“Always,” Oliver says with so little hesitation that the tears rising in my eyes brim over and course down my cheek. He lowers his face to mine and says it again, fierce and protective. “Always.”
Then he claims my mouth with his, his lips soft and his tongue hard, insistent, exploring my mouth. I throw my free arm over his shoulder and catch the back of his neck, pressing his lips all the more firmly to mine.
I want all of him, for always. And the next time that fear threatens to take me away from Oliver, I’m determined to turn and cling to him more tightly than ever. I try to put the promise of this into every plundering movement our tongues take.
As if he can sense what I’m doing, his hands find my low back and pull me even closer, demanding more touch and less space.
I give him everything he silently asks for.
Moments or minutes or hours later, he tears away from me, breath short.
“Let me take you to my home?” he asks. I see the fear in his eyes that I’ll say no. Running light fingers over his brow, I try to smooth his worry away.
“Take me anywhere you like.”
With a growl, he steals one last kiss, then tugs me toward his car. Eagerly, I slip inside, flowers on my lap, bag at my feet, heart in my throat.
Oliver slides into the driver’s seat, turns the key in the ignition, and we’re off.
To his house.
Where I hope we have a repeat of the other night in terms of more mind-blowingly hot sex. Except this time I’m staying, for as long as he’ll have me.
I wonder if it should feel strange that I’m leaving my own car in the gym lot. I know it’ll be safe, but that isn’t what I’m thinking about. Instead, my mind is turning over how natural it feels to be at Oliver’s side, his partner in crime. Leaving my car at the gym feels like I’m moving on into a different life.
Which maybe I am. But I’m sure that Oliver will drive me back to my car whenever I ask.
“Music?” he asks, eyeing me.
I nod. “Anything you like, I’m not picky.”
He smiles and tunes his satellite radio to a station simply titled “Skynyrd.”
Now that I’m looking for it, I notice signs that Oliver is more well-off than most. His car seemed understated on the outside, a standard SUV. The inside, however, doesn’t feel standard at all. There’s a wide touchscreen with crisp graphics on the dash, the music sounds like we’re hearing “Sweet Home Alabama” live, and I feel like I’m sitting in the world’s most comfortable recliner even though I don’t have my seat leaned back in the least.
“Want a massage?” Oliver asks. “There’s a button for that on your door.”
A massaging car seat?
Uh, yeah. This is not what I expected to find.
I glance at Oliver. Maybe the same goes for him too. Aside from being handsome enough to turn my insides to goo, he doesn’t stick out from the crowd. I hadn’t noticed him in class until he’d made the first move. And if I had noticed him, I would’ve assumed that he was just another typical guy.
But now that I’ve seen the man behind the strong jawline and perfectly rugged exterior, I realize what a kind, insightful gem he is. One in a million.
And us, together? That was a one in a million chance too, given that I was dead set against being with anyone ever.
We’ve already beaten the odds. There’s no telling what the future might bring, and the sky’s the limit.
Starting with tonight.
“So,” I say, pleasantly surprised at the unexpected purr in my voice, “what’s waiting for us at your house?”
Oliver reaches a hand across the central console and envelops my hand in his. “All of my hopes and dreams coming true.” His voice is light, joking, but I can tell from the set of his chin that he’s serious as hell about pleasing me — which is, frankly, a huge fucking turn-on.
“But,” he continues, squeezing my hand, “how does starting with dinner sound?”
“Perfect,” I answer. “It sounds absolutely perfect.”
Oliver
Folks never expect my home to be the way it is. All the people who have ever visited know I’m a killer lawyer, racking up more billable hours than they can count, but every one of them is always surprised at what they find when they come over.
Emmy is no exception.
And yet it’s a completely different experience watching her take in my home compared to the visitors who’ve come before her, usually fellow lawyers or business contacts come for a few fingers of bourbon and some shop talk.
She wanders from the garage through the mudroom that could serve as most people’s kitchen, setting her bag and the violets I gave her on the built-in bench there. She moves on into the foyer, eyes wide.
“You really are one in a million,” she breathes, taking in the crystal chandelier and the grand staircase that curves up to the house’s five bedrooms. She turns to look at me, humor glinting in those soft eyes, a teasing smirk twisting her lips. “A million dollars, at least according to the front desk clerk at the gym.” I love how the light from the chandelier kaleidoscopes in her dark eyes.
“Millions,” I correct with a smirk of my own, “but yes, I suppose you’re right.” I fiddle with the phone I have stuffed in my pocket along with my hands. “I hope you’re not upset that I didn’t tell you.”
She shakes her head, and my throat constricts at the sight of those thick curls dancing, catching the light from the chandelier in its lustrous waves. I long to wrap that silken hair around my hand and inhale its scent, committing the aroma of it to memory before I shower its owner with all that adoring kisses that I have within me, saved just for her.
“I don’t blame you for keeping your wealth a secret,” she says. “I imagine that it tends to complicate things.”
Damn. She has a unique ability to see right through me like no one else I’ve ever known.
“How is that you’re so aware — not just of yourself, but of others?”
She steps close, brushing light fingertips across my shoulders. “It’s my job.”
As quickly as she stepped into me, she spins away, tugging at my hand. “I want to see the rest of your place. Judging from this,” she gestures at the foyer, “it’s got to be spectacular.”
I’d like nothing more than to give her a tour of my home — starting with the master bedroom, where I claim her as my own and make such sweet love to her that it drives away all her self-doubt.
But instead I follow her lead as she pulls me away from the stairs and down the hall that leads to the rest of the main level.
I show her the great room with its views of the private pond next to the pastures, the kitchen equipped with state-of-the-art stainless steel everything, the sitting room that doubles as the office where I meet clients, and the first of the house’s six bathrooms.
Then, as a delicious aroma infiltrates my senses, I remember with a start — dinner.
Laurence would be horrified that I let it slip my mind even for a handful of minutes.
Although I’d like nothing more than to trail my eyes over Emmy’s delicious curves as I follow her from room to room, I clear my throat and gesture the way to the dining room. “Are you hungry? I thought you might be after class.”