Royally Screwed
Page 42
Emotion coils inside me—so new and unfamiliar, I can barely put it into words.
“I have just over four months. And when I walked into that coffee shop, I didn’t know that I would end up wanting to spend every single day of it…with you.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle and her mouth pulls up in the tiniest of smiles.
“You do?”
I cup her cheek and nod. “Talking to you, laughing with you, looking at you.” Then I smirk. “Preferably being buried deep in some part of you.”
She snorts and pushes at my shoulder.
And then I sober. “But that’s all I have to offer. When the summer ends, so do we.”
Olivia combs her hand through her hair, yanking a bit.
I sit back down in the chair, adding, “And there’s more.”
“Oh, Jesus, what? Is there a long-lost child out there somewhere?”
I flinch—even though I know she’s joking.
“Logan was right about the press. It’s just dumb luck that they haven’t snapped your photo yet—a matter of time. And when they do, your life is going to change. They’ll talk to everyone you’ve ever known, dig around into the financial situation of Amelia’s, comb through your past—”
“I don’t have a past.”
“Then they’ll make one up,” I snap without meaning to.
It’s out of frustration—frustration that time is short…and the walls are closing in.
“It not easy being my friend; it’s even more difficult being my lover. Think of me as a walking exploding bomb—anything near to me will eventually become collateral damage.”
“And you seemed like such a catch,” she jokes, shaking her head.
Then she stands and turns her back to me, thinking out loud. “So, it’ll be like…like Dear John, or Sandy and Zuko in Grease? A summer fling? An affair? And then…you’ll just leave?”
“That’s right.” I stare at her back, waiting.
My stomach rolls with nerves. Because I can’t remember wanting anything as much as I want this—as much as I want her.
When a minute passes without a word, I offer, “If you need time to think about it, I—”
Olivia moves quickly—spinning around, cutting off my words with the urgent press of her mouth, her sweet lips hot and demanding. My hands automatically find her hips, pulling her forward between my knees.
Then she straightens, and runs her finger over her lips, gazing down at me. “Did you feel that?”
The spark, the electricity. The desire that feeds on itself, relishing the relief of contact but always wanting more.
“Yes.”
She takes my hand and places it over her breast—where her heartbeat throbs wildly in her chest. “And do you feel this?”
My own chest pounds with the same rhythm.
“Yes.”
“Some people go their whole lives without feeling that. We’ll get to have it for four months.” Her eyes dance with moonlight. “I’m in.”
A few days later, I’m scheduled to attend a dinner in Washington, DC—a benefit for the Mason Foundation—and Olivia agrees to accompany me. When she worries that she doesn’t have anything to wear, I arrange a shopping trip at the Fifth Avenue Barrister’s, after closing.
Because I’m not a gentleman, I help her in the dressing room when the saleswoman is otherwise occupied—giving her a hand, and a finger, getting in and out of all that binding clothing—mostly getting out of it.
She settles on a deep, jewel-tone plum-colored dress that clings to all the best places, and gold strappy heels. They show her a simple diamond necklace that would look fantastic with the outfit. But Olivia won’t let me buy it for her. She says Marty’s sister has something more suitable she can borrow.
After we leave, it nags at me, though—the necklace. For purely selfish reasons. Because I want to see her wearing it. It—and nothing else.
Talk about prime spank-bank material.
But when the night of the dinner arrives, and I see Olivia for the first time at the helipad, I forget all about the necklace—because she’s a vision. Her lips are dark rose and shiny, her midnight hair is swept up elegantly, her tits are high and stunning.
I take her hand, kissing the back. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you.” She beams.
Until her eyes settle on the helicopter behind me. Then she looks ill.
“So, we’re really doing this, huh?”
I fly whenever I have the opportunity, which isn’t nearly as often as I’d like. And Olivia’s never flown at all—not in a plane or a helicopter. It’s exciting to be her first.
“I told you I’ll be gentle.”
I guide her toward the custom craft that the CEO of an international bank who’s friendly with my family was kind—and shrewd—enough to loan me for the evening. “Unless you’re in the mood for a rough ride?” I wink.
“Slow and steady, cowboy,” she warns. “Or I’ll never ride with you again.”
I help her into the soft leather seat, buckle her harness, and carefully put her headset over her hair, so we can talk during the trip. Her eyes are round and terrified.
Does the fact that that turns me on make me a sick bastard? I’m a little afraid that it does.
With a quick kiss to her forehead, I walk around and climb in. Tommy rides in the back; Logan and James drove ahead earlier to confirm security details and will meet us when we land.
“I have just over four months. And when I walked into that coffee shop, I didn’t know that I would end up wanting to spend every single day of it…with you.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle and her mouth pulls up in the tiniest of smiles.
“You do?”
I cup her cheek and nod. “Talking to you, laughing with you, looking at you.” Then I smirk. “Preferably being buried deep in some part of you.”
She snorts and pushes at my shoulder.
And then I sober. “But that’s all I have to offer. When the summer ends, so do we.”
Olivia combs her hand through her hair, yanking a bit.
I sit back down in the chair, adding, “And there’s more.”
“Oh, Jesus, what? Is there a long-lost child out there somewhere?”
I flinch—even though I know she’s joking.
“Logan was right about the press. It’s just dumb luck that they haven’t snapped your photo yet—a matter of time. And when they do, your life is going to change. They’ll talk to everyone you’ve ever known, dig around into the financial situation of Amelia’s, comb through your past—”
“I don’t have a past.”
“Then they’ll make one up,” I snap without meaning to.
It’s out of frustration—frustration that time is short…and the walls are closing in.
“It not easy being my friend; it’s even more difficult being my lover. Think of me as a walking exploding bomb—anything near to me will eventually become collateral damage.”
“And you seemed like such a catch,” she jokes, shaking her head.
Then she stands and turns her back to me, thinking out loud. “So, it’ll be like…like Dear John, or Sandy and Zuko in Grease? A summer fling? An affair? And then…you’ll just leave?”
“That’s right.” I stare at her back, waiting.
My stomach rolls with nerves. Because I can’t remember wanting anything as much as I want this—as much as I want her.
When a minute passes without a word, I offer, “If you need time to think about it, I—”
Olivia moves quickly—spinning around, cutting off my words with the urgent press of her mouth, her sweet lips hot and demanding. My hands automatically find her hips, pulling her forward between my knees.
Then she straightens, and runs her finger over her lips, gazing down at me. “Did you feel that?”
The spark, the electricity. The desire that feeds on itself, relishing the relief of contact but always wanting more.
“Yes.”
She takes my hand and places it over her breast—where her heartbeat throbs wildly in her chest. “And do you feel this?”
My own chest pounds with the same rhythm.
“Yes.”
“Some people go their whole lives without feeling that. We’ll get to have it for four months.” Her eyes dance with moonlight. “I’m in.”
A few days later, I’m scheduled to attend a dinner in Washington, DC—a benefit for the Mason Foundation—and Olivia agrees to accompany me. When she worries that she doesn’t have anything to wear, I arrange a shopping trip at the Fifth Avenue Barrister’s, after closing.
Because I’m not a gentleman, I help her in the dressing room when the saleswoman is otherwise occupied—giving her a hand, and a finger, getting in and out of all that binding clothing—mostly getting out of it.
She settles on a deep, jewel-tone plum-colored dress that clings to all the best places, and gold strappy heels. They show her a simple diamond necklace that would look fantastic with the outfit. But Olivia won’t let me buy it for her. She says Marty’s sister has something more suitable she can borrow.
After we leave, it nags at me, though—the necklace. For purely selfish reasons. Because I want to see her wearing it. It—and nothing else.
Talk about prime spank-bank material.
But when the night of the dinner arrives, and I see Olivia for the first time at the helipad, I forget all about the necklace—because she’s a vision. Her lips are dark rose and shiny, her midnight hair is swept up elegantly, her tits are high and stunning.
I take her hand, kissing the back. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you.” She beams.
Until her eyes settle on the helicopter behind me. Then she looks ill.
“So, we’re really doing this, huh?”
I fly whenever I have the opportunity, which isn’t nearly as often as I’d like. And Olivia’s never flown at all—not in a plane or a helicopter. It’s exciting to be her first.
“I told you I’ll be gentle.”
I guide her toward the custom craft that the CEO of an international bank who’s friendly with my family was kind—and shrewd—enough to loan me for the evening. “Unless you’re in the mood for a rough ride?” I wink.
“Slow and steady, cowboy,” she warns. “Or I’ll never ride with you again.”
I help her into the soft leather seat, buckle her harness, and carefully put her headset over her hair, so we can talk during the trip. Her eyes are round and terrified.
Does the fact that that turns me on make me a sick bastard? I’m a little afraid that it does.
With a quick kiss to her forehead, I walk around and climb in. Tommy rides in the back; Logan and James drove ahead earlier to confirm security details and will meet us when we land.
