one of her friends was offered up for company, but aside from the smile curling his lips Miles made no outward indication he’d picked up on the exclusion of Mira. “Well, I suppose it’s probably for the best that I leave the ladies’ activities to the ladies. My perspective would add little value.”
Steering them into Heliotrope’s, Miles went straight for the men’s department. As he’d hoped, there was a wide selection of winter wear, especially in the form of jumpers. Cable knit, fishermen’s jumpers, different necklines and patterns - it was a smorgasbord of thick cotton, wool, and cashmere. “Alright then,” he said, grinning as he held up a garish red jumper with a very large Santa face emblazoned on the front. “does this say ‘serious barrister’?”
One eyebrow arched pointedly, though she was grateful for the distraction and the fact that Miles had given up his idea of shopping with her girlfriends so easily, Regan taunted, "I could have sent Tess, if you wanted that sort of help."
Her barb notwithstanding, she glanced to Miles, then strolled around the various tables, slowly gathering an armful of options she thought suited him. When her bundle began to grow unwieldy, she returned to her companion's side to present her findings, looking up to him expectantly.
Miles relieved her of the armful she carried and nodded toward the chair just outside the dressing room. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, pulling a few pairs of slacks from the racks as he meandered that direction, “as I transform into a highly entertaining fashion doll just for you.” Flashing a toothy smile, he disappeared into the changing area.
Settling herself as she'd been bid, Regan observed, "Entirely not the same thing, as I have no intention of following you in there to enforce my own opinions upon your person."
“You’re sure you don’t want to come in here?” Miles joked, imagining the rosy stain that was certainly coloring Regan’s cheeks at the question. “I might require assistance.”
"Quite certain," she insisted, knowing full well that Miles was teasing her. "You've shown to be perfectly capable of dressing yourself."
Even the surety that he had no notion of her following the line of his insinuation couldn't prevent heat from suffusing her face, and Regan was glad to be separated by the dressing area's wall at that moment. It was disconcerting how easily he could tempt her into inappropriate thoughts, and she felt compelled to add, "Besides, it wouldn't be proper."
For a moment the only response was a quiet laugh as Miles switched into a Fair Isle jumper in black and charcoal and a pair of dark grey trousers. As he stepped out for inspection though, his suspicion about her coloring was confirmed and a smirk grew on his face. He knew that Regan was correct, what he was suggesting wasn’t proper. Even suggesting it was a bit more than he suspected his lady friend was truly comfortable with and a hint of chagrin came over his features.
“So it would be,” he agreed. “Good of you to remind me.” Pausing a moment, he turned in a circle. “Now, what’s the verdict on this one? A keeper?”
Amused by the fact that he knew to turn about for inspection, Regan wondered idly if the sister Miles had mentioned was often his shopping mentor, and a smile curled the corners of her lips. "Yes," she responded, enjoying the plain, dark tones accenting his features, "and the slate will be just as nice. Try the burgundy and the evergreen, please?"
Studying the flattering lay of knit and fabric over his frame made the urge to touch him that much stronger, and Regan tucked her hands beneath her; a reminder not to go and put herself in his space. It would be taken for something more forward, and she'd only just scolded them both for teasing.
Miles nodded and returned obediently to the changing room to switch into the next outfit. It was nice to have company to make the dull task more enjoyable, to have someone invested in what was going on in his life. He’d spent years keeping tabs on Reese, more than a year caring for Kiss while her mother was abducted, and while they still visited him often the loss of that daily contact had left him lonelier than he’d realized. It was only now that he was sharing his time with Regan that what had been lacking became clear.
He wanted to share a life with someone.
It was much too soon to know if Regan was that someone, but for the time being he was glad to spend time with her, and the possibility that she might be was a tantalizing idea.
A few moments later he stepped out again in dark denims and the burgundy jumper. Pushing the sleeves up, he struck a catalog pose. “What do you think, love?”
Giggling at the pose and pleased that Miles didn't seem to mind making fun of himself, Regan nodded her approval. "You're very full of yourself, just now, but also very handsome, so I suppose you're entitled. I'm a bit impressed that you can look at home both in your 'stuffy barrister' togs and that, actually."
She also wanted to go and run her hands up his arms, conveniently exposed by his turned-back sleeves, but that was exactly as inappropriately bold as her reason for sitting on her fingers, and she forced herself to stay put.
Smile going crooked, he crossed to where Regan sat, hands gripping the edges of her chair as he leaned into her space. “And you’re beautiful and very good for my ego. Or very bad, depending on your point of view, I suppose.” He closed the distance between them then, kissing her leisurely. He liked kissing Regan. It seemed to always surprise her, but she’d yet to give any indication the surprise was unpleasant.
Her fingers releasing their clutch of the seat, Regan sighed happily against Miles' lips, letting her touch dance lightly across his shoulders and then to toy with the short hair at the nape of his neck. She was unaccustomed to the easy way he bestowed affection, but far from displeased, and rather than freeing him entirely when he made to pull away, allowed her hand to trail down his arm, turning a playful gaze up to his.
"Bad, possibly, though you don't seem to have much of one, as yet, so perhaps the effect will not be too dire," she returned, mouth curling at one corner. "And that wasn't fair, though I enjoyed it... I've been incredibly well behaved in staying over here." She poked her tongue out briefly in jest, knowing he'd take it as such and not true ire.
“Was that part of the rules? I thought only the dressing room was out of bounds,” Miles asked, feigning innocence. He imagined Regan was not generally the sort to snog in public places, but he was having an awfully good time being an exception to that rule. “You know you don’t have to stay away, right? I’m rather fond of having you close.”
A shy smile appearing with the inevitable blush, charmed by Miles' admission, Regan shrugged, then explained, "I hadn't imagined that you'd mind, terribly, but I've never been especially bold, and I do try to avoid making myself conspicuous, for Gwen's sake if not my own. I've not had trouble with the press in Diagon thus far, but they've been rather horrible for her, before."
Unwilling to ruin her lovely afternoon with Miles, she shoved thoughts of Tristan's convalescence and the time after from her mind, anchoring herself to the present with the slide of her fingertips against her companion's forearm. "Perhaps, if you can spare the time after your errands, we could manage to avoid an audience?" she suggested hopefully.
The concern of media being interested in Regan - due to her proximity to the Harpies captain - hadn’t crossed his mind until she mentioned, but he’d been involved in enough high profile cases to know the Rita Skeeters of the world were all too eager for anything they could twist into a salacious story. If he was responsible for something unkind being said about Regan, Miles would feel terrible. He’d also be enraged and breaking out his best legal maneuvers against the publication foolish enough to try such a thing.
“If you’d care to accompany me to my home once we’ve finished, I’m confident I could juggle my schedule to allow for a more private scenario. I would understand, of course, if you weren’t comfortable with quite that private a location, though.”
Regan regarded Miles silently for a long moment, turning his offer over in her mind. It was true that she likely shouldn't, but equally so that she very much wanted to, and she'd yet to ever feel that he would, regardless of supervision, behave ill toward her. "I... would like that," she answered slowly, compelling herself to meet his eyes. "I trust you to remain a gentleman without the chaperone of public opinion."
Lifting one hand to cup her face, the look he gave her was soft. “I’m glad you trust me. Keeping that trust intact is an honor and a responsibility I take seriously.” As he pulled away, he considered the plans for the rest of the afternoon. The books he’d ordered were not anything he needed urgently. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we just make the assumption that the green jumper will be every bit as dashing on me as these others, I’ll make my purchases and we’ll stop in Fortescue’s for a couple sweets we can enjoy back at my place?”
"Yes, please," Regan answered readily, more than willing to follow along with Miles' alterations to his proposed itinerary. She was still quietly appalled with herself, but hushed that tiny voice of decorum further as she watched Miles disappear into the changing area to don his own clothes once more. She'd spent her entire life being proper and well-behaved... if she was presently motivated to act otherwise, she would see where it led.
Rising as her companion returned a moment later, she waited for him to gather his intended purchases and tucked her hand lightly into to crook of his arm, following along to the waiting clerk.
His transaction was completed quickly and the trip to the ice cream parlor just a few minutes longer. Barely a quarter hour after having revised their plans, Miles found himself in his living room, Regan next to him on the sofa as they ate their treats. Peppermint ice cream on a cone was Miles’ selection. His lady friend had chosen a sundae, with strawberry topping in place of the usual hot fudge.
Draping an arm across her shoulders, Miles settled Regan against his side. Her weight was scarcely noticeable as petite as she was, but he liked to feel her warmth and keep her close. “Welcome to my humble abode, Miss Bole.”
Accepting the repositioning of her person with a pleased hum, Regan took a second glance around the comfortable sitting room Miles had deposited them in. Having not seen much more of the building, she'd formed no solid opinion, but volunteered, "Sturdy, I think, moreso than humble, but if the remainder is at all like your lounge, I should say it suits you."
She licked a trace of berry from her spoon and stretched out an arm to deposit her half-finished confection on a small cork tray, more interested in being where Miles had maneuvered her than the rest of the icy-cold sweet. "Thank you, also, for the welcome and the invitation," she acknowledged, letting her head rest at his shoulder while he finished his own ice cream.
Miles polished off his cone with nearly childlike enjoyment. Peppermint had long been his favorite flavor of ice cream and he rarely took a trip to Diagon without stopping for some. It was one of his weaknesses.
Petite blonde women were another.
In a swift move, he slipped an arm under her legs and lifted Regan into his lap. His blue-green eyes were warm on hers as he traced his fingers lightly up her arm to her neck, finally sweeping over her plaited hair. “You might also notice that there is no audience here. I believe you requested some private time?”
Failing to quash a shudder of pleasure as Miles' light touch brushed over her hair and the sensitive skin of her neck, Regan marshaled her nerves to hold the soft heat of his gaze, feeling the excited staccato of her heart each second. "I did," she murmured, laying a miraculously steady hand at his shoulder.
"Specifically, a lack of audience with cameras," she felt compelled to add, though it was difficult to tell if she was speaking sensibly, caught as she was within the intensity of his focus.
“Just covering all the bases. Now, I did promise to remain a gentleman, so maybe we should get ground rules out of the way,” Miles said, brushing his lips over Regan’s. Trailing down to the soft skin where neck and shoulder merged, he sucked lightly. “Is this within bounds?”
The lightning-spark of awareness that crackled through her as Miles' lips explored her skin pulled a little noise of want from Regan, and her fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt.
Her "yes" came as a gasp, even as she pushed at his shoulders, struggling between her body's desire for her to just keep quiet and her mind's need to not. "But..." she managed, biting her own lip, hard, to try to regain a fraction of self-control. The pain helped, and she watched him with wide, storm-green eyes while she attempted to gather a thought.
Lifting his head, Miles’ eyes took on a hint of concern. He’d not thought he was pressing too far, but his opinion mattered little if Regan was distressed. “But what, love?”
Dismayed at the worry in his features, Regan shook her head quickly and ran a fingertip along Miles' brow, smoothing the crease that formed there. She drew in a breath, and her eyes darted to and from his as she responded, "But I can't tell you 'no', Miles, not even if I wanted to... so if you want rules, you'll have to get them all at once, or just resolve to use your better judgement,"
She hated needing to say it, and waited somewhat tensely, a small part of her expecting to be dismissed as too much trouble, however wonderful he'd been thus far. "What you were doing was, well, lovely, actually, and 'within bounds', as you say... as would be anything you might decorously do in public. Is that... enough information?"
Miles took a moment to consider what Regan was sharing with him. He had plenty of experience letting his own judgment pave the way for Reese, but that was not a romantic relationship, regardless of what he had once hoped. Were she more experienced, Miles would have no qualms letting his conscience be his guide. It was only Regan’s innocence that gave him pause. He was a very responsible man in most circumstances, but he was still a man. A man who hadn’t been with a woman in quite some time.
Moving to rest his hands at her waist lest they become a distraction from what he had to say, Miles took a deep breath. “That’s plenty of information, and I will bear it in mind. I’m only human though, and you are a beautiful woman. It would be a lie to say I haven’t considered activities which would not be proper for public viewing. Not that I would ever purposefully push you past what you’re comfortable giving, but if ever I get too close to that line, if ever I make you anxious and you can’t tell me, you are to remove your hands from me immediately. I have no intention of putting you in a position for that to be necessary. Our time together should only ever bring a smile and perhaps a blush to your face, but should I ever get caught up in the moment and press too far, you will do this so that I know and can rectify the situation.”
Regan listened solemnly, nodding as Miles paused. "I understand," she confirmed, newly giddy and secure in the fact that he would accept responsibility for her, so that they could have this private time together. Feeling far more grounded, and no less excited by his nearness and the potential for the next little while, she laid her hands deliberately at either side of Miles' face, lightly, and stretched to brush her lips across his.
Quite pleased that Regan was accepting of his instruction and seemed to be relaxed and ready to get back to the business at hand, Miles pulled her flush against his chest and deepened the kiss. It was easy to let the serious conversation fade to the background and focus on the softness of her lips and the little sighs that spilled from her mouth to his. One hand smoothed up Regan’s back, intent on tangling in her blonde mane. The plait she wore was a hinderance, and nimble fingers pulled at the band which held it in place before tangling in the silky strands.
Much as she adored being held, her current position made it difficult to reach Miles except as he allowed, and Regan wanted more. Grasping his shoulder for leverage, she shifted, resting her knees to the outside of his hips, letting him pull her closer as his hand wove into her hair.
His patience was soothing, and the knowledge that he wanted more and would wait on her comfort fueled her own desire; that self-control an enticement, and the possibility of one day asking him to turn loose of it a heady spice to his sweet kiss. She ran her fingertips along the skin exposed by the collar of his shirt, learning his warmth as he mingled the mint and berry flavors of their lips.
It seemed she wasn’t going to waste any time in testing his fortitude. Steeling himself against the urge to grip Regan’s arse and roll his hips into the cradle of hers, Miles settled for caressing her soft thigh, careful not to stray too far from the knee, and let the intensity of the desire he’d felt from the moment she’d made to straddle his lap funnel into his kiss. The hand in her hair tightened its grip as he ate at her mouth, savoring the way she yielded to him.
Giving a little moan at Miles' fierce grip and the bruising fervor of his mouth, Regan slid her hands into his hair, tugging lightly, though he could hardly be any nearer. This, exactly this; the heat of his body pressed close, his hands on her, the demanding pressure of his lips, had been on her mind since they'd parted after dancing the previous weekend, and she answered each touch eagerly, drinking in the dizzying joy of passion.
Regan’s soft moan pulled a matching one from Miles as her fingers threaded through his hair and she pressed her petite frame tightly against him. She was so responsive, holding nothing back, and Miles was both thankful for his restraint and sorry that it was needed. In his mind’s eye he imagined the fervid reactions he might pull from Regan in other ways - his hands moving over bare skin, tasting the sweetness of her center, moving inside her as they made love - and it was hard to hold himself in check. She wasn’t ready though, and Miles kept his impulses reined. The image of the hurt and shame in her eyes if he took advantage was more potent than any desire.
Separating from her kiss, he shifted to run his tongue along the dainty shell of her ear, teeth tugging gently at the lobe when he reached the end.
“Oh!” Regan gasped on a sharp intake of breath, molten licks of awareness racing out from Miles' attention to her ear along seemingly every nerve in her body. Her whole skin felt warm, alive and alert in a way she'd never considered or experienced, and the fractioning chain-reaction of pleasure responses made her shiver, clinging to Miles as he chuckled quietly. "Fractals," she murmured, imagining the ever-expanding crystalline patterns as the delicious tingling rippled through her again, borne by the brush of his lips against her skin.
Needing a way to return or release some of the building concentration of touch she was receiving, she ran her nails carefully along his scalp, focusing on the soft-bristle slip of his hair past her fingertips, centered, to keep from fragmenting like the beautiful image in her mind from sheer sensory overload.
Continuing his path, Miles’ mouth returned to the bend of her neck, where his earlier attentions had caused her to sigh and clutch at him. As Regan’s nailed grazed him lightly, a low hum of pleasure rose from deep in his throat. It seemed the woman in his lap could stir him with the slightest touch, make him hungry for her with the softest sound. Pulling gently on her long blonde locks, he angled her head to give him better access so he could kiss the hollow above her collarbone, nip at the ridge created there.
Regan stilled gradually in Miles' arms as he guided her to suit his preference, her cognizance narrowing to each fleeting taste he stole of her. His teasing almost tickled, but every tiny breath of electric reaction, washing her in waves of gooshflesh and minute shudders, trickled to pool heat low in her belly, kindling a whispering ember of want. A nip, ever so slightly sharper than the previous one, drove a little pant of air from her lips, nearly a sob, and she yanked her hands from Miles' hair, curling her nails tightly into her own palms.
Regan’s small cry and the sudden absence of her fingers on his scalp drew Miles’ attention instantly and he lifted his head, petting her hair in a soothing manner as he studied her. “Enough for today, then,” he said quietly, his touches transitioning from heated to comforting even as he waited for his blood to cool. “Are you alright?”
"Yes," Regan assured immediately, her eyes bright but clear as they found his, one hand unclenching from its fist to trace fingertips along his cheek. The fevered rush of her pulse made it a bit difficult to speak, but she smiled as her breathing lost its flutter, clarifying a few moments later, "You didn't do anything amiss; I don't want to stop, but that's rather the trouble."
Blushing hotly at the admission, though she doubted it to be anything he'd not know already, she dropped her eyes from Miles', relaxing in the respite from frenzied touch-seeking. The stroke of his hand over her hair was grounding, and she subsided to the ready comfort.
She was so light, it was easy to rearrange her back into a position sitting on his lap, rather than straddled across it. Miles cradled her against his chest, continuing his gentle caresses. “You are not alone, love, but there is time. We have many things to learn about each other, and the road to discovery is a very pleasant route to travel.”
Content with patience if it was what Miles wanted, Regan fitted her head beneath his chin, nudging him gently as she settled. "Your logic and wisdom are a bit maddening just now, but yes, I concede the point." She rubbed her cheek against the warm triangle of his skin left bare by the opened button of his collar, adding, "Besides, this is nice as well... I do enjoy being pet."
His laugh had the effect of jostling her, but not enough that she was impelled to move.
Summary: Regan helps Miles do a little shopping, and later they set some ground rules.
“I’ve been waiting all week to do that.”
Surprised by both the kiss itself and its also-unexpected fervor, Regan gave a tiny squeak as Miles greeted her sans audience, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat to steady herself. Feeling her cheeks go pink, she regarded her companion as he straightened, a smile gracing her lips despite her startlement.
"Was it worth the week, then?" she queried cheekily, still a bit breathless.
“It was a good start. I may have to stock up before the day is done so that I’ll make it through the days to come,” he replied with a wink.
Maneuvering to Regan’s side, Miles rested his arm casually around her waist and started them down the road. He didn’t have too many things to pick up, just a few clothes for the cold season and some books he’d ordered. Once the needs were out of the way, he planned to pop into Fortescue’s to get them a treat. It was not the most exciting outing, but he enjoyed Regan’s company and the reality was that he lived a fairly simple life. He wanted her to be a part of it and it would serve little purpose to portray himself as something he wasn’t.
“The first order of business is that I need your help picking out some new jumpers and warm trousers. I’m trusting you to tell me if they make me look fat.”
"Not possible," Regan muttered to herself, tucked neatly as she was against the evidence that Miles was quite fit. She'd never been asked to help a man choose clothing before; Tristan had always been perfectly content to dress himself, and while she had favorites among the articles in his wardrobe, he'd never asked her opinion.
"I am uncertain whether I am suited to this task, as I shall certainly think you look very well in whatever you choose, but I shall try to be of as much assistance as I am able," she offered. "Most of my recent shopping excursions have involved either Tess, who is seven, or Rose or Mira, who both seem to find me a highly entertaining fashion doll."
“You know what you like. That’s all the suitability required.” Miles was perfectly capable of picking out his own clothes. He’d done so since he was old enough to have a preference in such things. Just the same, a woman’s point of view was always useful, particularly one with whom he planned to spend quite a lot of time.
His brow rose as he considered the last bit of what Regan had said. “Perhaps I should tag along on one of your shopping excursions. I’d be quite interested to see how your friends enjoy dressing you.”
Eyes wide in unfeigned horror, Regan shook her head swiftly, her grip at Miles' bicep tightening for a moment. "I don't think that would be wise," she insisted, knowing she must be brightly tinged since she could not keep the images from her last trip to Paris with Mira out if her mind, try as she might.
Mira was delightful, and honestly had excellent taste, but her propensity for turning up with naughty articles of underthings did not bode well for Miles being involved, if Regan's intention was to endure without fainting. "You could go along with Rose, if you really wanted, but I imagine most people would find it quite like being found intriguing by a tropical bird speaking a foreign language."
It did not escape his notice that only one of her friends was offered up for company, but aside from the smile curling his lips Miles made no outward indication he’d picked up on the exclusion of Mira. “Well, I suppose it’s probably for the best that I leave the ladies’ activities to the ladies. My perspective would add little value.”
Steering them into Heliotrope’s, Miles went straight for the men’s department. As he’d hoped, there was a wide selection of winter wear, especially in the form of jumpers. Cable knit, fishermen’s jumpers, different necklines and patterns - it was a smorgasbord of thick cotton, wool, and cashmere. “Alright then,” he said, grinning as he held up a garish red jumper with a very large Santa face emblazoned on the front. “does this say ‘serious barrister’?”
One eyebrow arched pointedly, though she was grateful for the distraction and the fact that Miles had given up his idea of shopping with her girlfriends so easily, Regan taunted, "I could have sent Tess, if you wanted that sort of help."
Her barb notwithstanding, she glanced to Miles, then strolled around the various tables, slowly gathering an armful of options she thought suited him. When her bundle began to grow unwieldy, she returned to her companion's side to present her findings, looking up to him expectantly.
Miles relieved her of the armful she carried and nodded toward the chair just outside the dressing room. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, pulling a few pairs of slacks from the racks as he meandered that direction, “as I transform into a highly entertaining fashion doll just for you.” Flashing a toothy smile, he disappeared into the changing area.
Settling herself as she'd been bid, Regan observed, "Entirely not the same thing, as I have no intention of following you in there to enforce my own opinions upon your person."
“You’re sure you don’t want to come in here?” Miles joked, imagining the rosy stain that was certainly coloring Regan’s cheeks at the question. “I might require assistance.”
"Quite certain," she insisted, knowing full well that Miles was teasing her. "You've shown to be perfectly capable of dressing yourself."
Even the surety that he had no notion of her following the line of his insinuation couldn't prevent heat from suffusing her face, and Regan was glad to be separated by the dressing area's wall at that moment. It was disconcerting how easily he could tempt her into inappropriate thoughts, and she felt compelled to add, "Besides, it wouldn't be proper."
For a moment the only response was a quiet laugh as Miles switched into a Fair Isle jumper in black and charcoal and a pair of dark grey trousers. As he stepped out for inspection though, his suspicion about her coloring was confirmed and a smirk grew on his face. He knew that Regan was correct, what he was suggesting wasn’t proper. Even suggesting it was a bit more than he suspected his lady friend was truly comfortable with and a hint of chagrin came over his features.
“So it would be,” he agreed. “Good of you to remind me.” Pausing a moment, he turned in a circle. “Now, what’s the verdict on this one? A keeper?”
Amused by the fact that he knew to turn about for inspection, Regan wondered idly if the sister Miles had mentioned was often his shopping mentor, and a smile curled the corners of her lips. "Yes," she responded, enjoying the plain, dark tones accenting his features, "and the slate will be just as nice. Try the burgundy and the evergreen, please?"
Studying the flattering lay of knit and fabric over his frame made the urge to touch him that much stronger, and Regan tucked her hands beneath her; a reminder not to go and put herself in his space. It would be taken for something more forward, and she'd only just scolded them both for teasing.
Miles nodded and returned obediently to the changing room to switch into the next outfit. It was nice to have company to make the dull task more enjoyable, to have someone invested in what was going on in his life. He’d spent years keeping tabs on Reese, more than a year caring for Kiss while her mother was abducted, and while they still visited him often the loss of that daily contact had left him lonelier than he’d realized. It was only now that he was sharing his time with Regan that what had been lacking became clear.
He wanted to share a life with someone.
It was much too soon to know if Regan was that someone, but for the time being he was glad to spend time with her, and the possibility that she might be was a tantalizing idea.
A few moments later he stepped out again in dark denims and the burgundy jumper. Pushing the sleeves up, he struck a catalog pose. “What do you think, love?”
Giggling at the pose and pleased that Miles didn't seem to mind making fun of himself, Regan nodded her approval. "You're very full of yourself, just now, but also very handsome, so I suppose you're entitled. I'm a bit impressed that you can look at home both in your 'stuffy barrister' togs and that, actually."
She also wanted to go and run her hands up his arms, conveniently exposed by his turned-back sleeves, but that was exactly as inappropriately bold as her reason for sitting on her fingers, and she forced herself to stay put.
Smile going crooked, he crossed to where Regan sat, hands gripping the edges of her chair as he leaned into her space. “And you’re beautiful and very good for my ego. Or very bad, depending on your point of view, I suppose.” He closed the distance between them then, kissing her leisurely. He liked kissing Regan. It seemed to always surprise her, but she’d yet to give any indication the surprise was unpleasant.
Her fingers releasing their clutch of the seat, Regan sighed happily against Miles' lips, letting her touch dance lightly across his shoulders and then to toy with the short hair at the nape of his neck. She was unaccustomed to the easy way he bestowed affection, but far from displeased, and rather than freeing him entirely when he made to pull away, allowed her hand to trail down his arm, turning a playful gaze up to his.
"Bad, possibly, though you don't seem to have much of one, as yet, so perhaps the effect will not be too dire," she returned, mouth curling at one corner. "And that wasn't fair, though I enjoyed it... I've been incredibly well behaved in staying over here." She poked her tongue out briefly in jest, knowing he'd take it as such and not true ire.
“Was that part of the rules? I thought only the dressing room was out of bounds,” Miles asked, feigning innocence. He imagined Regan was not generally the sort to snog in public places, but he was having an awfully good time being an exception to that rule. “You know you don’t have to stay away, right? I’m rather fond of having you close.”
A shy smile appearing with the inevitable blush, charmed by Miles' admission, Regan shrugged, then explained, "I hadn't imagined that you'd mind, terribly, but I've never been especially bold, and I do try to avoid making myself conspicuous, for Gwen's sake if not my own. I've not had trouble with the press in Diagon thus far, but they've been rather horrible for her, before."
Unwilling to ruin her lovely afternoon with Miles, she shoved thoughts of Tristan's convalescence and the time after from her mind, anchoring herself to the present with the slide of her fingertips against her companion's forearm. "Perhaps, if you can spare the time after your errands, we could manage to avoid an audience?" she suggested hopefully.
The concern of media being interested in Regan - due to her proximity to the Harpies captain - hadn’t crossed his mind until she mentioned, but he’d been involved in enough high profile cases to know the Rita Skeeters of the world were all too eager for anything they could twist into a salacious story. If he was responsible for something unkind being said about Regan, Miles would feel terrible. He’d also be enraged and breaking out his best legal maneuvers against the publication foolish enough to try such a thing.
“If you’d care to accompany me to my home once we’ve finished, I’m confident I could juggle my schedule to allow for a more private scenario. I would understand, of course, if you weren’t comfortable with quite that private a location, though.”
Regan regarded Miles silently for a long moment, turning his offer over in her mind. It was true that she likely shouldn't, but equally so that she very much wanted to, and she'd yet to ever feel that he would, regardless of supervision, behave ill toward her. "I... would like that," she answered slowly, compelling herself to meet his eyes. "I trust you to remain a gentleman without the chaperone of public opinion."
Lifting one hand to cup her face, the look he gave her was soft. “I’m glad you trust me. Keeping that trust intact is an honor and a responsibility I take seriously.” As he pulled away, he considered the plans for the rest of the afternoon. The books he’d ordered were not anything he needed urgently. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we just make the assumption that the green jumper will be every bit as dashing on me as these others, I’ll make my purchases and we’ll stop in Fortescue’s for a couple sweets we can enjoy back at my place?”
"Yes, please," Regan answered readily, more than willing to follow along with Miles' alterations to his proposed itinerary. She was still quietly appalled with herself, but hushed that tiny voice of decorum further as she watched Miles disappear into the changing area to don his own clothes once more. She'd spent her entire life being proper and well-behaved... if she was presently motivated to act otherwise, she would see where it led.
Rising as her companion returned a moment later, she waited for him to gather his intended purchases and tucked her hand lightly into to crook of his arm, following along to the waiting clerk.
His transaction was completed quickly and the trip to the ice cream parlor just a few minutes longer. Barely a quarter hour after having revised their plans, Miles found himself in his living room, Regan next to him on the sofa as they ate their treats. Peppermint ice cream on a cone was Miles’ selection. His lady friend had chosen a sundae, with strawberry topping in place of the usual hot fudge.
Draping an arm across her shoulders, Miles settled Regan against his side. Her weight was scarcely noticeable as petite as she was, but he liked to feel her warmth and keep her close. “Welcome to my humble abode, Miss Bole.”
Accepting the repositioning of her person with a pleased hum, Regan took a second glance around the comfortable sitting room Miles had deposited them in. Having not seen much more of the building, she'd formed no solid opinion, but volunteered, "Sturdy, I think, moreso than humble, but if the remainder is at all like your lounge, I should say it suits you."
She licked a trace of berry from her spoon and stretched out an arm to deposit her half-finished confection on a small cork tray, more interested in being where Miles had maneuvered her than the rest of the icy-cold sweet. "Thank you, also, for the welcome and the invitation," she acknowledged, letting her head rest at his shoulder while he finished his own ice cream.
Miles polished off his cone with nearly childlike enjoyment. Peppermint had long been his favorite flavor of ice cream and he rarely took a trip to Diagon without stopping for some. It was one of his weaknesses.
Petite blonde women were another.
In a swift move, he slipped an arm under her legs and lifted Regan into his lap. His blue-green eyes were warm on hers as he traced his fingers lightly up her arm to her neck, finally sweeping over her plaited hair. “You might also notice that there is no audience here. I believe you requested some private time?”
Failing to quash a shudder of pleasure as Miles' light touch brushed over her hair and the sensitive skin of her neck, Regan marshaled her nerves to hold the soft heat of his gaze, feeling the excited staccato of her heart each second. "I did," she murmured, laying a miraculously steady hand at his shoulder.
"Specifically, a lack of audience with cameras," she felt compelled to add, though it was difficult to tell if she was speaking sensibly, caught as she was within the intensity of his focus.
“Just covering all the bases. Now, I did promise to remain a gentleman, so maybe we should get ground rules out of the way,” Miles said, brushing his lips over Regan’s. Trailing down to the soft skin where neck and shoulder merged, he sucked lightly. “Is this within bounds?”
The lightning-spark of awareness that crackled through her as Miles' lips explored her skin pulled a little noise of want from Regan, and her fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt.
Her "yes" came as a gasp, even as she pushed at his shoulders, struggling between her body's desire for her to just keep quiet and her mind's need to not. "But..." she managed, biting her own lip, hard, to try to regain a fraction of self-control. The pain helped, and she watched him with wide, storm-green eyes while she attempted to gather a thought.
Lifting his head, Miles’ eyes took on a hint of concern. He’d not thought he was pressing too far, but his opinion mattered little if Regan was distressed. “But what, love?”
Dismayed at the worry in his features, Regan shook her head quickly and ran a fingertip along Miles' brow, smoothing the crease that formed there. She drew in a breath, and her eyes darted to and from his as she responded, "But I can't tell you 'no', Miles, not even if I wanted to... so if you want rules, you'll have to get them all at once, or just resolve to use your better judgement,"
She hated needing to say it, and waited somewhat tensely, a small part of her expecting to be dismissed as too much trouble, however wonderful he'd been thus far. "What you were doing was, well, lovely, actually, and 'within bounds', as you say... as would be anything you might decorously do in public. Is that... enough information?"
Miles took a moment to consider what Regan was sharing with him. He had plenty of experience letting his own judgment pave the way for Reese, but that was not a romantic relationship, regardless of what he had once hoped. Were she more experienced, Miles would have no qualms letting his conscience be his guide. It was only Regan’s innocence that gave him pause. He was a very responsible man in most circumstances, but he was still a man. A man who hadn’t been with a woman in quite some time.
Moving to rest his hands at her waist lest they become a distraction from what he had to say, Miles took a deep breath. “That’s plenty of information, and I will bear it in mind. I’m only human though, and you are a beautiful woman. It would be a lie to say I haven’t considered activities which would not be proper for public viewing. Not that I would ever purposefully push you past what you’re comfortable giving, but if ever I get too close to that line, if ever I make you anxious and you can’t tell me, you are to remove your hands from me immediately. I have no intention of putting you in a position for that to be necessary. Our time together should only ever bring a smile and perhaps a blush to your face, but should I ever get caught up in the moment and press too far, you will do this so that I know and can rectify the situation.”
Regan listened solemnly, nodding as Miles paused. "I understand," she confirmed, newly giddy and secure in the fact that he would accept responsibility for her, so that they could have this private time together. Feeling far more grounded, and no less excited by his nearness and the potential for the next little while, she laid her hands deliberately at either side of Miles' face, lightly, and stretched to brush her lips across his.
Quite pleased that Regan was accepting of his instruction and seemed to be relaxed and ready to get back to the business at hand, Miles pulled her flush against his chest and deepened the kiss. It was easy to let the serious conversation fade to the background and focus on the softness of her lips and the little sighs that spilled from her mouth to his. One hand smoothed up Regan’s back, intent on tangling in her blonde mane. The plait she wore was a hinderance, and nimble fingers pulled at the band which held it in place before tangling in the silky strands.
Much as she adored being held, her current position made it difficult to reach Miles except as he allowed, and Regan wanted more. Grasping his shoulder for leverage, she shifted, resting her knees to the outside of his hips, letting him pull her closer as his hand wove into her hair.
His patience was soothing, and the knowledge that he wanted more and would wait on her comfort fueled her own desire; that self-control an enticement, and the possibility of one day asking him to turn loose of it a heady spice to his sweet kiss. She ran her fingertips along the skin exposed by the collar of his shirt, learning his warmth as he mingled the mint and berry flavors of their lips.
It seemed she wasn’t going to waste any time in testing his fortitude. Steeling himself against the urge to grip Regan’s arse and roll his hips into the cradle of hers, Miles settled for caressing her soft thigh, careful not to stray too far from the knee, and let the intensity of the desire he’d felt from the moment she’d made to straddle his lap funnel into his kiss. The hand in her hair tightened its grip as he ate at her mouth, savoring the way she yielded to him.
Giving a little moan at Miles' fierce grip and the bruising fervor of his mouth, Regan slid her hands into his hair, tugging lightly, though he could hardly be any nearer. This, exactly this; the heat of his body pressed close, his hands on her, the demanding pressure of his lips, had been on her mind since they'd parted after dancing the previous weekend, and she answered each touch eagerly, drinking in the dizzying joy of passion.
Regan’s soft moan pulled a matching one from Miles as her fingers threaded through his hair and she pressed her petite frame tightly against him. She was so responsive, holding nothing back, and Miles was both thankful for his restraint and sorry that it was needed. In his mind’s eye he imagined the fervid reactions he might pull from Regan in other ways - his hands moving over bare skin, tasting the sweetness of her center, moving inside her as they made love - and it was hard to hold himself in check. She wasn’t ready though, and Miles kept his impulses reined. The image of the hurt and shame in her eyes if he took advantage was more potent than any desire.
Separating from her kiss, he shifted to run his tongue along the dainty shell of her ear, teeth tugging gently at the lobe when he reached the end.
“Oh!” Regan gasped on a sharp intake of breath, molten licks of awareness racing out from Miles' attention to her ear along seemingly every nerve in her body. Her whole skin felt warm, alive and alert in a way she'd never considered or experienced, and the fractioning chain-reaction of pleasure responses made her shiver, clinging to Miles as he chuckled quietly. "Fractals," she murmured, imagining the ever-expanding crystalline patterns as the delicious tingling rippled through her again, borne by the brush of his lips against her skin.
Needing a way to return or release some of the building concentration of touch she was receiving, she ran her nails carefully along his scalp, focusing on the soft-bristle slip of his hair past her fingertips, centered, to keep from fragmenting like the beautiful image in her mind from sheer sensory overload.
Continuing his path, Miles’ mouth returned to the bend of her neck, where his earlier attentions had caused her to sigh and clutch at him. As Regan’s nailed grazed him lightly, a low hum of pleasure rose from deep in his throat. It seemed the woman in his lap could stir him with the slightest touch, make him hungry for her with the softest sound. Pulling gently on her long blonde locks, he angled her head to give him better access so he could kiss the hollow above her collarbone, nip at the ridge created there.
Regan stilled gradually in Miles' arms as he guided her to suit his preference, her cognizance narrowing to each fleeting taste he stole of her. His teasing almost tickled, but every tiny breath of electric reaction, washing her in waves of gooshflesh and minute shudders, trickled to pool heat low in her belly, kindling a whispering ember of want. A nip, ever so slightly sharper than the previous one, drove a little pant of air from her lips, nearly a sob, and she yanked her hands from Miles' hair, curling her nails tightly into her own palms.
Regan’s small cry and the sudden absence of her fingers on his scalp drew Miles’ attention instantly and he lifted his head, petting her hair in a soothing manner as he studied her. “Enough for today, then,” he said quietly, his touches transitioning from heated to comforting even as he waited for his blood to cool. “Are you alright?”
"Yes," Regan assured immediately, her eyes bright but clear as they found his, one hand unclenching from its fist to trace fingertips along his cheek. The fevered rush of her pulse made it a bit difficult to speak, but she smiled as her breathing lost its flutter, clarifying a few moments later, "You didn't do anything amiss; I don't want to stop, but that's rather the trouble."
Blushing hotly at the admission, though she doubted it to be anything he'd not know already, she dropped her eyes from Miles', relaxing in the respite from frenzied touch-seeking. The stroke of his hand over her hair was grounding, and she subsided to the ready comfort.
She was so light, it was easy to rearrange her back into a position sitting on his lap, rather than straddled across it. Miles cradled her against his chest, continuing his gentle caresses. “You are not alone, love, but there is time. We have many things to learn about each other, and the road to discovery is a very pleasant route to travel.”
Content with patience if it was what Miles wanted, Regan fitted her head beneath his chin, nudging him gently as she settled. "Your logic and wisdom are a bit maddening just now, but yes, I concede the point." She rubbed her cheek against the warm triangle of his skin left bare by the opened button of his collar, adding, "Besides, this is nice as well... I do enjoy being pet."
His laugh had the effect of jostling her, but not enough that she was impelled to move.
Summary: Regan helps Miles do a little shopping, and later they set some ground rules.