14. Somebody to Love
14
Somebody to Love
LEIGHTON
“Oliver Hart, so help me, if you don’t give me some kind of explanation, you will have to drag my carcass out of this car, because there is no good reason on God’s green earth for us to be in a fucking alleyway right now and?—”
“ Inhale . Good girl.” He smirked as I sucked down an obligatory breath, having just expelled the longest sentence known to man in one go. And why did that phrase make my toes curl? Ollie was leaning in the open door of the nondescript black SUV. A man named Arthur had driven us the long way into the city before parking between two buildings that were far too close together to be code compliant. The Harts used these cars when they didn’t want to be easily recognized—I knew that. But why were we sneaking through a dank alley? Was he trying to get mugged?
“Stop analyzing and just let me have some fun.”
My eyes narrowed to slits, which only earned a full-belly laugh and a more insistently extended hand.
Shaking my head—and failing to fully suppress my smile—I slid my palm into his. He helped me out and gave me a twirl, like he needed to see me in motion. The move made something in my chest swell with pride I didn’t know I needed. There was something ridiculously wonderful about being this man’s prize. His answering smile was blinding, a beat before he pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead.
Frankly, chaste was not my current vibe.
The man was delectable, and the fact that he’d clearly put effort into this when pizza on the couch would’ve thrilled me gave me the absurd urge to climb him like a koala right here in the alley. Sorry, Arthur.
Instead, I had to pretend to be civilized as Ollie directed me forward down the grimy asphalt, his hand warm at the small of my back. Arthur swept open a metal door with a groan, motioning us inside, and I nodded slowly, curiosity eating me alive.
“This is a slasher film,” I muttered as I stepped into nothing but darkness. “My siblings have me on a tracking app,” I called out. “You’ll never get away with it.”
“Shut up, Trouble,” he teased.
God, the things I would do to hear the smile in this man’s voice.
“There’s always a slip-up. DNA under the fingernails. You’ll miss something.”
“I said shut up. Just let it happen.”
“Ollie, it’s black as pitch.”
“Almost like that’s the point or something.”
“Can you just tell me what we’re doing?” I demanded as he pushed me forward step by step. Okay, “pushed” might’ve been an exaggeration, but I did not care for the total lack of visibility. Only the faint light from a distant streetlamp cut the gloom. Another dozen paces in, he halted me with a gentle grip on my shoulders. He cleared his throat, turned me to face him—and then clapped his hands loudly twice.
I yelped, then burst into laughter.
That laughter died the moment blinding lights flicked on and revealed the theater .
But not just any theater.
This space was magnificent. My head tilted back on instinct as I gaped up at the elaborate burgundy, blue, and gold ceiling—intricate little details carved into every inch. Crystal chandeliers glowed warmly, twinkling as they caught the light. Whirling, I took in the art deco archways, swathed in draped maroon fabric, and the intricately framed stage at the far end. Art adorned every corner—down to the gold swirls etched into the bases of the plush velvet seats. It was old Hollywood personified. I could practically see the who’s-who of the 1950s drifting through in tuxedos and gowns. He’d taken me back in time.
“Ollie,” I breathed.
Empty . The place was completely empty—except for four smiling employees standing at the top of the red carpeted aisle.
“I don’t understand.”
“You deserve to be courted properly, Leigh,” he said softly, “and while I fully intend to show you off like the proudest man on the planet, I won’t do that to your life until you’re all in. The last thing I want is the press in your business while you’re still deciding what you want from this. Tonight is just for you, baby. Everyone here has signed an NDA.”
Oh holy hell, my face tried to light on fire. My stomach flipped like it had just dismounted from a trapeze.
“But what are we doing?” I asked, my voice hushed, eyes still on the four employees—who seemed to spring into action the moment the words left my mouth. Had Ollie given them a signal?
Two in tailored red uniforms with vintage gold piping stepped to the sides while the other two, dressed in white button-ups, bow ties, and suspenders, approached us wearing retro snack trays slung around their necks.
“Ms. Rhodes, Mr. Hart, welcome,” said the first man, offering me a popcorn container striped in red and white. “We’re so pleased to have you for a private screening this evening.”
I didn’t even want to know what Ollie paid to pull this off.
“Please sit wherever you’d like,” the second added, gesturing to the center row. Ollie guided me forward, hand still warm against my back.
Once we were seated—dead center—the attendants placed glass Coke bottles in our cupholders and filled the space between us with snacks: Milk Duds, Clark Bars, and some chewy-looking candy I’d never seen before.
“Enjoy the show,” the first said, bowing slightly before both attendants slipped away.
“Say something, Trouble.”
I turned to find him looking... nervous? That was cute as hell. With tears stinging the bridge of my nose, I croaked, “You’re insane.”
“Well aware. That’s why God made me beautiful, to compensate.”
“And humble too.”
“Not a word the Harts are taught.”
“How did you do this?”
“Just a few phone calls,” he said, shrugging like this was no big deal—but the way he squeezed my hand said otherwise. His heart was in his throat, too. “But am I on the money?”
“That depends on what happens next.”
He grinned, jerking his chin toward the screen just as the lights dimmed. Upbeat ‘50s music crackled to life. The projector hummed. Then the Paramount logo filled the space.
My breath caught as the opening sequence of Funny Face began.
“Ollie!” I barked, eyes already blurring.
“Good pick?”
I nodded, blinking fast. “You’re insane.”
“The good kind, not the rocking-in-the-corner kind, I hope.”
“You’re incredible .”
“No, you’re incredible,” he corrected, just as Kay Thompson marched through the magazine office on screen.
“How did you know I love Audrey Hepburn?”
“You’re into the classics,” he said simply. Like it was obvious. Like he hadn’t just arranged the most perfect date in the history of the world.
“You are so getting lucky,” I whispered, prompting a full-hearted laugh as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and tucked me in close.
“We’ll see.”
“We’ll see? Psh . The things I want to do to you right now.”
Chuckling, he shook his head, kissed my temple, and whispered, “Watch the movie, Trouble.”
* * *
As the film credits rolled, our uniformed ushers returned and the magnificent lights came back to life.
“Did you enjoy the show?” the first asked as they collected our empty snack boxes, motioning toward the aisle.
“It was perfect,” I said, beaming over my shoulder at a smug-looking Oliver.
“Wonderful. Ready for the next phase of your evening?”
“Next phase?” I balked, turning to see him smirking at his shiny fucking shoes.
Ollie shrugged. “You didn’t think that was it, did you?”
“Kinda,” I squeaked. “ Yeah .”
“Follow the gentleman in pinstriped pants, Leigh.”
“You’re bossy tonight.”
“And you like it.”
“How would you know?”
“Because your skin flushes every time I tell you what to do.”
“Oh, it does not ,” I argued, even as I followed the ushers—limbs buzzing with what was definitely not excitement. (It was totally excitement. Maybe also the second bottle of Coke I’d chugged like a lifeline.)
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Preferably an orgasm or two.”
“Jesus, Leigh.” Grinning, I rushed to keep up with the men in red jackets. They led us through the stunning space to a brass elevator with an old-school control panel. When the doors opened again, we stepped onto the roof.
String lights illuminated a concrete terrace bordered by potted greenery and the building’s brick facade. Beyond that—twinkling city skyline. All to the gentle serenade of a live string quartet playing Moondance .
“Ollie,” I whispered, shaking my head. “This is way too much.”
“Do you know me at all?” he asked in mock offense. “I’m just getting started.”
“Don’t say that—I might keel over.”
“You look just fine to me,” he said with a smirk that could melt concrete.
The ushers led us to a sleek bistro table. One of them helped Ollie out of his jacket while the other pulled out my chair and scooted me in like I was royalty. White gloves. Gold name tags. I’d grown up on an island without traffic lights—this was not my normal.
He’d gone all out. No wonder he was so cocky about needing only one night. Some deeply masochistic part of me wanted to know what the hell Carly had been thinking, letting a man like this slip through her fingers. Real men didn’t do this. This was fiction shit.
Maybe that was why she was so bitter. She’d lost a man who made Disney princes look like underachievers and was now making it everybody’s problem.
Before I could ask for a menu, two silver trays were delivered—each topped with a domed lid that was lifted with theatrical precision to reveal... street tacos .
An artfully arranged pile of them. With ramekins full of lime wedges and what had to be hot sauce.
I burst out laughing as Ollie leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself. The music shifted again, the opening notes striking a familiar chord, and my spine straightened as my mouth dropped open.
“Are they playing Queen?” I gasped, recognizing Somebody to Love .
“They’ll play whatever you ask them to,” he said, rolling up his sleeves.
One of the musicians chuckled, clearly not a stranger to Oliver Hart.
“Michael Jackson?” I challenged.
Without missing a beat, they slipped into Thriller .
“ Sweet Child of Mine ?” They paused, conferred briefly, then launched into the melody so seamlessly I thought I might cry.
My mouth fell open so wide my jaw popped, and Ollie lost it.
“You like it?”
“You’re perfect. Flamboyantly over the top for a woman content in yesterday’s pajamas and reruns—but perfect nonetheless.”
“You deserve over the top.”
“There’s nothing closeted about your romantic, is there?” I muttered, chewing on my lip.
“Aww, thanks.” His flat tone made me laugh again as he nodded toward my tacos. “Eat while they’re hot.”
“ Bossy .”
“You like it.”
I did. I really, really did.
Many songs, five tacos, two pictures, and several dances later, Ollie finally ushered me back into the SUV, strung as taut as one of the quartet’s bowstrings. By the time Arthur dropped us at my building and Ollie walked me up, I was positive the man could brush a feather over my skin and I’d go nuclear.
So when we reached my doorway and turned to face each other, my heart was thundering like a war drum in my chest.
There was so much fondness—bottomless certainty—in his eyes that I forgot how to breathe.
“I had a great time tonight. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
The memory of him whispering those words after making me fall apart in his arms ghosted over my skin. One night, he’d said. Hell, one night and I was already ruined.
“Ollie, that was insane.”
“My first thought was a Vegas show, but I figured if I flew you somewhere, you’d punch me in the arm.”
“Accurate.”
“So this was what I landed on that didn’t require stitches.”
“Well,” I purred, stepping in close and nearly groaning when his hands found my face and waist, “it pains me to admit it, but you were right on the money.”
He chuckled, one hand easing to the back of my neck while the other tugged me against him. His kiss was slow this time. Intentional. Luxuriously indulgent.
My hands slid up his chest and around his back, holding him there.
This—this felt so right. It didn’t feel like desperation or performance. It just... was .
Warm and pliant, and planting the steady flap of butterfly wings in my belly. Delicious and unhurried, as though we had all the time in the world.
A perfect exhale after a perfect night.
Which is why my heart stuttered because there was goodbye in his eyes.
“Goodnight, Trouble.”
Then he turned and walked away.
“Are you serious!?”
His only reply was a low, bemused chuckle as he disappeared down the hall.
And my damn heels? Absolutely glued to the floor.
Oliver
Perfect. She was so goddamn perfect I could feel my pulse in every inch of my skin. The marrow of my bones sang with it. My cock had been at half-mast for most of the evening, and the look of stunned horror on her face as I walked away hadn’t been enough to convince it to calm down.
But I had a plan. A strategy. One I intended to follow if I wanted to win her over—really win her over. Because this woman wasn’t a fling. She was it. The answer to a prayer I didn’t realize I’d made. The universe’s defibrillator for my heart. Just as jarring. Just as brutally necessary. Probably twice as exhilarating.
One night. That’s what I’d asked for, so I could beg for another. And that’s exactly what I planned to do—right after I jacked off in the fucking shower. Because no amount of strategic restraint could convince my body to chill out after having her hands on me, her voice in my ear, and those gray-blue eyes looking at me like that.
All very noble in theory, promptly destroyed by the chirp of my alarm system and the sharp voice of the man Jackson called “Viper” over the comms: “Ms. Rhodes, is everything alright?”
Leighton?
Her sharp, “It’s fine. Now at ease, or whatever it is you say that means ‘go away,’ please,” had me laughing as I wrapped a towel around my waist and jogged into the hallway.
I met the steely eyes of Captain Reynolds’ latest addition—dark hair, darker glare—who clearly didn’t love finding me half-naked. He scowled, but dipped his chin and disappeared down the stairs.
Then she turned that fire on me.
“What the hell was that?”
“What?” I asked, amused—and more than a little distracted by her bare legs and wet hair. She’d changed into an oversized charcoal T-shirt and unlaced Docs. Her long hair hung in damp waves to either side of her face, and she looked like she’d just stepped off the cover of every punk-rock daydream I’d ever had. And she was pissed.
I wasn’t sure if I should laugh, run, or drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness.
“ You pursued me ,” she said, stomping forward. “ You asked me out. Then you proceed to plan the world’s most romantic evening in history, and you just leave me there with panties so wet they would’ve dissolved if they were edible?!”
“Jesus Christ, Trouble.”
“That’s one.” She held up her finger like she was keeping score.
To his credit, Viper didn’t crack a smile, but he did speed up his retreat. My parents would’ve rolled in their graves—again—if they knew how often I got scolded in my own damn house.
She stormed into my space before her eyes finally dropped to my bare chest, and widened like she hadn’t realized I was wearing nothing but a towel until she could smell the body wash.
“I already told you.”
“Told me what?”
“I want to do this right this time.”
“By edging me out?”
“I mean…” I smirked when her eyes narrowed. “Edging can be pretty beneficial. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“You didn’t even come in for coffee.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“It was implied.”
“Was it? I missed that.”
“The kids are with Emma.”
“Hence, the quiet house.”
“Then why are they staying over if you didn’t intend to use our freedom to its fullest?”
“I did, Trouble.”
She blinked, her throat working in a way that was going to cause me problems sooner rather than later. This towel was thin .
“Hence the tacos?”
“Why? Do you not want?—”
“Unless you want a pink outline of my hand on your ass, you will not finish that sentence.”
She straightened. Pupils blown wide. “What if that’s exactly what I want?”
“Then you’re going to have to wait.”
“This is what you meant by ‘maybe’ earlier? You knew you were going to wind me up like a top and let me spin out all by myself.”
Grinning, I closed the distance. Her hands landed on my chest, but her scowl remained.
“You’re not being punished, Leighton.”
“My lady blue balls beg to differ. You’re the one who went all caveman in the pantry. I didn’t ask you to turn me on and leave me hanging. Is this a milk and the cow for free thing?”
“That’s not quite how that saying?—”
“Explain yourself, Hart.”
I cupped her face and kissed her hard enough to shut her up. Her fists curled against my chest. She didn’t push me away, but when she pulled back, there was something in her eyes that hit like a punch to the sternum.
“Do you not want me? Why go to all that effort if?—”
“ Leighton ,” I warned, noses brushing.
“Don’t ‘Leighton’ me. Make it make sense, Oliver. If you feel half of what I do, there’s no way you’d go to all that effort just to… oh .”
Her voice faltered as I grabbed her hand and guided it to the problem she was very much responsible for—still hard, still pulsing. Her eyes flew to mine.
“I’ve already gotten off with your name on my fucking lips tonight. I want you, baby. More than you know.”
“Then why, prey tell, are we torturing ourselves?”
“Because I fucked up, Leighton. I made you feel like a cheap hookup, when you’ve been my world for the better part of a year.” Her mouth parted, and I traced her bottom lip with my thumb. “I’ve been in love with you since long before I knew how good you taste. And it has nothing to do with how badly I want to ravage your body.”
I brushed my lips over hers, savoring her, torturing myself. Her palm still pressed against my growing erection as I whispered, “For months, I’ve looked for ways to pull you closer. Irritate you. Befriend you. Take whatever scraps I could get—because any part of you was better than nothing. You deserve a man who worships at your feet without asking for anything back. Who makes you feel like the only woman in the world. And I’m telling you right now, I have no intentions of standing by and watching someone else be that man.”
“You… you love me ?” Her voice was small, eyes wide and glassy. But her hands were roaming over my chest again, so I held on to hope.
“I was a goner the moment you showed up in my life. Watching you with my kids. Watching you pull Mattie from the water and hold her like she was your own—I was fucking gone.”
Her fingers traced slow patterns through my chest hair, eyes down. When the silence dragged too long, I leaned in.
“Say something.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Motion denied. Next? ”
“You could have anyone.”
“I’m standing here with you, aren’t I?”
“There are things I haven’t told you.”
“Then tell me when you’re ready.”
“You really mean all that?” she whispered.
“I’ve got all the time in the world to convince you.”
“And… what if I already believe you?” She flushed as she said it.
“I promised to beg for another night, didn’t I?”
“You can have all my nights, Ollie.”
Fuck. If I wasn’t a grown-ass man, I might have thumped my chest like Tarzan . “Good. Because I’ve been trying to think of how to steal them.”
She laughed, rising onto her toes to kiss me again. I pulled her into me, spinning with equal parts joy and disbelief. She was here. She was mine. No screaming or anger, or veiled threats. But then Leighton was letting go, my heart sinking and then bolting forward as her fingers trailed down my abs, to the knot of the towel.
She looked up, eyes hungry. My cock jerked in response.
“What would you say,” she asked, voice sultry, “if I wanted to thank you for the most perfect night out?”