Chapter 1 #6
Juniper walked past him, trailing her fingertips over his biceps. He turned and watched her walk inside to water the flytrap in the living room.
He was still scared of that thing. A little, anyway. But he hadn’t seen it eat a human yet.
Then Juniper was pulling her top off and shimmying down her shorts before taking off the panties that barely covered a thing. Without batting an eyelid she walked straight past him and did a perfect dive into the pool.
“I have to go,” Oliver said gruffly, as Juniper cut through the surface, looking every inch the water goddess he knew she was.
“Yes you do. Now go finish your book. And that’s an order.”
Oliver barely heard his agent’s words. He was too busy pulling off his t-shirt. It was time to spend some time with his plant whisperer.
* * *
“Why didn’t you tell me? That’s amazing.” Juniper was grinning at him as they stood under the steaming shower in his bathroom.
Pouring a dollop of shampoo into her palm, she washed his hair, her fingertips scraping his scalp. “I knew she’d love it. The book is amazing.”
“You haven’t read it yet,” Oliver said dryly, but there was a smile on his lips.
“No, but I know you and I know Simon. Together, you’re a powerhouse. Now tip your head back.” He did as he was told and she rinsed the suds from his hair, then slathered some conditioner on. He always rolled his eyes at this bit. Apparently, he never usually used conditioner.
She’d been horrified when he told her that. He had the most glorious, thick hair. She’d told him sternly he needed to take care of it.
Or she would.
“We should celebrate,” she told him, rinsing the conditioner out too. “There, you’re done.”
“Thank you.” He was still smiling, but there was an edge to it. The same edge he’d had in the pool earlier. This man couldn’t get enough of her and she was all here for that. She couldn’t get enough of him, either.
They both knew they were on borrowed time. They needed to use every minute they could.
“I’ll cook us dinner,” she suggested. “A nice one.”
“I’ll cook,” Oliver said. “It’s my house and you’re my guest.”
“You’ve cooked all week. And I’m grateful for it.” She rolled onto her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his lips. “But it’s my turn. I’ll see what’s in the refrigerator and head to the shops to stock up. I know for a fact you don’t have any vegetables in this house.”
Oliver chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be murder?” He’d started to wash her hair, his huge hands pressed against her scalp in a way that made her want to moan. So she did.
“What would be murder?” she asked when he turned her so he could rinse the suds.
“Eating plants.”
He was sliding his fingers through her hair, and the sweet pressure made her groan again. “It’s not like they can feel anything,” she said.
“How can you say that? You’re the plant whisperer. You wouldn’t sing to them if you didn’t think it would make them happy.”
Oh God, she’d never come clean about the singing. Ugh. And now she had to look like an idiot.
“Um, about the singing,” she said, trying to work out how to tell him she’d been lying.
“Yeah?” He finished washing her hair and grabbed the shower gel, pouring some into his open palm.
“I don’t really sing to plants.”
“Yeah you do, I heard you.” He slid the gel over her shoulders and onto her arms. Damn, this man knew how to touch her.
She took a deep breath as his fingers rubbed in circles on her skin. “I kind of lied about that.”
He stopped cleaning her. “What?”
She caught his eye. Oliver looked more confused than anything else. Why had she even started this?
“I sang to them because I wanted to annoy you,” she told him. “They call me the plant whisperer because I’m good at keeping them alive. Not because I talk to them. And I definitely don’t sing to them.”
“The flytrap doesn’t love ‘The Muffin Man’?” He looked almost disappointed.
She shook her head.
“So the singing was all for my benefit?”
“I mean, that’s kind of generous, but yeah. I sang for you, I guess.” Mostly to annoy him, but they were both over that.
A grin split his mouth. “Oh Juniper, you’re so going to pay for that.”
“I am?”
His gaze turned dark. “Yep. Torture by orgasm.” He dropped to his knees. “I suggest we start your punishment now.”
* * *
Monday the following week, Oliver got the call that changed everything.
He and Juniper were sitting at the breakfast bar, eating the blueberry pancakes he’d made as she dragged herself out of bed.
She’d showered and dressed quickly, and her wet hair was pulled into a thick French braid, her long tan legs crossed as he pushed a plate of pancakes over to her.
“I don’t get how you learned to be such a wonderful cook,” she said, groaning as she took a bite. “Pancakes, omelets, strata… Have we even eaten the same thing twice?”
“I’m a writer. My job is to do everything I can in order to avoid writing. So I taught myself to cook.” He shrugged, embarrassed by her praise.
She looked up at him with a mouthful of pancake and a closed-mouth smile.
Breakfast was the only time he talked more than she did. Well, there was one other time, but that was at night, and he probably shouldn’t think about that right now.
He was about to whip up another batch of batter when his cell phone vibrated on the counter. He walked over to grab it and lifted a brow when he saw Chris’s name flash on his screen.
“Hey Chris,” he said, lifting the phone to his ear.
“Hey, I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Chris asked. He sounded tired.
Oliver glanced over at Juniper, who was now eating the pancakes off his plate. “Nope. Just eating breakfast.”
“Good.” Chris exhaled softly. “I need to talk to you. We have a bit of a problem.”
Oliver blinked. “What kind of problem? Is there something wrong with the house?”
Juniper looked up, her brows knitted. He gave her a reassuring smile and inclined his head to let her know he was going to take this in the office. She nodded, and he walked through the door into the hallway, as Chris continued to talk.
“Nothing like that,” Chris told him. “My youngest is waiting for a small bit of surgery on her ears. Remember I told you about that?”
“Yeah.” Chris had mentioned grommets, though Oliver had no idea what they were. “Is everything okay?” He knew how much Chris loved his kids.
“It’s all good. It’s just that they’ve got a space for her at the hospital earlier than planned. Which would mean she’ll get the surgery done before she starts school, which would be great. Chelsea’s over the moon that she’ll be able to hear better when she’s sitting in class.”
“That sounds good,” Oliver agreed.
“The thing is, the surgery is due on Monday. Which means we’ll fly back tomorrow.”
Oh. So soon? The thought made his stomach clench.
“You’ll need the house back,” Oliver said.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, man. You’re very welcome to stay, of course. But the kids…”
Chris had three of them, Oliver remembered. Gorgeous girls who had more energy than they knew what to do with.
Oliver tried to picture finishing his book while at least two of them were playing in the pool, in the house, everywhere.
And anyway, if their daughter was having surgery, the last thing Chris and Chelsea needed was a houseguest.
“It’s not a problem. The book is nearly finished, anyway. And I need to get back to New York for meetings.” All lies. His stomach clenched at the thought of leaving.
But you were never going to stay. It’s just a vacation, remember?
Weird how it didn’t feel like that.
“You sure?” Chris asked. “I feel like a real dick giving this place to you, then taking it away again.”
“I’m positive,” Oliver told him, feeling anything but. “Seriously, you’ve done me such a huge favor. As I said, I’m almost there. I can finish in New York.”
“Thank you my friend.” Chris let out a relieved sigh.
“What time is your flight tomorrow?”
“We arrive at LAX in the early evening.”
That was no time at all.
“I’ll fly out in the morning and arrange for a cleaning service to come in.” Not that the house needed it, but he was a guest, dammit. It was the least he could do.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Oliver felt sick. “Let me know how your little girl gets on, okay?”
“I will. You’re the best.”
* * *
“Hey,” Juniper said when Oliver walked back into the kitchen. She was crouched down in front of the dishwasher, loading it with the dirty plates and silverware. “Everything okay with Chris and Chelsea?”
Oliver didn’t answer, so she turned to look at him. There was the strangest expression on his face.
“Oliver?” She stood and closed the door, running her hands under the tap. “Has something happened?”
“I have to go back to New York.” His voice was a monotone. He wouldn’t look at her.
“I know. Next month.” But they had plenty of time to spend together until then.
He shook his head and something in her stomach twisted. “I have to go back tomorrow.”
Her mouth turned dry. “For a meeting, you mean? When will you be back?”
“I won’t. I have to leave for good.”
Why did he sound so normal? She hadn’t been expecting this at all, and yet he didn’t seem to care. Her throat tightened. “I thought we had more time.”
His eyes finally met hers, but they were expressionless. “So did I. But Chris is coming back and I have to finish this book, so I have to fly back to my apartment.”
She waited for him to tell her he’d be back. That he couldn’t be away from her. That she could come with him – even though she had to work here and couldn’t.
But he didn’t. His lips didn’t move at all.
“You could stay at mine until you finish writing your book,” she suggested, though as soon as the words left her mouth she knew it was stupid. She had a tiny bedroom and roommates. Nobody could get a thing done there. “No, scratch that, it wouldn’t work. You’d get no peace.”
“I’m sorry.” His gaze softened. And that’s when she worked it out. She was more invested in this than he was. It was a vacation fling for him.
And she’d known that, but she’d let herself get attached, anyway. Stupid, stupid Juniper.