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Chapter 17
Oliver
I woke to the sight of Holland’s milky back at my chin, and all that dark red hair splayed over my pillow. For the first time in months, my first thoughts weren’t dark and painful. The erection I had as a result of her sweet soft ass pressed up against my dick was another story, but my heart felt light for a change. Holland had stayed all weekend, and we’d acknowledged our first Valentine’s Day together by staying in bed and watching eighties movies in between bouts of some pretty athletic sex. It had been the best weekend I could remember—neither of us spoke about work or the potential complications that might face us there. I’d just spent an entire weekend reveling in the light Holland brought into my world.
Being inside Holland was like visiting another dimension, and after months of feeling nothing at all, it was like waking up. And as much as I loved being inside her—hell, if I could figure out a way to live there, with my dick hard in her forever, I’d probably do it—there was so much more to Holland than the sex. And the sex…well.
This beautiful girl was tough and ferocious, and as smart as anyone I’d ever met. In fact, I realized as I twirled a long lock of her dark hair around my finger, she reminded me of Adam. That biting wit, her sharp intellect, and her ability to see things others didn’t. Not to mention her passion for Cody Tech. Adam had been that way, too—insightful and kind.
I realized I’d just had the first purely pleasant memory of Adam I’d had since finding out about my adoption. Of course as soon as I realized it, the darkness and anger pressed in on me again. It was almost a habit now, being angry. But with my beautiful duchess in my arms, I didn’t want to be angry. I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I wanted to focus on her, on making her smile the way she did when she fell apart in my arms during sex. I wanted to make her laugh, to see those crystal eyes dance. When Holland laughed—really laughed—she did it unself-consciously, like a little kid. Her head back, her mouth wide and her eyes squinted up.
I squeezed Holland gently, tightening the arm draped over her middle, and dropped a line of kisses along the back of her neck. She smelled incredible, and for a long moment, I kept my face pressed against her sleeping form. She smelled like citrus and salt, and like sex.
I kissed her once more and then slipped out of bed, pulling on a pair of boxers. My cock was still hopeful, but it would just have to wait. We had work today, and I wanted to make Holland breakfast first.
In the kitchen I brewed coffee and made omelets with avocado, tomato, and cheese.
As the smells wafted down the hallway, I heard Holland stirring between my bedroom and the bathroom, and a surge of something I can only deem joy washed through me. The house had been so empty for so long. The master bedroom at the end of the hall was practically a mausoleum, holding whatever secrets my parents had left there before they had died that day. I still couldn’t go in there. Having Holland here with me, though, made me feel less empty than I had in months. The house felt warm and full. And, I realized with something like shock, so did my heart.
I stood over the pan of bacon I was frying and stared out the back windows over the pool for a long moment, prodding at the feelings that had grown in me so quickly.
I’d vowed not to need anyone else. Ever.
But as I heard Holland’s feet moving toward me through the house, slipping softly against the tile, I realized I needed her. I’d let my guard down and let her inside, and stranger than that—I was happy about it.
“Morning, duchess,” I said, turning to watch her approach.
She threw a shy smile at me. Her hair was pulled back into a long ponytail and a tank top and shorts were pulled over her curves. She sniffed the air and her eyes widened. “Oh my God, I’m starving. Coffee? Bacon? I think I’m in heaven.” She came to me and planted a kiss on my chest as I flipped bacon, turning to embrace her with my free arm.
Stepping back, she glanced around. “This is amazing, Oliver, but I do have to get to work today. Big new job and all,” she said.
“We’ll eat, and then we’ll go.”
She bobbed her head and poured herself a cup of coffee, carrying it to the long wall of windows in the sunken living room. “This house is incredible,” she said. “And the pool, too.” She turned and grinned at me with a raised eyebrow.
“I have a new appreciation for the pool myself,” I said. My entire body felt light this morning, playful even. I hadn’t felt this way in as long as I could remember. Even before the accident. I piled omelets and bacon high on the plates and sat down at the island.
“How long did your family live here? Did you grow up in this house?” She walked back toward me and settled herself at the island in front of her plate.
I shook my head. This wouldn’t have been my topic of choice, but I felt so buoyant, I doubted even talking about my almost-parents could bring me down. “Adam and Sonja started out in a tiny house down in Cerritos,” I told her. “We moved here when Adam sold his first company. I was in junior high school.”
Holland sipped her coffee and was quiet. Something about her attention made me want to talk, even though this was a subject I usually avoided.
“My dad used to run a small investment firm,” I told her. “Adam did.” I corrected myself quickly and a whisper of sadness passed across Holland’s face. “It was what gave him the idea to build a company around my idea to measure stroke speed when I was swimming. We built the first device for me, because I wanted to be better. But he had a business mind. He was the one who saw what it could become, and how much value there was in the kind of data we could generate.” Talking about Adam took me back to those first excited discussions about StrokeStat, his eyes wide and dancing over the dinner table when I’d come home during college. Twin emotions battled within me—sadness and a warm pleasure.
“What did your mom do?” Holland asked.
“Sonja was a teacher,” I said, still hesitant to allow my parents back into their comfortable places as simply Mom and Dad. “She taught elementary school. She loved kids…” I trailed off, remembering her bringing home all the cards and letters at the end of each year. “They loved her, too.”
Holland smiled at me, and though I saw sadness in her gaze, there was none of the unwanted pity I got from so many other people when they asked me about my parents. One more thing to adore about this girl. “We’d better get ready for work, duchess. If we don’t go soon, I’m going to want to take you out for another swim.” I flashed her a grin and carried our empty plates to the kitchen.
—
I didn’t see much of Holland at the office the next couple days, but I sent a car for her at eight each night, and she was at my house by nine.
“I could get used to this,” I told her as we lay in my bed after making love, drifting toward sleep.
“Me, too,” she said, her voice groggy.
