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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 correctedmyself 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.
I held her in my arms, my face buried in her hair, and believed I might actually be happy. For the first time in months, I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t hurt, I wasn’t afraid. I was just happy.
I didn’t see Holland at work at all Wednesday, but around five o’clock I called down to her office. “You interested in working on your stroke again this evening?”
“Who is this, please?” she joked.
“You know damned well,” I said with mock ferocity.
“I’m interested in working onyourstroke.”
My dick stirred and I felt my heart accelerate. This girl. She did things to me. “That can be arranged. We’ll stop by your place and get a few things. You might as well get everything you’ll need for the rest of the week.” It was getting ridiculous sending the car each night.
“I want to, but I can’t, Oliver. I have plans tonight.”
An irrational anger crept through me and I pushed it away. Of course she had plans. This was a girl I’d just met. She had a life before she met me, I couldn’t expect her suddenly to put it aside. “Of course,” I managed.
She laughed. She must’ve picked up on the difficult way the words had come out. “Not those kind of plans. Dinner with Delia. Want to come?”
I thought for a brief second. Meeting her sister—her family—felt like a big step. A good step. “Yes. Are you sure that’s okay?”
“Definitely,” she said. “But I’m gonna need another hour here. Things are a little crazy. I think Trey ispunishing me for being promoted. He’s piled proposals on me.”
“Glad to hear our sales team is working so hard. Meet you downstairs at six?”
“Six is good. See you then.”
I tried to work for the next hour, but I was distracted by how suddenly the jealousy had hit me when Holland had mentioned other plans. I spent the time stewing over just how vulnerable I’d suddenly let myself become. Had I let this go too fast? Even as I had the thought, I couldn’t imagine pulling back, going back to the way things were, to the darkness and loneliness of my life. I let myself stare out the window for the better part of the hour and felt relief wash over me when it was almost six o’clock. I stepped from my office, surprised to see Pamela still at her desk.
“Good night, Pamela,” I said, flashing her a smile.
Her eyes widened in surprise and then she smiled, shaking her head.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said, gathering some papers together on her desk. “It’s just nice to see you smiling again. If I had to guess, I’d put money on a woman being involved somehow.” She raised an eyebrow.
