Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
HARRISON
Eight hours after I was supposed to be back in the city, I finally have Olive in my arms. I’ve never been more frustrated by airline delays in my life.
I haven’t even been home. I came straight here, not wanting to miss another minute of time with her.
It’s been days since I’ve had her within arm’s reach, and I’m not going to waste a single second.
When Olive opened the door, all sleep rumpled wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt with “Book Whoarder” written on it and a messy bun on top of her head; I couldn’t keep from thinking about how sexy she is.
Even rumpled from bed, she’s the sexiest creature I’ve ever had the pleasure of being with.
I carry her back to her bed, laying her out like the goddess she is.
She snuggles into her pillow and watches me strip to my boxers with sleepy but lustful eyes.
I crawl in beside her and kiss her gently.
Any other time I would take it farther, but this woman deserves so much more than me throwing myself at her like a ravenous animal.
She cuddles up to me, and within moments she’s asleep.
For the first time in my life, I’m happy to be in bed with a woman without sex.
Even with my college girlfriend Kaeli, it wasn’t like this.
Kaeli was my only serious relationship, and it ended so terribly that I never gave another woman a chance.
Some sentimental part of my mind wonders if Olive is the reason for that.
Rita would have a field day with those kinds of thoughts.
That line of thinking has me considering Rita’s words from the other day.
About how Olive and I are a good match… No, I correct myself; Rita doesn’t do good matches; she does perfect matches.
She matches up men and women who are supposed to be together—forever matches.
But she didn’t match me with Olive. She matched Olive with another man. A man I stole her away from. I think about that first day Olive and I met… well bumped into each other. Rita knew that we have a standing lunch date, so why would she schedule a client for that time?
I look down at Olive as she sleeps, my mind swirling with possibilities.
How could Rita have known that I would feel an instant connection to her? Would she have let me take Olive’s letter without argument unless she had planned it somehow? There’s no way she could’ve set us up… Is there?
The more I think about it, the more I feel set up. Was Olive somehow involved? If she was, why would she have written her match not just one letter, but two? Why would she ask me about me minding that she’s writing to some other man?
Deception doesn’t seem like something Olive could ever pull off. She’s such a gentle, innocent woman. I can’t imagine her doing something like that. Not that I can know for sure. How much do I really know her? It’s only been a little over a week.
I guess the real question is, do I even care to find out if this was a setup. Does it matter? I press a kiss to the top of Olive’s head as I consider it. I think the answer is no, it doesn’t matter. Not when it feels so right to have her in my arms like this.
Sleep doesn’t come easily, but I do finally drift off, holding Olive’s warm weight to my body.
I wake up to the smell of coffee. I feel for Olive, even though I know she’s no longer in bed. Sure enough, her side of the bed is cold. I rub the sleep from my eyes and head towards the heavenly scent of caffeine.
Olive is in the kitchen, dancing to music that I can’t hear while she stirs something in a big bowl. I wrap my arms around her from behind and press a kiss to her neck. She lets out a little squeak of surprise and tugs her earbuds from her ears.
“You scared me!” she says with a teasing slap to my arm.
I turn her around and press a kiss to her lips. It starts out innocent enough, then deepens until it’s so much more. My cock thickens in my boxers as she lets out a soft little moan into my lips.
Fuck she’s sexy.
Everything she does turns me on. Even wearing an oversized shirt with her hair still a mess on top of her head and flour from whatever she’s making on her cheek, she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.
“Morning,” she says, breaking our kiss.
“Good morning, angel.”
“I’m making waffles,” she says shyly. “I hope you’re hungry… well, and that you like waffles.”
“I like everything you do,” I say suggestively, pulling her lips back to mine for another kiss.
I break the kiss this time, leaving her panting for breath and heavy-lidded with arousal. I think this is the look I like best on her. Maybe even better than her gorgeous smile.
She shoos me away to the barstool on the other side of the counter. “You’re distracting me.”
I sit on the stool like she requests, admiring her as she works. How the t-shirt rides up her thighs as she reaches for something in a higher cabinet. The way her breasts sway beneath the thin cotton. My cock is rock-hard in my boxers as I watch her.
I’m surprised when she sets a plate piled high with perfectly golden-brown waffles that are light and fluffy. She puts a bowl with cut strawberries and whipped cream beside that. She even has warm syrup ready.
“I thought you said you didn’t cook,” I accuse. “These look fantastic.”
“Well, I don’t cook, so don’t get used to this kind of treatment. Waffles are just like baking in a waffle iron that tells me when they are done.”
We both laugh at that. I let out a little groan at the first bite. It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten something so indulgent. “These are great,” I say around another bite.
Olive lowers her eyes to her own plate but can’t hide her pleased smile. “I’m glad you like them.”
“So, tell me, what are you working on?” I ask, curious about what it is that she does.
Her cheeks turn bright red, and I wonder what exactly she’s writing about. She shakes her head as if to clear the embarrassment and shrugs. “Just a romance novel.”
“Well, I figured that since you are a romance author and all. I meant, what is the book about?”
Though I think she knew what I meant, she just thought she could get away with a vague answer. Too bad for her, I’m not going to let her get away with it. And now I’m even more curious than I was before she evaded my question.
“Well…” she starts, swallowing thickly. “A woman meets a man in an elevator…”
I raise a brow at that. Is she writing about us? “Interesting… what else?”
“Oh, you know, the typical romance. They date… kiss… that kind of thing.”
I smirk at her leaving out the juicy bits that I now know for sure are in that book of hers.
“Do they have sex in that book of yours?”
Her cheeks are now crimson. “Maybe…”
“Hmm…” I tease. “On an elevator, by chance?”
“No!” she replies so quick and so vehemently that I can’t help but wonder what exactly happens in the elevator in the book.
My mind goes to our very first elevator ride. How she moaned and squirmed under my touch. Her sweet sounds and the desperate way she moved against me as I gave her what I now know was her first orgasm. I can see why she would want to include such a moment in her book. Definitely inspiring.
I want to ask more about her work but need to get to the office and catch up on everything I had to set aside for my impromptu trip to Houston. I let out a sigh because the last thing I want to do is leave.
“I have to go to the office.”
Olive pouts before she can school her expression. I’m glad to know she hates the idea as much as I do. Thankfully she understands. I can see it in her eyes.
“Well, not all of us can have bosses as cool as mine,” she teases. I know she’s giving me a hard time because both of us are our own bosses. She’s insinuating that my boss is a jerk. Honestly, he is.
The responsibility of my company weighs heavily on my shoulders. Not for the first time since I met Olive do I wish I could slack off more. Take time to just be with her and damn the consequences.
Sam would shit a brick if he knew what I’m thinking right now.
We’re both married to the company. He may have better relationship skills than I do, but he’s still been divorced twice now.
He’s on the lookout for Mrs. Wilson number three, though.
We all know his real wife will always be the business.
I quickly dress in my same clothes from last night and give Olive a sizzling kiss before leaving. Somehow, I feel like I’m leaving a piece of myself behind. That should scare me, but it doesn’t.