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Oliver’s lips twisted. “As long as your dislike for him doesn’t take the same kind of turn as it did with me.”
I jabbed my fist softly into his rock-hard stomach and he caught it, holding it there.
Just like that, I melted.
Staying mad at him was impossible. He’d been so sweet to me when I’d needed someone this weekend, and he was stupidly hot. I didn’t want to remain angry when I knew Ally and even Seth—though he was probably getting two knees in the balls after this weekend—only had my well-being in mind.
“They don’t know that we…” I swallowed hard and laced my fingers with his. “I don’t want them to know. Okay?”
His brow furrowed, and he hesitated before nodding. “Okay.”
“I also don’t want this to end when we go back home.” I let out a shaky breath. “For as long as it works for us…both of us, I mean. No strings. No expectations on either side. Just fun. Exactly like this weekend, except on our home base.”
He opened his mouth to speak but I fisted a hand in his silky shirt and leaned up to murmur near his ear. “Before you say yes, I mean only you and me. While I’m in your bed, no one else is. Got it?”
“Agreed.” He slipped his free hand into my hair and cupped the base of my head, his expression fierce. “Same goes. I don’t share.”
I shrugged. “Not like there’s anyone else who—”
“And that needs to stop. Right this instant.” His touch against my scalp turned rougher and my nipples beaded, right there in line to see the so-not-the-King. “You’re a beautiful, smart, funny, beautiful woman.” He leaned down and nipped my lower lip. “Got it?” he echoed.
I smiled against his mouth. “You said beautiful twice.”
“Yes, and I’ll say it another thousand times before we’re through.” He turned me around in line and wrapped his arms around my waist, setting his chin on my shoulder. “Thank you for giving me another chance.”
As if I’d had a choice. No strings? Yeah, right. Already I could feel them winding around me as surely as his arms.
Not because of him. Because of me. Somehow he’d teased long-dormant wants to the surface, and I had no choice but to accept and enjoy what I had instead of what wasn’t possible.
“Yes, and I’ll say it another thousand times before we’re through.”
That was the most salient point. We would be through eventually. In the meantime, I would focus on pleasure and excitement and fun, and pretend I didn’t occasionally imagine other, much different outcomes.
With Oliver. My frenemy.
A man who couldn’t accept fake Elvis, but was waiting in line with me to see him.
Who patiently stood and listened as said fake Elvis played both “Heartbreak Hotel” and “Blue Suede Shoes” and called me “honey” and “darlin’” and “love bug”.
Oliver wore a tight smile through all of it, and held my hand the entire time.
On the way out, I spotted a huge throne-like chair I suspected was for photo ops with pseudo Elvis. I made a c’mere gesture to Oliver and lured him to it, pushing him down and then crawling into his lap. He didn’t balk. Didn’t hesitate a beat when I leaned up to meet his mouth. He just pulled up my legs and kissed me as eagerly if we were in private, lost in our own dirty world of greedy kisses and velour and plastic palm trees.
It was absolutely glorious.
“Got it!”
Dizzily, I turned my head to see the beaming clipboard lady flashing me her iPhone screen. And there it was, me cuddled into Oliver as if we were madly in love for all the world to see.
Or just one grinning receptionist at the Hunk O’ Burning Love Chapel.
“Send me that, please,” Oliver said huskily, giving her his email.
I did the same, and marveled that he wasn’t pissed she’d gotten a picture of such an intimate moment. While we were in public, no less.
Smiling, I reached up to brush that errant strand of hair off his forehead. “You, sir, have earned some time in the pool.”
He leaped to his feet, still holding me. I laughed and clung to him for dear life. “Damn straight I have.”
