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Chapter 16
Holland
Oliver barely spoke while we met with the CFO, whom I’d previously known only from the photo on our organizational chart. I glanced at him to see if he was going to jump up to handle the tech portion of the presentation as he had on Monday, but he had a dazed look in his dark, stormy eyes. He rested his jaw in one hand, his index finger absently rubbing across his bottom lip in a way that had me taking deep breaths in an effort to steady my voice. He came out of it slightly when I finished, but kept throwing dark looks my way, making me wonder if he was angry at me, if I’d said something I shouldn’t have during the presentation. If he was mad about that, he could shove it. He’d had every opportunity to jump in, and instead he’d just sat there looking like he was in a trance.
When Rob had thanked me, and then stood and left the office, I closed the door instead of walking through it. “What the hell?” I asked him as I turned around. I spun to find him only inches from me, that same darkness burning in his eyes as he moved in close and pushed me roughly back against the door, his hands at my waist. We hadn’t spent much time together this week—I’d worked late getting acclimated to my new responsibilities and he’d been getting back up to speed, too. There’d been a few quick kisses, but no more desktop interludes, and the tension between us was palpable.
Before I could ask another question, Oliver’s mouth was on mine, and his body was pressed up against me, pinning me to the solid wood door behind me. This kiss wasn’t gentle and soft, it didn’t ask permission. It felt like he was staking a claim, as if he sought to possess me, to own me with his rough mouth, his forceful tongue. If anyone had asked me, I would certainly have said I’d never want to be possessed by anyone. But the way Oliver’s mouth insisted my lips open to him. The way his tongue plunged between my lips, and the way his body completely covered mine as he took away my breath and my ability to move or speak—those things had me rethinking what I really wanted.
When one of his big hands pulled my blouse from my waistband, the hot palm sliding up my ribs and pushing away the wire cup of my bra to palm my breast, I couldn’t help the surprised cry that burst from my lips.
“Quiet,” he growled, certainly thinking of Pamela, just feet away behind the door. He pulled his mouth away and ran his hand down the side of my face, the look in his eyes feral and searching. He held my jaw for a moment, the heat in his gaze searing my blood and making my heart beat faster, and then he rubbed his thumb across my bottom lip before tugging it down. I couldn’t help letting my tongue dart out to taste the tip of his thumb, and as soon as I did, his hips jerked against me and he let out a guttural curse under his breath. I tasted him again, and he pushed the thumb between my lips as he ground against my hip. I sucked on his thumb, my eyes never leaving his, even though there was something in his gaze I didn’t fully understand. As I sucked and licked his thumb, I couldn’t help grinding against the strong hard thigh he’d pushed between my legs, and I let my eyes slide shut for a brief moment as I enjoyed the sensations rocketing through me. I might have been able to come just from the friction and the intensity of his eyes and the pressure of his fingers on my nipple, but he stepped away abruptly.
“Not here,” he said, straightening his trousers and turning away as though nothing had happened.
“Here seemed okay earlier this week,” I reminded him, stepping up behind him to wrap my arms around his waist and press my breasts into the firm broad muscle of his back. I let one hand slide down his chest and then pushed it below his waistband, cupping his rigid cock with my hand.
“Come to my house,” he said, pulling my hand away and stepping out of my reach. “I’ll send a car for you. Go home and get your things. Spend the night.”
I thought about that. I wanted it, I wanted to spend the night in Oliver’s arms, to let myself be carried away by the incredible things that had already happened this week, to lose myself in this moment. But I wasn’t sure it was the best thing. “I don’t know,” I told him. “So much has happened, it might be good to get some distance. Some perspective. And Oliver…” His eyebrows rose as I said his name, the almost black eyes still smoldering. “You’re my boss.”
He shook his head, ignoring me. “I’ll send a car at eight.”
“It isn’t nice to tell people what to do like that,” I told him, my resolve quickly fading. It wasn’t nice, but it was hot as hell.
“Please,” he added with a sarcastic smile. And then he bowed forward slightly, as if he was going to tell me a secret. “I have a lot of avocados at my house, duchess.”
I laughed. “Then I guess I’ll see you there.” It felt a little like giving in, but when I thought of going home to my empty apartment it seemed like it would be a poor way to celebrate a really important week. Spending the night with Oliver was what I wanted. Even if it wasn’t the right thing.
—
I stepped out of Oliver’s office to find Pamela’s eyes on me, a question on her lips. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey, you,” I said, stepping around to face her. “How are you? I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in a while.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. How’s the new job going?”
“Good,” I said, my voice revealing my discomfort. I was getting used to the idea of my promotion, but I still felt defensive when it seemed linked to Oliver, and having my lipstick undoubtedly smeared as I slid out of his office probably didn’t help with my argument that I’d been promoted on my own merits. “Thanks.” I looked away.
“Hey,” she said, her tone pulling my gaze to hers. “Everything okay? You need to talk?”
I shrugged. I did need to talk. I was tempted to invite her out, tell her everything and see what she thought. Pamela was smart and capable, and I valued her opinion. But I also worried that I’d lose her respect, and maybe even her friendship if I revealed what was going on between her boss and me. Between my boss and me. “I’m okay,” I said, covering with a smile. “But let’s definitely get lunch soon, okay?”
She nodded and I went back out to the elevator, got my stuff together and headed home.
—
At eight, a Town Car pulled up outside my apartment building, and a man in a dark suit buzzed my apartment. I watched him pull up from the front window and marveled a bit at the fact that Oliver had a car and driver at all. The funny thing, I decided, was that I hadn’t met Oliver Cody, really. At first I’d met Hale, and if someone had told me he was the CEO of one of the most successful companies in the country I would have laughed hysterically. I was actually thankful for having gotten to know Hale first. Oliver would have been far too intimidating.
As I slid past the open door and relaxed against the leather, I wondered how many people Oliver had met in his life who were more interested in who he was from a business or financial standpoint than who he was as a man. I didn’t know him well, but I knew he was sweet and funny, thoughtful and vulnerable at times. I knew he had been hurt, that he’d spent months nursing that wound. And I knew that for some reason, meeting me had been part of what helped pull him back to stand in the daylight, to walk among the living again.
Ingram, Oliver’s driver, turned out to be South African and had an accent I would have liked to hear more of. He was a quiet man who told me he’d worked for the Cody family for more than a decade. He drove me north on the 405, pulling off—somewhat unbelievably—at Mulholland Drive, where as far as I was concerned only movie stars, models, and directors lived. But Ingram wound up the hills and through the narrow tree-lined streets until he pulled to a stop before a long brick fence, grown over with greenery. He turned in, pulled up to a broad iron gate and typed in a code to make the gate swing inward.
We stepped from the car into a front courtyard filled with flowers and trees. Roses lined the fence, but they were in need of pruning, and weeds sprang up in many of the beds, the neglect evident even in the sparse glow of the lanterns lining the path to the door.
Ingram walked me in, and I felt strange entering this expansive rambling ranch house with no sign of Oliver around. The front entrance soared in Spanish tile and stuccoed archways, and inside the huge wooden door a wrought-iron chandelier glowed overhead. Oliver’s voice echoed down the wide hallway to my right, but he wasn’t greeting me. It sounded as if he was on the phone, maybe angry. Staccato bursts of conversation hit my ears and caused my muscles to tense as I stood and looked around me.
“I’ll leave your bag here, ma’am.” Ingram dropped my overnight bag just inside the front door. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything?”
