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Having the most handsome and sexy man she’d ever come across naked in the hot tub with her made it even more incredible.
“You must hate your life,” Olivia suddenly spurted out.
“It’s horrible.” He nodded, dryly. “But why do you say that?”
She sipped her champagne. “I suppose it’s an ignorant thing to say. Money doesn’t buy happiness.”
Fletcher stretched out his legs and lay an arm out along the tub behind her. “No. But it pays for a lot of solutions to problems and things that can bring happiness.”
“But don’t you think happiness is an inside job?”
“Isn’t that a meme?” he asked, giving her an amused frown.
She shrugged. “Doesn’t make it less true.”
Fletcher looked thoughtful as he swirled and then drank the dark liquid from his crystal tumbler.
“Here’s what I think. Happiness is not connected to your bank balance. It can bring pain or joy, but it’s what you’re thinking and doing with your life every day that dictates your happiness.”
Huh.
Olivia was surprised by the depth of his answer. Not that Fletcher was a shallow person. She knew him better than to think that, despite what the tabloids said about him.
“My mother was a rich woman when she was with my father. Still is in some respects. But she was miserable,” Fletcher said, taking another sip. “He cheated on her, as you know, many times, and yet she stayed with him, turning a blind eye to it.”
“You can only ignore things to a point, though.” He continued. “His neglect and disrespect of their marriage slowly ate away at her. She drank a lot and eventually snapped.”
Olivia let him continue.
“All the millions and eventually billions did nothing to make her happy. If she had chosen a different path, perhaps she would be happy. Even now she remains a victim to our father.”
She frowned. “How?”
“She is a shell of a person. Still drinking, not socializing or dating. Heck she’s only fifty-seven. She could marry again and find love.”
Olivia smiled, turning into him. “Listen to you, you old romantic.”
He gave her a mocking glare, putting his whiskey down.
“Enough talking.” He pulled her onto his lap and put her flute beside his glass. “I’ll show you how unromantic I am.”
She giggled.
“Fletch, we’re in a hot tub drinking champagne. Sorry, but that’s very romantic.”
He mock-growled.
“Stop talking.” He flicked his thumb over her nipples. “You will destroy my reputation.”
When he lifted her body up and placed his mouth around one of her breasts, all ability to speak left her, so he got his request.
“I’m going to fuck you in this tub and the only thing I want to hear from you is my name screamed,” he said, as his fingers slipped inside her. “Oh yes, you are so wet, Liv.”
No kidding. They were in a hot tub. But she knew what he meant. And she was.
So hot and wet for him
She’d been in a state of arousal for days. If she wasn’t with him, wanting him, she was thinking of him, wishing he was there, touching her.
