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Even when he stopped an inch away from her, she didn’t turn, but her back found him and she relaxed against him with a throaty purr. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

An act. A lie.

Using sex to get their way wasn’t past a Yarrow. After all, that was how her brother made his living.

But here in the middle of the abandoned abbey, with nothing but old stone and open sky, Oliver let himself forget who she was to him.

Looping her hair around his fist, he brought his mouth to her neck, hungry for the husky little moan she made. Resting more of her weight on him, she angled her head to give him easier access. He tasted her with his tongue, trailed open-mouthed kisses along the exposed skin of her shoulder until she shifted restlessly against him.

How easy it would be to guide her forward, to pull up her fluttering dress, to find her wet and ready for him, to sink deep. To take her in the ruins of this abbey as the raging storm grew closer.

Addison’s hand slid over him, cupped him. He groaned, gritting his teeth against the pleasure of it.

The smell of marshmallows and orange blossoms intensified as he scraped his teeth against her throat. Trailing a slow finger from her collarbone to her nipple, he traced around the tight peak, tugged. Her low moan settled over him like honey.

It would be effortless to turn her around and taste that moan, but he didn’t dare. This felt safe, not having her look at him. Like this, he could pretend that he was his old self again. Not the monster with the half-melted face.

“I want to see you,” she whispered, wiggling harder against him.

“Not yet. I like having you in my arms.”

“You’ll like having me the other way better.”

He smiled. “You’re used to giving orders and having them followed.”

Catching his hand, she pressed it harder against her. “Touch my breasts.”

“I am.”

“Under my dress.”

The storm clouds blocked the last rays of light. He wanted the shadows gone. Wanted to see all of her in broad daylight.

Slipping her dress off one shoulder, he kissed the exposed skin.

Before he could stop her, Addison turned in his arms. Her eyes lifted to his face—scanned across his ugliness. Mouth contorting, she recoiled from him on a high-pitched scream.

Oliver jerked awake, bolting upright, the sheets tangled around him. Fuckshitdamn.

He brought a shaking hand to his clammy forehead. Nothing but a dream. Just like getting closer to Addison was.

Chapter 16

For the next three days, Oliver remained upstairs as if he were chained there. Addy barely heard him above her—the guy floated like the empty shell he’d become. The only evidence of him haunting the second story was the classical music during his brief daily workouts.

Occasionally, she’d find rinsed cereal bowls drying on the rack next to the sink. Her only sign—besides the dwindling milk and muesli—that she still had a roommate.

Did the man survive on nothing but cereal?

Plainly, he wished to avoid her. It wasn’t as if she wanted to spend time with him either. And yet being all but alone in the silent house was disconcerting. She’d have relied on a show or a movie to pass the time, but there wasn’t a single TV set in the entire place.

Oliver’s friend—the Irish professor who’d rented him the house—apparently didn’t believe in television. He did have well-stocked bookshelves throughout, but all the books focused on ancient cities, buildings, and sewage systems. Definitely not her idea of a good read. She wished she’d brought her Kindle, though Oliver would have confiscated that too. So she spent her evenings reading about maritime trade routes. The detailed textbooks worked better than Ambien.

On Friday, long after she knew Oliver had gone to bed, she attempted another search upstairs.

She’d by now worked out which stairs creaked and which didn’t. Approaching his office, she turned the knob and snuck inside.

That same broken laptop still lay on the desk.