“I knew it wouldn’t take long.” He smirks.
“For what?”
“Before you’d look at me again. I know you can’t help yourself,” he taunts. “It’s a curse being this handsome.”
“Pretty, you mean.” Reaching up, I pull his mouth to mine, our kiss urgent and brief, as though we’re frightened we might miss something. My fingers coast through his thick hair, glide over his broad shoulders, his muscles flexing and bunching beneath his heated skin.
“Yes.”I arch into his hand as it glides down between us.
“You smell fucking edible.” His compliment is hot and rough as he makes short work of my pajama bottoms. My body jolts as he brushes the pad of his thumb across my clit. I can feel how wet I am through the mixture of cool air and the heat of his breath. “You’re so pretty. And all mine.” My breathing turns ragged at the press of his tongue, pleasure pulsing through me.
“Oh, yes!” I anchor my hands in his hair as his mouth lays claim to my pussy, the brush of his stubble and the pull of his lips making my whole body tremble. I cry out in surrender. I cry out in love. I give in to this most delicious of torments as I come undone.
A minute or a lifetime later, Oliver is standing above me. His eyes are dark, and his mouth and chin shine obscenely with my pleasure.
“Tell me you want me,” he demands.
“More every day.” I swallow, overcome by the moment. Overcome with the notion that this is our love.Our call and response.
“Tell me again. Tell me—”
“I do.” My hips tilt in a silent plea. “I love you, Oliver.”
“Yes, thank God.”
He lines himself up, and we’re both done for.
Chapter 39
EVIE
A Little Bird Told Us ...
that wedding bells could be sounding in the distance after a lovestruck billionaire begged residents of his hotel to give up their reservation so he could impress his future in-laws. The besotted businessman exchanged their table for four for a week in a swanky six-star Saint Kitts hotel!
Oh, Mr. Deubel, I have a table for six at Chipotle I’ll happily swap.
Call me!
I’m not sure which is crazier. The image of Oliver in a Chipotle restaurant or the idea we could be getting married, which is not even a little funny considering how we met.
I text Yara a quick thanks for sending me the link to the column’s so-called news. She thought the mention was hilarious—she didn’t even ask if it was true. But I guess the way rich people live is so fantastical, they might as well be aliens.
I try not to read the column these days, and I would’ve liked to have avoided any reminder of my parents’ visit. I’m still having cringey flashbacks weeks later. The things they said ...Urgh!
As I slide my phone back into my purse, I find myself wondering why Una Smith has such a hard-on for us as a couple, because according to Oliver, he had no hand in this. And I believe him. It’s too early to say he’s hugely reformed. I guess his heart is in the right place.Mostly.
Mine too.Mostly.
“I feel very suspicious when you’re sitting there, smiling to yourself.”
“Sorry?” I glance across at Oliver as the Bentley slows for a corner.
“Especially as we drive around Dalston. Care to explain why we’re here?”
“All will be revealed,” I reply mysteriously. If being mysterious includes giggling behind your hand and trying to disguise it as a cough.
He wants to know what I’m up to, meanwhile I’ve given up trying to figure him out. I know he still wants Northaby, but I’m confident he’ll do right by the animals.It’s no good taking them on if his heart isn’t in it. Better they find new homes.
