Chapter 10 Olivia
OLIVIA
Waking at seven in the morning is pure torture, especially when we only crawled into bed two and a half hours ago. Erin insisted we stay at the bar until last call, and now my body hates me for it.
“I’m too old for this,” Sin croaks from across the room. She slumps over the side of her bed, hands clutching her blonde, disheveled head.
“I need coffee,” Erin whines.
“You said it, you get it,” Sin and I mumble groggily in unison.
The old rule. Back in school, whoever dared to mention caffeine, greasy food, or anything to help ease a hangover became the poor sucker who had to get it for all of us.
Erin growls and tosses back her comforter. “When am I going to learn to keep my damn mouth shut?”
Despite the achiness and fatigue, I giggle. Erin was always hopeless at this game. She stomps into the washroom with her clothes in hand, while Sin and I collapse back into our beds. Thank God I packed last night before going out for dinner. Fifteen more glorious minutes of half-sleep.
By the time Erin returns, carrying three cups of coffee and a small dose of redemption, Sin and I have managed to get ourselves presentable—barely. I went for comfort over fashion, throwing on my favorite leggings and a baggy off-the-shoulder T-shirt.
Before I remove the little green thingy keeping the coffee warm, there’s a knock at our door. It must be housekeeping even though checkout isn’t till noon.
Erin flings the door wide open and there in the doorway stands Sam. He looks like every woman’s fantasy made flesh. His hair is damp from a shower, his jaw clean-shaven. Faded black jeans cling to long, sculpted legs, and a white T-shirt stretches over his chest like it was made for him.
He looks like he’s just stepped out of a magazine spread—effortless, infuriatingly gorgeous. If I weren’t hungover, I’d swear the spinning in my head was all his fault. “Sam!” Already caffeinated with her double espresso shot, Erin’s far too chipper for someone who’s running on fumes.
“Ladies, salut.” The words roll from him, smooth and deep. Then, with a faint grin at me, he says, “Hi.”
His gaze flicks from Erin to Sin before landing back on me where he holds. One look from those eyes, and I’m a puddle. No makeup. Hair a mess. Grungy as hell. Perfect timing.
Erin rolls her suitcase in front of him and pats his chest. “Lover boy, you blew it last night. Good luck.”
He arches a brow, smile falling, and Erin mirrors his expression before breezing past him. Sin follows, grinning.
“Sin.” Sam’s smile is warm as he dips his chin.
“Sin?” I watch as she pauses in the doorway. The guilt on her face says it all. “It was you.”
“Me? What?”
“I thought Erin gave Sam our room number yesterday, but it was you, wasn’t it? And you told him when we were leaving.” Her blush is answer enough. “What happened to chicks before dicks?”
Sam coughs, startled by my bluntness. Sin just grins and winks. “Exactly.”
And she leaves. He steps inside our suite and closes the door behind him.
“Hey.” His voice is low and heavy.
I fidget with a stray lock of hair, trying to tuck it into my messy bun. He catches my hand, stilling it, then twines the strand around his finger.
“So soft.” The words wash over me as his gaze drifts from my hair to my face, intent, unhurried. “I told you last night… We’re not finished, non?” His voice is silk and smoke, sliding right under my skin.
“Sam, this was two people sharing a few great meals, that’s all. It’s time for me to go home.”
One corner of his mouth lifts, a quiet challenge. “You think that’s all this is?” His tone dips, playful and low.
“Besides, you’re too young.” It’s a weak deflection.
Sam doesn’t strike me as twelve years my junior. My stomach dips at the gap. But it’s true—he’s more mature, honest and open than most men my age.
He exhales, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Olivia, it’s just a number. ?a ne compte pas.” His fingers tighten gently.
“It matters to me.”
“Why?” His gaze searches mine, steady and unflinching.
And damn him, I don’t have an answer. Truth be told, it might have been about his age when the idea of him was just that. An idea. But I quickly got over that once we started talking.
This isn’t about a number. It’s about my fear…of being invisible again, of not being chosen, or worst of all, of choosing wrong. Again.
The ghosts of a loveless marriage still whisper I was never enough. I hate that they still have a voice.
And Sam—he’s young, beautiful, magnetic. He could have anyone. Losing him feels inevitable, and I’m not sure I could survive another goodbye. Or more specifically, this goodbye.
“I’m not ready for a relationship.” It’s true, even if it sounds like a lie.
After twenty years of marriage, I’m single again and terrified of starting over. That has to be normal, right?
Yet standing in front of Sam, this man who likes me, it seems like the obvious, easy excuse. Flimsy and silly. I’d be a fool to walk away from our potential.
“Okay.” His hands slide from my shoulders up my neck, and his thumbs graze my jaw. His nose brushes mine, breath warm and slow.
“What if we just take it one day at a time? No rules, no labels. We see where it goes… We enjoy what’s right here.” His forehead rests against mine, his lips a whisper from my own.
A small whimper passes my lips, and my eyes flutter closed. I’m a fool.
“Olivia.” My name is soft, intimate. “I like you. I want to know you. Age, distance…none of that means a damn thing to me. I don’t want to walk away. Pas encore. Not when it feels like this.”
Each word threads through the cracks I didn’t know were still open. The irony isn’t lost on me. I spent years with a man who couldn’t show affection, who made me feel unseen. And now here’s Sam—open, steady, real—and I’m the one hesitating.
I swallow hard as his scent fills my lungs. “Okay.” My lips find his, a whisper of a kiss. “No labels. Nice and slow.”
The second the words leave my mouth, my pulse kicks into overdrive. Before I can panic, he slides his fingers into my hair, his touch firm and sure. My body reacts instantly, heat rushing through me, nerves alive.
My fists clench his tee, anchoring myself to his hard body as my knees weaken, sway, then buckle when his mouth seizes mine, blistering and consuming. Pulling me closer, he clutches me tightly, his tongue hard and demanding, coaxing my lips apart. Willingly, I give him entry.
He kisses me until I’m breathless, demolishing all kisses before. Virgin lips. Never been kissed. Taken. His lips mark me. Consume me. Raging want and a mighty need build within me as a deep moan escapes my lips.
Sam slows, but his lips remain on mine and we stay like that, foreheads pressed together. His smile curves against my lips, reverent and warm.
“Olivia, we’re just getting started.” His next kiss seals the promise.
When he releases me, the space between us feels too wide, too cold. He steadies me with a hand on my shoulder, thumb stroking the skin at my neck, grounding me again.
I rise on tiptoe and brush a kiss against his cheek. It’s safe, restrained, and the opposite of what I want. If I go for his mouth again, we’ll never make it out of this room.
He presses a kiss to my forehead before stepping back. The air chills between us. I shiver, brushing it off as he grabs my suitcase and my hand.
As the hotel door inches closed behind us, I gasp. “My coffee.”
I dive for the narrowing crack in the door and Sam reacts quickly, wedging his foot in the opening.
“Always the essentials.” His teasing tone hastens my dart back into the room for the cup.
I shoot him a grateful smile, caffeine now my lifeline.
In the elevator, we stand close, fingers intertwined. The silence lives, breathes, with everything unsaid. My heart still beats too fast, and my lips still tingle from his kiss.
Needing a distraction from this man, I take my first sip of coffee, and I let out a low, involuntary moan of satisfaction. Sam’s head snaps toward me, heat flashing in his eyes as they fix on my mouth.
“Sorry.” My cheeks burn. “First coffee of the day. I need it.”
He chuckles. “Go easy on me, yeah? Between your sounds in the room and now…” His eyes darken, grin slow and dangerous. “Mon Dieu, you’re killing me.”
I glance up, tracing his lips with my gaze, and I’m almost certain we’re both thinking about the same thing—that kiss. The best one of my life.
On instinct, I grab his shoulders and rise on my toes, capturing his mouth again. This kiss is softer, slower, but it still steals my breath. And even as my pulse races, one thought sinks deep inside my bones.
We haven’t even begun, and I’m already lost.