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Sabrina was having trouble reading him. Oliver was a bit of a blank slate. She wasn’t used to that. Everyone had a tell, something they did to give away their thoughts and emotions. Oliver was like the best poker player she’d ever met, giving nothing away.
“Then what do you want?” she questioned, maintaining her edge.
“Just to make sure you’re okay. I’m sorry we upset you. Like my brothers said, we were just concerned. When you didn’t answer your phone, we came by to be sure everything is okay.”
“It is.”
He looked around her room, at all of her possessions in perfect order, and nodded. “So it appears.” When his gaze came back around to her, she noticed it catch briefly on the bottle of aspirin on the bedside table. “Are you sick?”
Sabrina dropped back on her pillow and sighed. “No, just a headache and I didn’t sleep well. I overslept my alarm.”
She flinched at his unexpected touch, his fingers gently moving a few strands of hair around her face, and then touching her skin lightly, tracing her cheekbone and jawline.
“You seemed fine last night. What kept you up?”
Sabrina’s mouth suddenly went dry. She wasn’t about to admit the real reason she’d been up all night. Not to him. Not to anyone. It was so inappropriate. So wrong. So…dirty.
Her gaze swept over him. He was every bit as handsome and sexy as his brothers. Broad shoulders, wide chest, strong arms, thick neck with a little Adam’s apple that moved with his speech and each time he swallowed. Her heart beat faster as her body quickened with the memory of the few dreams she’d had last night.
Physically, Oliver was so much like his brothers, they could be triplets. Their stature, their looks, the way they carried themselves. All three wore confidence like a second skin and as well as the tailored suits that covered it. It seemed a crime of nature to have such a potent gene pool produce three perfect specimens such as the Hargreaves.
She felt guilty wanting them all for herself. Well, almost guilty.
The light, sharp intake of breath was just loud enough for Sabrina to hear in the quiet room, and she looked up into his eyes, realizing that he’d noticed her preoccupation…and the reason behind it.
The little flash in those dark eyes reflected knowledge and awareness…and a sudden desire that matched her own.
Women’s intuition told Sabrina that Oliver wanted to kiss her just seconds before he began to lean in and act on it.
She watched as he brought his face toward hers, having only seconds to shove him away if she didn’t want it.
But she did want it.
Sabrina was already making excuses for herself about why she was going to allow this to happen: she was tired, not thinking right; her reflexes were too slow to react; they were too sexy for her to resist. All of them might be valid arguments had she not grabbed ahold of the front of his shirt and met him halfway.
Oliver all but fell on top of her, their combined weight and being on an odd angle to blame for their balance issues.
Sabrina didn’t mind. As their mouths crashed together and his tongue slipped past her lips, she decided she fairly enjoyed the weight of his body on top of hers. It was a familiar weight, like the night Conner had taken her on the couch, but his kiss was very different.
Oliver—quiet, soft, gentle demeanor Oliver—was a beast.
His mouth moved over hers with a surety and determination that shocked her. The way his hands explored her breasts, grabbing and massaging before slipping under the oversized cotton T-shirt to pinch her nipples and repeat the process was uncharacteristically bold, but more than welcome.
Sabrina gasped and moaned into his mouth as her back arched up and her breasts pressed into his palms. He shifted, then the full weight of him moved over her, pinning her beneath the blankets.
The more he kneaded and kissed her, the more Sabrina needed, until she was writhing beneath him, her body screaming for his touch. His erection was rock hard, pressing between her pinned-together thighs, causing her core to pulse and clench. She flexed her hips as her fingers found his hair and gripped it in fistfuls.
But just when things should have escalated, Oliver broke the kiss, carefully extricated her hands from his hair, and moved off her.
Sabrina lay panting in desperation and confusion as she stared up at the man who now stood beside the bed, looking strung out, as if he needed her as badly as she needed him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you don’t want me.” She looked down at the decidedly huge bulge in his pants, hanging heavy between his legs. It was at least as big as Conner’s, and if he could make her feel half as good as his brother had, then she wanted it inside of her—now.
Oliver raked a hand through his hair, his gaze shooting to the closed bedroom door and back, almost pained. “I do, but I…can’t.”
Sabrina frowned, that boiling heat reducing to a simmer. “Why?”
“I—we don’t…do things that way.”
