Chapter 25
I shut the door to the west wing behind me, leaned back against the stained wood, and closed my eyes. For a small party, it had lasted late into the evening, especially after Remy and Grace became the entertainment. There had been dancing, a lot more drinking, and discussions about more money than I could ever imagine seeing in my life.
Oliver had escaped, escorting his sisters and Tim/Jim (I kept forgetting his real name) to their waiting limousine. Despite the family’s offer of lodging, all the guests had arranged for rides home after the festivities were over. I was one of the last stragglers, compelled to speak to everyone as they raved about the restoration.
And I was reluctant to go upstairs. Because it was over. The dinner had been the culmination of my work; all that was left was a final meeting at the Killington office in the city in a few days, and the contract would be complete. Which meant it was time for me to say goodbye to Oliver—and that was the last thing I wanted.
We were alone in the west wing. Oliver had chosen to take over the primary bedroom, asking for my advice on the linen, the pillows, the furniture, even the paint color. He was already in the room, attention on the far wall.
It gave me a moment to admire him, still wearing the shirt from his tux, sleeves rolled up, exposing his delicious forearms, back straight, muscles flexing from whatever he was doing. His shirt was loose, covering that bubble butt, his pants molded to those thighs. I was going to have to thank Ambrose for his expert tailoring skills.
Palms fluttering to my chest, I was taken entirely aback when I realized what he had been doing while I was still downstairs. All my idea boards that had hung in our previous room, I’d had removed. But here he was, putting them back up on the walls, in the exact positions they had been in before.
In the past, the closer I got to the end of a project, the more compartmentalized my life became. Things slowly and steadily returned to my suitcase until there was nothing left to do but walk out the door. All that remained were the changes I’d brought to the home.
“Oliver.” My hand pressed to my mouth, unable to say anything beyond his name. My stomach was flipping over and over in a mess of nerves and butterfly wings fluttering around, tapping against my heart and taking my breath away with them.
His shoulders hunched as he finished placing the board before stepping back to examine it and then meeting my gaze. “I wanted to finish before you got here.”
This man was hanging up my things as if this was my space too. And the more I examined the room, the more my heart banged around in my chest. Loudly enough that I wondered if he could hear it. My T-shirt stuck inside his sweatshirt over the couch from when I’d worn it the other night, and he’d pulled it off me in one fell swoop. His book sitting on top of mine because of the way he had put it away, leaning over me, kissing me goodnight.
The bathroom counter, I knew without glancing in, contained a smattering of both of our things. Our towels hung side by side. Somehow, I had gone from room-mating with him to living with him, and I hadn’t even realized it.
He shrugged at me, lost, not able to put into words what this was, but understanding, nonetheless. Because it was more. More than friends, more than a hookup.
“How did it go downstairs?” Oliver stood before me, hair loose, having tossed his bow tie, his shirt unbuttoned almost all the way, his tux jacket tossed haphazardly over the desk chair as if he had been in a hurry to get going on his project. As if it had been important to him.
I wiped my hands on the silk of my pants before I realized what I was doing. “A lot of questions, but no offers.”
“I doubt they’ll be able to wait beyond tomorrow morning. Everyone can see how brilliant you are.” His eyes were smiling at me.
My plan was to be brave and discuss everything with him—how he was feeling, how I was—but it all fled my mind. Unable to stop myself from reaching for him, I removed a piece of tape stuck to his shirt.
“Thanks.” His lips pressed to my forehead, and I felt his smile.
“No problem. Didn’t realize you were getting into arts and crafts.”
“The walls were missing something.”
“Ouch, don’t tell that to your interior decorator.”
He sat on the side of the bed, waiting for me to take my place next to him, which I of course did.
“I missed seeing them on the walls.” His hands, pressed to his thighs, seemed to fascinate him.
I scoffed. “You missed seeing paint colors that you refused even last week to a admit were not all the same shade, or close-up shots of different wood finishes?” My head was shaking in disbelief as I leaned back on my palms.
He shrugged. “You like it, and I enjoy having your stuff here.”
“It won’t be for much longer,” I mumbled as the pounding in my chest grew louder. The reason I had delayed thinking about any of this was now over. No more excuses, no more reasons to delay.
“You’re not dying.”
I kicked him hard, not that he even gave me a grunt. “Not what I meant, asshole.”
“Am not,” he grumbled, nose wrinkling.
He had me grinning again as I sat up, nudging his shoulder. “Don’t forget ‘stubborn’ and ‘grumpy.’”
“Anything else?” He curled a piece of hair behind my ear, fingers drifting to play with the straps of my outfit, my body swaying into his. My life had always had a natural progression. Request for a project, the planning phase, execution, and then on to the next, rinse and repeat. I’d never considered staying before, or examined what that would look like. And here he was, making the impossible happen.
“Well, you could smile more.” It was easier to shove everything back down than to release it, still too scared to have him reject me.
“I smile.” His jaw ground in genuine outrage. Was he being serious?
“In one very specific situation.” He had to realize it after all this time.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.” The laughter bubbled out of me.
“You know me that well. The one specific situation I smile in?”
“I appreciate that’s your concern, not the complete-lack-of-smiling aspect.” Another day, another flirting session that mostly involved my word vomit.
“Prove it then.”
A dare I was more than happy to fulfill. He lifted his palms as I straddled him, our bodies moving in sync as I settled myself.
I caressed the curves of his cheek with my thumbs before pressing up. “We should start exercising these muscles. They seem to have forgotten how to work.” The world deserved his smiles, though I selfishly enjoyed keeping them to myself.
“Adorable.” His voice was dry as he let me have my way with him.
“I am.”
He didn’t dispute my statement. “All right, then what’s this one situation when I smile, Miss Know-It-All?”
I leaned in slowly, waiting to see if he would catch on, but he merely closed his eyes, tongue dipping out to moisten his lip, still not connecting the dots.
I went cross-eyed as I watched it happen, the slight curvature of his lips, the pull of his muscles, pushing his cheeks out further as our lips brushed together. I shifted away, hoping to capture it in action, but he chased after me, nipping at my lower lip, bringing me into the circle of his arms. My bottom landed firmly on his thighs. Safe. I was safe with him.
We were both breathless, his lips red and swollen as we separated.
“You ever going to tell me?” He was terrible at faking his frustration.
“Really, still?” I laughed, almost giddy. My heart did a little pirouette at the realization it was automatic for him. He didn’t consider what he was doing, didn’t even think about it. Being with me made him smile.
“Tell me, now I need to know.” His fingers traced along the features of my face. I had to wonder if my smile was different for him.
I brushed my lips against his for a moment. “It’s when you kiss me,” I breathed against the mouth I fantasized about when it wasn’t touching me. Pillowy soft, the bottom lip thicker than the top. These lips were dangerous, and when I felt him smile, my only impulse was to kiss him more. Make him smile more.
“I do not.” There was more disbelief in his voice than anything, his eyes wide as he considered me.
It was a challenge I was happy to accept as my tongue dipped out, tracing his lips, my fingertips pressed to the rise of his cheeks. “Oh yes, you very much do.” He was too stubborn, even as I stroked his beard.
When I sat back, arms wrapped around his neck, his eyebrows were pulled together.
“What’s wrong? I like that you do it, as if it’s our secret.” Like the secret way we held hands when no one was looking.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he defended, before his eyes clashed with mine. “You make me happy.”
“You make me happy too,” I whispered back.
“I do?”
“Promise.”
“Even with my messed-up family?”
I rolled my eyes. He still had to meet my onesie-pajama-loving father. “It’s not like they’re the mob. Your sisters are great.”
He nodded, letting his hands rest on my hips.
“Hey, blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.” The words slipped out. There was a movie quote for every moment.
The groove between his eyebrows dug deeper into his skin. “What?”
“Hm, maybe I don’t have friends. I have family.” This was too much fun. The endless list of movies and TV shows I craved to show him and hear his opinion on.
“Are you quoting a movie at me again?” He couldn’t even feign surprise at my expense.
I had lost my mystery; how disappointing. “I live my life a quarter mile at a time.”
“What does it say about me that I find this attractive? You quoting movies to me I’ve never seen.”
“You should be thankful I’m not kicking you to the curb for not seeing the epic action series The Fast and the Furious. Honestly, there are so many quotable gems. This must be rectified.”
“Guess that means we have to keep chipping away at that list you put together.”
“Well, it’s criminal for you to live your life having not seen the rest of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, or The Fast and the Furious. Tell me you’ve at least watched The Mummy.” Maybe it would be simpler to give him a list of my favorite movies and see which ones he would check off, though I had a not-so-sneaking suspicion it would be none except for the few I had shown him during my time here.
“Tom Cruise is in that one, right?”
My gasp was legitimate. “You’re lucky you’re hot.” We did not talk about that version of The Mummy. “Have you seen Speed?”
His brow furrowed, and I reached out to touch it. “About some sort of bus crash or something?”
There was hope for him yet. “It is a high-speed romantic adventure film where Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves barely look at each other yet somehow fall in love as they save a busload of people and the city of Los Angeles from a psychopath. Gah, the sexual tension is just … I’m seeing the plot in a whole new light right now.”
He smirked, his palms pushing the cape away, landing on the fabric of my pants.
“I’m ashamed of myself for being swayed so easily by a nice beard. Our differences are too great for this to go on any longer.” I probably would’ve been more convincing had I not been squirming on his lap.
“You like my beard, huh?”
“A real shock, I’m sure.”
“What else do you like about me?” His voice was all confidence, but his gaze bore into mine, fingers tightening.
“Hmm, it’s hard to get over the whole The Fast and the Furious thing. I deserve someone who’s going to appreciate my genius.”
He lifted my hair from my neck. It was a marvel it was still mostly in its original curled status. “Well, I like this brain.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead, his words thick. “I l-like how it catches the small things people can miss. You gave Ambrose the room of his dreams. Built Rue a five-star dining establishment. Somehow got me willing to walk into this wing, let alone have my room back in here.”
“You did that,” I exhaled.
“No, you. And don’t interrupt.” He kissed my nose, soft, tender. “I like your eyes, how they miss nothing, including apparently how I smile.” A flush spread across my body as his lips pressed to my closed eyelids. “Your button nose is perfect.” I couldn’t help but giggle. “These cheeks. Because you have no problem smiling, I get worried when I don’t see it. Means that the roof may literally come down around us.”
“Hey, we stopped that from happening.” It was still too soon to laugh about the restoration hiccups.
“And these lips.”
“These lips that don’t stop chatting?” I pursed them at him.
“These lips that speak with my favorite voice, that are the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing before I dream about you.” He proved it by sucking on my bottom lip enough I felt it to my toes. “Kissing you, talking to you, how much you care … all somehow got me to care again when I had stopped for a very, very long time. You cared enough to invest in helping me figure out my future.”
His lips pressed to the V of the top I was wearing, his hand giving a slight tug on the zipper in the back. “Can I take this off?”
“Please.” My voice cracked.
He was achingly slow as he sat tall, watching my every reaction as he slid the zipper down, bracket by bracket, the sound popping in my ear. When he was done, he didn’t slide the straps off my shoulders. Instead, he fiddled with the suspenders. “Ambrose deserves a raise.”
“I thought they were a nice touch.”
“It’s perfect. You are perfect.” His touch felt reverent, smooth fingertips against my skin as he slid back and forth again, eyes on my heaving chest, leaving me topless on his lap.
He palmed my breasts, thumbs brushing against my nipples. “I think it goes without saying how I feel about these.”
“A fan, are you?”
“Understatement.” He cupped my breast, bringing his mouth down, eyes on me as his teeth gently bit my nipple. I gasped, my fingers diving into his hair as his tongue swirled. “I could do this all day.”
“You would—you’re mean like that.”
“Trust me, it wouldn’t be mean.” His exploration led him to my ass, squeezing for a moment, then lifting me. I gave a slight squeal in surprise as he set me gently on the bed and switched our positions, one knee between my legs as he gave each breast another kiss, then my lips, my nose, before stepping back.
Oliver’s palms skimmed my sides, touching every dip and curve of my waist, slow, tracing and teasing along the fabric of my outfit, catching my underwear as he pulled it all down, leaving me naked on his bed.
Before I could make a smart comment, bring this back and away from the way my heart was beating in my chest—the words caught in my throat, the feeling in my fingers, my veins, my body calling his to mine—he unbuttoned his shirt. Slowly.
“Tease.”
That earned me a laugh. He knew exactly what he was doing to my squirming body, and he was taking his time. He popped the button of his pants and dragged his zipper down. But he had forgotten about his shoes, and he almost tripped over his feet. He chucked them across the room in his eagerness to get naked, then returned to the bed that had me on it.
“What do you want to do with me?” My voice was hoarse, deep, as he crawled toward me, caging my body in with the frame of his.
“Petal.”
“Tell me what it means,” I begged, desperate to learn why he’d given me this nickname. But here I was, my heart flipping over every time his lips formed a “p” sound.
“Not yet.”
“Still feeling mean, I see.”
“Still trying to keep you interested,” he confessed.
“You think you have to try to hold my interest?” My hands ran up and down the soft skin of his back, reveling that I somehow got free access to touch him. He leaned on his forearms, stomach pressed to mine, legs on either side.
“I worry about it, yeah.”
“You’re a secret softie, aren’t you?” I lifted my head to kiss him.
“Maybe,” he begrudgingly admitted as he offered me another smile. “About very few things.”
“About me.”
“Maybe.”
I searched for a single ticklish spot, but no luck. My leg curved around his hip, a moan erupting the moment his erection brushed against my center. “You can do anything you want to me.”
“Anything, huh?” He shifted so he could trace my right arm with his finger. “I can hold your hand?”
“What?” In the haze of horniness, it took me a moment to grasp his words, what he was asking for.
“Bellamy,” he asked, holding my gaze. “Can we have that for tonight?”