Chapter 11 Weston #2
“This isn't a comedy show, Olivia. You can’t spend the last year with my brother, break up with him, then make appearances with me. That will destroy him.”
And the both of us, too.
“I’m not looking for that. I…”
I took a step back, running my hand through my hair. She pressed forward, eating up two steps in place of my one. It was a dynamic I wasn’t used to. In every scenario, I was the wolf, especially of late. I sought out situations, people, experiences. It wasn’t the other way around.
But I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed Olivia’s sudden boldness. It lit a fire in my veins, burning me from the inside out. I wanted to touch her again. Damnit, I wanted to feel her. Taste her.
My gaze zipped down her body, then slowly climbed back up to her face.
She was fucking beautiful. Effortlessly sexy in that dress of hers.
She had on a conservative amount of makeup, from what I remembered being in the conference room earlier, and it suited her well.
Everything suited Olivia Hudson. From the dresses she wore like her body was made for them, to the way she lost consciousness because of a migraine.
She was ordinary and unique all at the same time.
And I wanted to claim that. To call it mine. To embed myself in her in the same way she managed to do to me without even really trying.
“Careful what you say,” I grumbled in response.
“Why? Are you going to make me want to leave again?”
“I have the nagging suspicion that I’ll always say just the right thing to make you want to run in the opposite direction.
” Which was another reason we couldn’t do this.
It was no secret that I struggled when it came to people.
It didn’t help that I spent months pining over a woman that was out of reach. That was somebody else’s.
“Probably not wrong there,” she murmured, walking up to me, toe-to-toe. Her hands found my shirt, and she gripped enough of the fabric that it tightened around my torso.
My cock twitched.
She rubbed her lips together then said, “Stop looking at me like you hate me.”
I tilted my head, reveling in the notion that her hands were on me. I wondered if they still would be if she knew the truth. If she knew who I really was. What I was capable of.
“But what if I do?” I asked in an attempt to rile her for no other reason than liking the attitude she gave me back.
“I haven’t been with a ton of men, Weston, but I’ve been with enough to know that you wouldn’t have touched me the way you did if you hated me.”
“So fucking sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
When she hummed, I couldn’t stop myself. I brought my hand up and cupped her neck, my thumb resting on that center spot that vibrated.
“I’ve spent long enough questioning things I shouldn’t,” she told me. “I’m not interested in prolonging that habit any longer.”
I lifted my hand from her neck and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my thumb brush over the shell of it slowly.
My question was hushed, my tone a lot gentler than it had been. She was invading my space, my mind. “How’s that head of yours?”
Her hands flattened on my chest. “It’s okay.”
“You planning on passing out on me again?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good.” I let out a deep breath, and then said, “I don’t know what this is between us. I don’t know if it’ll ever amount to anything, Olivia. I’m not—”
“I know, okay? You don’t have to explain yourself. I know there are many complex moving pieces here. I’m not expecting anything of you. I just…needed to say what was on my mind before this night came to an end.”
I offered her a subtle nod in understanding. My gaze zeroed in on the action when she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. So fucking pink. So fucking plump. And then she took a step back like I had done a few minutes ago.
She was drawing a line in the sand. Letting me know where she stood. And while I appreciated it, I wondered if she’d still be standing in that exact place weeks from now.
Or if she’d flip her stance and realize what everyone else already knew about me—that I wasn’t the kind of guy you waited around for, nor was I the type of person you gave chance after chance to.
I wore the Taylors name well in that regard.
Because despite the Taylors family maintaining a solid reputation, we all had closets we liked to keep locked.
The accusation I threw at her was evidence enough.
I was talking out of my ass when it came to her cheating on Lennon, but that was only because I didn’t know how to handle the current situation.
I spiraled and spewed words that did nothing but chisel away at her to divert the attention away from me.
But she eventually snapped, eventually learned.
It was better that the spotlight was on her, anyway.
It’d be back on me soon enough.
I watched as she backed away, her green eyes on me until she reached the doorway. Her hands reached out to steady herself. “I see you now, Weston.”
Yeah, and I couldn’t help but feel like that was a mistake.
“You can’t hide from me anymore.”
“You sure about that?” I questioned, drinking her shadowy figure in with my gaze before she was gone for good.
“Positive.”
And then she disappeared, taking that scent with her that I loved so much as the hallway swept her away. It was quiet enough that I could hear her heels, until eventually, that faded, too.
Just like our one stolen moment.