Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Shaye
“This is incredible,” I say, the words barely a whisper.
The floor-to-ceiling windows in Oliver’s living room showcase an unmatched view of the property below. I walk to them and peer out, taking in the pool, trees, and immaculate yard stretching as far as the eye can see.
“How far does that go?” I ask, pointing at a nonexistent spot on the horizon.
“Not as far as it looks tonight.” He stands behind me, his body so close that his chest nearly hits me as he speaks. “There’s a creek back there that winds through the trees. That’s the property line.”
“Can you see it during the day?”
“No. The trees are too thick.”
I grin. “When I was a little girl, I loved playing in creeks.”
“Did you?” he asks, seemingly amused by the admission.
I nod. “We had one behind our house. It wasn’t huge or anything, but I’d spend hours back there messing around and trying to re-route it.”
“Coy and Boone did that behind Mom’s house.” He chuckles. “They’d come in all muddy and Mom would threaten to strangle them. Of course, they would traipse through the house like the heathens that they are and get that shit everywhere. And Larissa would follow them, matching them step for step.”
Images of a pint-sized Boone marching through a fancy house like this one with mud all over his shoes makes me laugh.
“It sounds like you had a nice childhood,” I say.
“I did. I can’t complain. What about you?”
“Oh, I can complain,” I say, laughing.
He wraps his arms around me from behind. I don’t expect him to do that, and it feels infinitely more intimate than him touching me in the car or dancing with him in a roomful of people. To my surprise, I relax into his chest and feel my body give up the stress it was holding—that it always holds.
“You know what I find funny?” he asks.
I hum.
“One minute, I can be ready to fuck you senseless. Then the next minute, I want to do this.” He tugs me tighter against him. “I can’t figure out what I want to do with you. You drive me crazy.”
“I can’t figure out what I want you to do to me either. What a conundrum.”
I smile, knowing that he can’t see my face. I feel his body tense behind mine.
“What do you mean by that?” he asks finally.
“Do I want you to fuck me senseless? Or do I want you to leave me with a guy like Marius so I can ensure that I keep my job?”
His body vibrates with a low, borderline-angry chuckle. “I assure you, Ms. Brewer, that the avenue to keeping your job is not to entertain any ideas whatsoever about Marius.”
“So Curt is okay?”
“If you want decrepit old men, then he’s your guy.”
I rest my hands on his at my belly. “But what if that’s not what I want? What if I want a younger, late-thirties, early-forties man with striking eyes and a tendency to leave me alone with men who ask me to sleep with them—”
“He did fucking not.”
Oliver whirls me around and takes me in. As soon as he faces me and I can see the anger, surprise, downright fury written on his face, I can’t contain myself. I laugh.
“You did this to yourself,” I say, wagging a finger in his face. “You left me alone with him like an imbecile.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“About what?”
“He didn’t ask you to sleep with him?”
I consider screwing with him. It serves him right. But I don’t want to intentionally make Oliver jealous and then end up sleeping with him tonight.
No, if this is where this is going and we end up in bed together, it will be because we choose to do that without any outside interference.
I cup the sides of Oliver’s face with both hands. “No. He didn’t. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.”
He searches my face for any thread of doubt before leaning down and hovering his lips over mine.
“Are you going to kiss me or not?” I ask him.
“I don’t know.”
“Oliver …” I protest.
He laughs, scooping me up in his arms and marching across the room. My shriek—a response to the unexpected move—echoes down the hallway. My shoes brush against a lampshade on a table beneath an oversized painting of a shipyard.
The house is too dark to see too much; the doors coming off the hallway are closed. We finally make it to the door at the very end, and Oliver opens it with the flick of his wrist.
He swipes his hand against the wall and the lights come on. They’re dim, glowing just enough to give me an opportunity to see where we are.
And holy cow.
He sets me on my feet. I venture deeper into the bedroom.
The room is grand, luxurious—fit for a king.
The windows are floor-to-ceiling like in the living room.
A dark wood, four-poster bed faces a fireplace that begins to flicker when Oliver pushes a button on a remote.
Above the fireplace is a wood-beam mantel and, above that, a large television.
A light-colored rug lays in front of a cozy sofa with pillows.
I look over my shoulder. Oliver is standing next to his bed.
His eyes are hooded. His breathing is shallow. His tie is undone, and he’s watching me with one-hundred-percent attentiveness.
My dress shifts against the floor as I turn around and face him.
“My God, you’re gorgeous,” he says.
“I think you’ve said that already tonight.”
He stalks my way, a grin playing on his lips. “Do you mind if I tell you over and over again? Because I think I’m going to find it difficult not to tell you.”
I hum as he presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “I’d rather you show me, Mr. Mason.”
He nips the skin just beneath my ear, making me jump. Only, when I do, he holds me tight and kisses me again.
The contact, the unpredictability—the overwhelming anticipation—has me breathing ragged breaths.
“I’m afraid,” he says, kissing down my neck and back up again, peppering kisses between the words, “it would take all night to show you how beautiful you are.”
“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have anywhere to be.”
His lips crash onto mine, taking me in a move of uncontrolled, relentless desire. My brain spins, my body aches—it’s all I can do to be present and soak up the sweet, sweet attention of Oliver.
He works my zipper, dragging it down the center of my back. The fabric falls from my body and, as he steps back just enough to give it room to fall, it does. It becomes a heap on the floor.
Despite the crackling fire, the air is cool against my skin. Oliver, however, is undeterred. He kisses, touches—runs his hands over my body as though he must prove to himself that I’m here. In the flesh.
I unfasten the buttons on his shirt. With every one that pops free, an urgency increases to get this man naked now. I fumble with his belt; struggle with his pants. While I attempt to disrobe him, his kisses grow more frenzied. Hotter. More intentional.
He nibbles my lips. Kisses across my jaw. Plants a trail of kisses down my neck and over my clavicle.
My head falls back, my hair sweeping against my bottom as I give him complete access to me. He takes advantage of the moment as if he might not get it again.
His pants fall to the floor. He kicks off his shoes and socks and rids himself of his boxers. He shrugs off his shirt and tosses his tie on the bed and stands in front of me in all of his glory.
“Damn,” I moan, trying to catch my breath.
His chest is sculpted, and his shoulders are thick and muscled. There is a distinct V in his abdomen that makes my head spin. His thighs are hard, and his cock is standing at attention, desperate for my touch.
He’s too perfect, too fucking perfect to really process. Instead of reveling in the moment, my brain immediately starts to wonder what he sees when he sees me.
I look down, only to have his finger immediately touch my chin. He lifts my gaze to his and steps toward me.
“Not here.” That’s all he says. Two words that I don’t understand.
“You don’t want me here?” I ask, fighting off a wave of defeat.
“No, pretty lady. You aren’t doing that here.”
I stare into his eyes and let his adoration seep into me.
“You’re always waiting for something to go wrong,” he whispers. “Looking for a way out.”
You would too if you had walked a day in my shoes.
“Nothing is going to go wrong. There isn’t a need for a way out,” he says, taking my hand. “You are here because you are the woman I choose to be here. You are the one I want.”
His brows raise as if he’s as surprised as I am that he’s saying this to me.
“You are a hundred things, Shaye Brewer. And while being beautiful is not one of the most important, nor is it the reason I’m fascinated by you, you are spectacularly gorgeous.
If you’re going to be in my bedroom, you’re going to have to believe that.
” He presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. “It’s a rule.”
“A rule, huh?” I try to keep myself from beaming, but it’s hard under the circumstances. “Thank you for saying all of that.”
He smiles. “Thank you for being here.” He walks toward the fireplace and flips a button. The flames dance slower, more methodically.
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Thank you for coming,” he teases.
I smirk. “I haven’t. Yet.”
He stalks toward me, making me walk backward until the backs of my legs hit the bed. His eyes are filled with seductive possibilities.
“Come here,” he growls, cinching my waist with his hands. He lifts me and tosses me on the bed.
The mattress sinks with my weight. Pillows topple, spilling away from the headboard.
He climbs on the bed and hovers over me. Everything about the moment is dominated by Oliver. The scent of his cologne. The taste of his lips. The feel of his smooth skin and the heat rippling off it. The sound of his voice as he commands me to look at him.
I do. I rip my gaze from his delicious body and settle it on his eyes. The look he gives me melts me to the core.
He’s as hungry for me as I am him, but there’s something else. Something I can’t quite explain. Reverence, maybe, or respect. Something that hits me so deep, so completely that I reach up and bring his face to mine.
He kisses me, as I ask, but breaks it sooner than I want him to.