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Lillian nodded, pretending she understood a shred of what Ronnetta was talking about.
“Let’s go inside. I’m sure Oliver will be happy to see you.”
Ronnetta led her inside the tall double doors into what felt like a majestic cabin. Scents of sage and rosemary lingered in the air. Light fixtures that appeared from the mid-1900s gleamed gently in a foyer with gleaming hardwood flooring.
Lillian was trying to get her bearings, adjust her denim top, and tighten her ponytail. That was when Oliver came up behind her, his gruff voice making her flustered.
“Lillian, you’re here.”
TWELVE
OLIVER
Oliver was sitting in his office when the powerful scent of apple blossoms snuck under the door and crawled over him like a fog. His skin broke out in goosebumps, and he shot up from his desk. Lillian was there in his home.
He stormed out of the office, trying desperately to deny his excitement while also wrestling with the annoyance he felt with Ronnetta. He had asked her to watch over Lillian, but he should have told her not to bring Lillian to his home. It left him feeling out of control in a way he had never imagined.
Oliver saw her in the hallway near the foyer and that blazing red hair calling to him once more. As he approached, his bear scanned her form, the memories from their fervent lovemaking rumbling in him like a storm. It was all very overwhelming, and he didn’t like it.
“Lillian, you’re here."
Ronnetta was ecstatic. She and Quintin shared the same excited energy that was difficult to stay angry with.
“Oliver, she wanted to speak with you. I had such a nice day with her in the studio.”
Oliver nodded, then gave his friend a grave look. She squinted back at him as if to say, give it a try.
Quintin and Ronnetta desperately wanted some romance in his life. It was endearing yet slightly annoying.
“Thank you, Ronnetta. We’re going to speak privately in my office.”
He gazed at Lillian, whose eyes were sparkling with intrigue. Everything in him was telling him to take her, to mark her, to make her his.
Oliver realized that, perhaps, keeping Lillian at a distance wasn’t going to work for him.
He motioned for her to follow, and she did. His office was on the main floor, one of three in the entire estate. It was smaller than the other offices, but it worked for him. He often worked there when he wanted to keep an eye on the sleuth, as well as the housekeepers and chefs. As the alpha, his home was visited frequently. Oliver acted as both a politician and policeman rolled into one.
He held the door open for Lillian, and she brushed past him. Her sweet fragrance engulfed him, her silky hair briefly stroking his collarbone. He felt dizzy for a moment, then gathered himself enough to close the door and return to his desk.
Oliver was thankful for the partition between them. His heart thumped with a maddening yearning, having to gaze at the irresistible specimen standing before him. Lillian had her arms folded, which made her already generous bosom bulge. The slacks she wore were delightfully taut and emphasized her delectable curves.
“Some place you've got here,” she said curtly.
Oliver looked around at the big desk, varnished in a subtle vermillion. There were various pieces of artwork displayed that were vintage, done by some of the elders in his family. They looked a bit gaudy, and he figured that it wasn’t Lillian’s style.
“It’s home,” he said, unblinking. “Now tell me, what brought you here today?”
She scoffed at him.
“Don’t play dumb. You sent a bodyguard because you think I need protection, right?”
He cocked an eyebrow, then placed his palms flat on the desk and leaned forward.
“I did, yes. You were there that night, Lillian. You saw how Uziel behaved. I can’t risk you getting hurt, so I sent the closest person to me I could get."
Lillian took a step closer to the desk. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her vexation obvious.
“What makes you think I need someone to protect me? There are security cameras at the gallery. I have my boss. Why do you think I need you?"
