Chapter 3
After a breakfast of scrambled eggs and mini bagels, we headed for the office. I kept the gift for Oliver tucked in my purse along with a card, planning to give it to him at lunchtime. Our day was a whirlwind of phone calls, reports, and meetings with his internal staff. Everyone was polite, but I could sense a few people might create problems for me.
By the time lunch rolled around, I was both starving and eager to give Oliver his birthday present.
“Would you like to go out to lunch?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.
“It’s your birthday, it’s entirely up to you,” I replied with a smile.
“Let’s go out.”
I went to my office to grab my black wool coat while Oliver straightened his desk. A few minutes later, he showed up at my door. My new furniture had finally arrived, making the space feel cozy and welcoming.
“I like everything you chose,” Oliver said, plopping down on the champagne-colored microsuede couch and bouncing up and down.
I watched him with a mix of amusement and fascination. “What exactly are you doing?”
“I’m checking to see the bounceability of the cushions,” he replied, grinning like a mischievous child.
“Is bounceability even a word?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Probably not, but these are springy,” he said, bouncing again for emphasis.
“And why exactly would I need them to be springy?” I inquired, trying to suppress a laugh.
`“For after-curricular activities,” he said with a wink.
I softly cursed under my breath. “This is a professional environment, not exactly suited for what you’re implying.”
“Do you think you’ll be fired?” he teased, a playful glint in his eye.
“Not if you keep it professional,” I shot back, shaking my head with a smile.
Oliver stood up, offering me his arm. “Shall we, Ms. Stewart?”
“We shall, Mr. Fox,” I replied, linking my arm with his.
As we walked to the elevator, I felt a surge of excitement for the day ahead. This man, with his mix of childlike enthusiasm and steely determination, had a way of making even the most mundane days feel special. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction to the gift I had carefully chosen, a token of my love and appreciation for everything he had brought into my life.
“Where are we going for lunch?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
“You’ll see,” Oliver replied, a mysterious smile playing on his lips.
I frowned slightly, hating when he kept things from me. It should've been me taking him to lunch, but Oliver always did things his own way, even on his birthday. He led me to the elevator, and we squeezed in with the lunch crowd. As we moved to the back, he held my hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb, a soothing gesture that calmed my mild irritation.
When we exited the building, Vlad was waiting for us with the limo. The weather had turned unseasonably warm, much warmer than it had been in the morning. I shrugged out of my coat before getting into the car. Once inside, Oliver pulled me onto his lap, capturing my lips in a bruising kiss. His hand fisted in my hair, preventing me from pulling away. When he finally released me, I was breathless.
“What was that for?” I asked, dazed and flushed.
“I love you. I love you so much,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
His statement almost sounded like a cry, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong. He hadn’t told me about the phone call he had taken the night before, and I wondered if that had anything to do with his sudden intensity.
“I love you too. Where are we going?” I asked, trying to read the emotions flickering in his eyes.
“Upstate,” he answered, his voice softening.
“Excuse me?”
"Upstate," Oliver announced, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
“But we’ll be late getting back to work. Don’t you have a conference call with the Ryders at 2:00 p.m.?” I protested, my brow furrowing.
“Canceled. We’re taking the rest of the day off,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Where are we going?” I pressed, curiosity gnawing at me.
“Get changed,” he instructed.
“Changed into what?” I asked, puzzled.
Oliver tugged at his light blue tie, pulling it over his head and then gesturing to the black duffel bag sitting on the bench seat opposite us.
“What are you up to, Mr. Fox?” I queried, suspicion lacing my voice.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a smirk, his eyes dancing with amusement.
He shifted to grab the duffel bag, opening it and handing me a pair of my favorite worn blue jeans, a pale yellow t-shirt, and a forest green cashmere sweater. I watched as he began to strip, neatly folding his clothes and placing them on the seat beside him.
He was wearing my favorite hip-hugging gray boxer shorts, which framed all the delicious parts of Oliver. Heat flooded my cheeks as I stared, unable to tear my eyes away.
“Aren’t you getting dressed? Stop staring,” he teased.
“Shut up. You’re gorgeous, and you know it,” I retorted, feeling a smile tug at my lips.
Just to tease me, he leaned back against the seat and began to check his emails, feigning nonchalance. He knew exactly what he was doing. I pulled my skirt over my head and removed my blouse, sitting there in just a blood-red lace bra and thong set. Oliver pretended he wasn’t affected, but the growing bulge between his legs betrayed him.
“You’re creating problems, Ryleigh,” he said, his voice low and strained.
“You started it,” I shot back, a teasing lilt in my voice.
“And I want to finish it,” he growled.
In a flash, he tossed his phone onto the opposite seat and pulled me underneath him. He hovered above me, his gaze locking onto my hazel eyes. I reached up and traced the slight stubble on his jaw, enjoying the rough texture against my fingertips.
“So, am I your birthday present?” I whispered, my voice trembling with anticipation.
“If you are, it’s my birthday every day,” he murmured, his lips brushing against mine.
The intensity in his eyes made my heart race. This spontaneous, passionate side of Oliver always left me breathless.
He shucked off his boxers before he lowered himself onto me, our bodies pressing together, I felt the world outside the limo fade away. Whatever he had planned upstate, I knew it would be unforgettable.
“I want you naked.”
I giggled. “I guess it’s only fair since you are.”
I unclasped my bra and wiggled out of my panties, handing them too him as they dangled from my finger. He put them to his nose and inhaled, closing his eyes before he rolled me under him.
“You always smell so good. I’ll never forget your scent.”
He extracted a condom from his coat pocket and handed it to me. I unfurled it on his shaft as I sat on his thick thighs then straddled him, positioning his latex covered cock between my slick folds. When I sank down, he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around me. We rocked together as he pressed my body against his. I sucked on his earlobe as I softly sang happy birthday to him.
“That’s such a turn on,” he said.
“What is?” I panted.
“You, singing in my ear while we make love.”
“You find that a turn on?”
“Anything you do is a turn on.”
“How about when I come?” I said, gasping. “Because I’m going to right now.”
My core exploded with white hot heat as I came. I squeezed Oliver inside me, and he held me as he thrust his hips upward until he came with a loud groan. After we finished, we stayed locked together even when Vlad called back on the intercom to say we were leaving the city.
Fifteen minutes later, we were dressed for our visit upstate. Oliver was wearing a pair of black jeans and a gray V-neck sweater that showed a hint of his beautiful well-muscled chest. I leaned my head against his shoulder while he checked his phone for a few incoming emails.
“You’re not telling me where we’re going?” I asked.
Oliver shook his head. “No.”
I slowly licked my lips. “I’d like to give you the gift I got for your birthday.”
“You didn’t need to get me anything.”
“I know I didn’t need to get you anything, I wanted to.”
I grabbed my purse and opened it to take out the card and small black velvet box that held the sapphire and gold ring. Oliver read the card and he sniffled a little at the sentiment. I could swear I saw tears in his eyes as I handed him the box.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Open it,” I said with anticipation.
He popped the box open and shook his head when he saw what was inside.
“This is too expensive.”
I swallowed back the emotion clogging my throat. “Shut up, Oliver. I have an inheritance I can spend.”
“This is exquisite.”
He slipped the ring on his finger and held his hand out. I pulled it off and turned it at an angle so he could see the inscription inside. This time I saw him wipe his eyes with his thumb.
“Ryleigh….” he whispered.
“I love you, Oliver, and I want you to know how much. You can always have me with you as long as you wear this.”
He took it from me and put it back on. “I’m never taking it off.”
“The sapphires remind me of your eyes.”
Oliver held my hand until we pulled off the highway in lower Westchester County. I recognized the signs as we drove through the city of Pleasantville. A few minutes later, Vlad turned into the Bianchi Winery. We traveled down a long driveway until we came to the main winery and restaurant.
“We’re having lunch here?” I squealed.
"Not in the restaurant."
I looked at him, puzzled. “Where, then?”
“You’ll see. Be patient. You would think it was your birthday.”
I frowned. “I should’ve planned this.”
“It doesn’t matter who planned it as long as we’re together.”
As Vlad parked in the main driveway and opened the door for us, we stepped out and approached what looked like a rustic barn. We walked through two thick double wooden doors, each adorned with a rectangular piece of colorful stained glass. Inside, a small man with thinning black hair and a large bulbous nose greeted us.
He hugged Oliver warmly, then turned to me. “I’m Vittorio Bianchi,” he said with a slight Italian accent.
“Vittorio, this is my fiancée, Ryleigh Stewart,” Oliver introduced.
“She is bellissima,” Vittorio declared.
I felt my face heat up. “Th-thank you,” I stuttered, glancing at Oliver, who had a smirk on his face.
Vittorio led us through a large store and tasting area, lined with wooden crates and shelves filled with wine bottles. We continued through a dusty storeroom and out to the vineyard, where a battered green golf cart awaited us. Vittorio took the front seat, while Oliver and I settled into the back.
The cart bumped along a narrow path through the tangled grapevines, eventually stopping at a small clearing where a table was set up. It was beautifully arranged with several crystal wine glasses, white china, and silverware on top of a red linen tablecloth. As soon as we sat down, a light-haired man in a waiter’s uniform appeared, carrying a thick wooden charcuterie board.
My mouth watered as I took in the sight of the food: an assortment of cheeses cut into slices, pieces of thick crusty Italian bread, salty green and black olives, dried apricots and almonds, hummus, homemade pickles, and pieces of hard salami, sopressata, mortadella, and capicola.
“This looks fantastic,” I said, my stomach growling in anticipation.
“I’m glad the day warmed up,” Oliver remarked, pouring us each a glass of wine.
“Suppose it didn’t?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Then we would have found somewhere cozy inside,” he replied, clinking his glass against mine.
Vittorio reappeared with a knowing smile. “Enjoy your meal. If you need anything, just call for me.”
As we settled into our meal, the flavors burst in my mouth, each bite more delicious than the last. The sun filtered through the grapevines, casting a warm, dappled light over us. I looked at Oliver, his eyes sparkling with happiness.
“Thank you for this,” I said, my voice filled with emotion. “It’s perfect.”
He reached across the table, taking my hand in his. “You’re perfect,” he said softly. “And I wanted to make today special for you.”
I felt a lump in my throat, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. As we continued to eat and laugh, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I knew we could face them together. Today was a reminder of the love and joy we shared, and I was grateful for every moment.
“How do you know Vittorio?” I asked, curiosity piqued as I glanced around the vineyard.
“I’m part owner of this place. A silent partner,” Oliver replied casually.
I took a sip of wine. “You own this place?”
“Part of it,” Oliver said, popping a green olive in his mouth.
I marveled at the beautiful surroundings, the lush grapevines, and the rustic charm of the barn. “Maybe we should get married here.”
“I thought you wanted The Garden Room?”
“I do, but this place is beautiful,” I said, feeling torn.
Oliver rolled his sapphire eyes playfully, making me laugh. “Make up your mind, sweetheart.”
“The Garden Room,” I decided with a smile.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Have you spoken to Rachel Vicaria?” I asked, referring to the wedding planner I had my heart set on.
“It’s on my list. I haven’t gotten a chance, but we have plenty of time. Frankly, I wish we were getting married sooner.”
“I know you do, but we don’t need a piece of paper, you know that.”
“I do, but I prefer it,” he said, his voice softening with emotion.
I leaned closer, a mischievous glint in my eyes. “Well, it’s your birthday, so why don’t you sweep me off to a justice of the peace and we’ll be married right now?”
Oliver dropped the piece of sharp cheddar he was eating, his eyes widening in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Let’s get married right now,” I repeated, more seriously this time.
He stared at me, a mixture of shock and love in his gaze. “As much as I would love to make you Mrs. Fox this very minute, I wouldn’t spoil your fun. I know you want all the things that go along with the festivities of a wedding.”
My heart swelled at his consideration. “You know me too well,” I said softly.
Oliver glanced up from his plate. "By the way, Serena Putnam should be phoning you on Monday," he said, tapping his pen on the desk.
I looked up. "Who’s she?"
"The wedding planner," Oliver replied with a small smile. "You’ll have a much easier time with help."
I nodded thoughtfully. "How are the preparations for the house on the island coming?"
"They already started breaking ground," Oliver said, leaning back in his chair.
"Already?" my eyes widened. "You said it was in the planning phase."
Oliver chuckled. "Money talks, my dear fiancée. I have several crews out there."
I tilted her head, skeptical. "But how do you know?"
"One of my project managers is overseeing the entire project," Oliver explained confidently. "Nothing will be done half-assed."
I crossed her arms, a playful smile on my lips. "Don’t you think we should name the island? We can’t keep calling it 'the island.'"
He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Why don’t we call it Ryleigh Island?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "No. That would be embarrassing."
"Why?" Oliver asked, feigning innocence. "Of course, everything pales in comparison to you."
I rolled my eyes, still smiling. "Think of something else. How about Fox Island?"
Oliver nodded, considering it. "That could work."
"Do you think it will be ready by the time we get married?" I asked, a hint of hope in my voice.
"I’m sure gonna try," Oliver said, reaching out to take my hand. "I want you to be happy."
I squeezed his hand, my eyes softening. "I’ll be happy staying in a grass hut as long as I have you to myself."
After finishing our meal, I felt slightly tipsy from consuming too much wine. Oliver suggested a tour of the vineyard in one of the battered green golf carts. As we cruised through the lush rows of vines, the warm, golden light of the setting sun bathed everything in a dreamy glow.
By the time we returned, the sky had begun to blush with the approach of dusk. We said our goodbyes to Vittorio, who enveloped me in a warm hug, and then set off for home.
Once we were settled in the limo and on the highway, Oliver reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He extracted a credit card and handed it to me, causing me to frown.
“What’s this?” I asked, eyeing the card with suspicion.
“It’s for any expenses for the wedding and anything else you want,” he said, pressing the sleek black American Express card into my hand.
I looked at it, running my thumbnail over the raised lettering of my name. “I don’t need this. I can use my own money.”
“Nonsense,” Oliver replied with a dismissive wave. “I won’t have you spending your own money on our wedding.”
“Oliver, it’s our wedding, not just yours,” I insisted, my voice firm.
He leaned closer. “Can you indulge me, please? It’s my birthday. You love to argue with me.”
“It’s healthy to argue,” I countered. “You should worry if I just bend to you.”
Oliver chuckled, shaking his head. “I doubt that will ever happen.”
“More than likely, you’re right,” I conceded, feeling a yawn creeping up on me. “I think I need a nap.”
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.
“A little too much wine and good food,” I admitted.
“Take a nap on the seat. I have a little work to do,” he suggested, patting the seat beside him.
I stretched out on the bench seat and rested my head on his thigh. The gentle motion of the limo combined with Oliver’s occasional strokes through my hair lulled me into a peaceful state. As I drifted off, the rhythm of his typing on his phone provided a comforting background sound.
When we got home, we settled on the patio on the white loungers. It was a beautiful fall afternoon, and I was grateful we didn’t need to go back to the office. The sun’s warmth lingered for a while, but once it disappeared behind the taller buildings, the temperature dropped rapidly. I shivered slightly.
“Want to go inside?” Oliver asked, noticing my discomfort.
“I think so. I don’t like the cold weather,” I admitted, rubbing my arms.
“I could schedule some meetings in warmer places,” he suggested. “Would you like to go to Miami or Los Angeles?”
“That would be lovely but not necessary. Stop spoiling me,” I said, smiling at his thoughtfulness.
“Sweetheart, I went thirty-six years without having someone to spoil. I want to spoil you,” he insisted, his eyes twinkling with sincerity.
“You’re making me lazy,” I teased, though I felt a warmth spread through me at his words.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he said with a chuckle. He rose from his lounger and offered me his hand, helping me out of mine. A gentle breeze began to blow, further chilling me as we headed inside. Oliver yanked the handle on the heavy slider and pushed me gently inside, his concern evident. I was happy to escape the cold.
Without warning, he scooped me up in his arms, and I wrapped my legs around him, feeling the solid warmth of his body as he cupped my ass.
“What would you like to do for dinner?” he asked, his breath warm against my ear.
“I’m still full from lunch. Besides, it’s your birthday. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I replied, feeling a playful smile tug at my lips.
“We could just eat the cake,” he suggested, his tone conspiratorial.
I scowled, pretending to be annoyed. “What cake?”
“Ryleigh, you can’t hide anything from me. I know you got me a cake,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
“You looked in the refrigerator? It was a surprise. Everything is ruined,” I said, feigning distress.
“No, it’s not. I don’t need presents or surprises from you,” he said, his voice tender and reassuring.
I planted a hard kiss on his lips, my frustration melting away. He set me on the cold white granite counter and buried his hot tongue in my mouth. I skimmed the planes of his back, stroking the strong muscles that rippled beneath his sweater. The intensity of our kiss deepened, the chill of the countertop contrasting with the heat between us.
“I’d like to take you on this counter,” Oliver murmured, his voice low and rough with desire.
I ran my hands over the smooth surface, a shiver running through me. “It’s too cold.”
“I didn’t mean now,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But I think we should go on a vacation soon.”
I sighed, torn between the temptation of his offer and my sense of responsibility. “I just started at Fox. I can’t do that. How would it look?”
“I really don’t give a shit how it looks,” he replied, his tone firm. “I can do anything I want. You don’t answer to anyone but me.”
“But I don’t want the other employees to think I’m just another pretty face,” I argued, my frustration bubbling to the surface.
“They won’t when they get to know you,” he insisted, his eyes locking onto mine. “You’re highly capable of doing what you are and more.”
“Yeah, fucking my way to the top,” I mumbled, the bitterness in my voice unmistakable.
Oliver’s eyes flashed with blue fire. “Don’t you ever say that,” he snapped.
“I’m just repeating what others have said,” I said, feeling a lump form in my throat.
“Who? I’ll fucking fire them right now,” he growled, his protective instincts flaring up.
“No one in particular, but I’m sure it’s been said before,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He let go of me and ran his hand through his thick hair, tousling it into a bit of a mess. “My executives have commented on your competency several times. They think you’re doing a wonderful job.”
Despite his reassurances, I was filled with self-doubt about my position, and it was coming through at the worst possible time. “Because you’re the boss. They’re not going to tell you I suck.”
Oliver smirked as he stood between my legs, his expression turning playful. “And how would they know you suck? That’s personal.”
I felt my core clench at the thought of pleasing Oliver. It made me want to drop to my knees and repeat our earlier morning encounter. “Did I remind you of something?” he asked, his voice dripping with seductive promise.
“Would you like me to do it again?” I whispered, my breath hitching in anticipation.
His eyes darkened with desire, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Maybe later.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Am I wearing you out, Mr. Fox?”
“I’ve had more sex with you than I’ve had in the past two or three years.”
I’m surprised to hear this. Oliver was so handsome, I’m sure women were throwing themselves at his feet to share his bed.
“I find it hard to believe,” I said, skepticism clear in my voice.
“Don’t,” Oliver replied firmly. “I’m particular about who I sleep with.”
“How many partners have you had?” I asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of my tone.
“Is that relevant to our relationship?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly deflecting.
I twisted a strand of hair around my finger.
“I’m just asking,” I insisted, wanting a straightforward answer.
“How many have you had?” he countered, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Oh, answering a question with a question? If you must know, I’ve slept with four men, all of whom I dated.”
“When was your first?” he asked, leaning in closer, his eyes searching mine.
“That’s a very personal question,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up.
“We’re engaged. I think it’s a legitimate question,” he replied, his tone soft but insistent.
“When was your first?” I shot back, trying to divert the conversation.
Oliver nuzzled my ear, licking the rim. He was trying to distract me from my line of questioning.
“Now who’s answering a question with a question?” he teased.
I clung to his sweater as he moved from my ear to my neck, planting kisses along my pulse. My heart rate picked up and I clenched my hands into the fine cashmere.
“You still haven’t answered my question about how many women you’ve slept with,” I pointed out, not letting him off the hook.
“Several,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.
“How many is several? I want a number,” I insisted, my curiosity now tinged with irritation.
He stepped back and I let his sweater go as he stared at me.
“Let it go, Ryleigh. It’s not important,” he said, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.
“Then tell me how many,” I pressed, not backing down.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know the exact number, maybe thirty.”
“Excuse me?” I frowned, my lips pursed in disbelief.
“About thirty or so. Why is it a big deal? Most of my sleeping around was done in college. I think I can count on two hands how many women I slept with after that, maybe one hand.”
“That’s still a lot of women,” I said, unable to hide my discomfort.
“Why does it bother you? None of them claimed my heart the way you have,” he said, his voice softening as he looked into my eyes.
“Were you ever in love before me?” I asked, needing to understand his past better.
Oliver stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Infatuated, maybe—but that was a long time ago. Were you?”
“Yes, several times but nothing as intense as our relationship. You’re like the blood in my veins, I need you,” I admitted, my voice trembling with the intensity of my feelings.
He cupped my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. “And you’re everything I never knew I needed,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity and love.
“I feel the same way. You’ve made me want something I thought I would never want.”
“What’s that?”
“A wife, a family. My life was my company until you came along. Now I have to balance out my work and relationship with you.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Not in the least. The results are well worth it. I’m not letting you get away.”
I pulled him toward me. “I feel the same way.”
“My sweet tooth is kicking in. I was wondering if we could share a slice of cake?”
“Nope.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want cake?”
“Not yet. I’d rather you take me to bed.”
“Sweetheart, my balls are in no condition for a repeat. I promise to make it up to you unless you would like to be my cake.”
“I wanted to do something for you.”
“You have, over and over again.”
I giggled because I had more sex with Oliver than I did when I was with men my own age. He was a machine even at thirty-seven. I placed my hand on his chest to push him away so I could slide off the counter. Hidden in the back of the oversized stainless steel refrigerator was a white pastry box tied with candy cane striped string.
I removed it and got a knife from the drawer, slicing through the string before I slid the box over to Oliver. He slowly pulled the flaps open before he lifted the top. Inside was a white butter cream iced cake with blue flowers on the edges. In the middle I had them write “Happy Birthday Oliver” in sapphire colored icing, the same as his ring.
“This looks delicious. What’s inside?”
“Why don’t you cut it and find out?”
I watched as Oliver removed the cake, getting icing on his thumb. I grabbed his hand and took the finger in my mouth, licking it clean with my tongue. He groaned and quickly removed it from between my lips.
“Christ, Ryleigh, you’re killing me here.”
“Slice it.”
He made one cut, then another to make a thick slice, grabbing a spatula from the drawer to lift the piece up. The cake in the middle was chiffon with the same butter cream filling as the icing on top of the cake. I got a dessert plate from the cabinet, placing it on the counter in front of Oliver before I retrieved a fork from the drawer near the refrigerator. He placed the slice on the plate then picked it up and inhaled deeply.
“This smells delicious.”
“Taste it.”
He took a small piece on his fork, and I watched as he placed it between his thick sensual lips. I knew I was in trouble because he was making me hot just by eating. Oliver slowly chewed, closing his eyes before he swallowed.
“This is fantastic. It reminds me of a cake my mother used to make.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”
“It was a good memory. Do you want to taste?”
“Just a little.”
He took a piece, and I held my mouth open for him to slip it inside. It was as he said, fantastic. Oliver took a swipe of icing on his finger and placed it against my lips. I once again sucked it inside my mouth, swirling my tongue over the pad. I watched his eyes grow dark and he noisily sighed.
“Forget dessert.”
He put down his fork and scooped me up in his arms, carrying me to the bedroom.