Page 88 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

When Oliver’s deep inside me, both of us practically at the edge, we make eye contact, and it’s electric—the look conveys raw emotion I’ve never felt before, much less seen reflected back at me by someone else.

“Ivy,” he whispers, gaze rocketing around my face like he can’t decide where to let it linger; like his brain is swirling with words he isn’t ready to say. Then he’s pressing his lips to mine like he needs me as desperately as I need him, and we both explode in a final moment of pure ecstasy.

And while I realize that sounds like some sort of extreme hyperbole, that’s exactly how it feels.

Oliver and I eat blueberry pie leftover from our dinner with Maisie straight out of the pie plate, sitting cross-legged on my bed. We’re still not dressed, and, though I haven’t dared a glance in the mirror, I’m assuming my hair is as unruly as his. Probably even more so.

Even though we’ve spent the past 12 hours worshipping at the altar of each other’s bodies, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more naked. But it’s a good sort of exposure, both in paucity of garments and the way we seem to be wearing our hearts on our nonexistent sleeves. Seeing Oliver, rumpled and lean and vulnerable, staring at me and my mediocre blueberry pie like he can’t get enough of either, is an otherworldly feeling.

“At the risk of launching another of your erotic ‘solutions,’ I wanted to tell you how incredibly hot you look right now.” I grin at him under my lashes.

He raises both eyebrows. “Ivy Parker, are you coming on to me?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Right, because the repeated orgasms you’ve treated me to since yesterday evening didn’t pave the way for a little flirtation?”

Oliver cracks a smile. “I guess I did leave myself open to that kind of coquetry.”

“Hey.” I swat his knee, a more serious expression on my face. “Is this going to make things weird at work?”

He shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of pie. “Probably not any weirder than before, when I spent most of the day thinking about shoving you up against a bookshelf.”

My jaw drops. “Wow, you had that one ready to go, huh?”

I see the glimmer in his eye before he speaks. “It’s just the truth.”

“Honestly, that’s tamer than what I was imagining,” I admit.

“See? Then it won’t be a problem.” He leans over to kiss my cheek.

“Um,” I begin, “we aren’t going to let Maisie find out, right?”

Oliver shakes his head vehemently. “About this? No way. But she’s pretty sharp; she may pick up on something eventually. Especially if you suddenly stop giving me a hard time.”

I consider whether Maisie knowing that Oliver and I are…well, something, would be a problem. Given how she’s been coaxing us together at every possible opportunity, I suppose maybe not. Hell, she’d probably be delighted. But for now, when all that’s technically happened is sex, I think it’s best to keep things to ourselves. Even if the sex was astronomically mind-blowing.

“Then I promise to keep teasing you and playing hard to get. For as long as it takes.”

His pupils are growing again. “I like the sound of that. A lot.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I lean forward to kiss him. “But I like it, too.”

At 11:15, we begrudgingly get dressed. Oliver has to go back to his house to get a change of clothes for work, but he says it will only take a minute. We leave together in his truck, a surreal bookend to last night’s arrival.

A few minutes later, Oliver pulls up to a tiny red Cape Cod two blocks off the beach. “I’ll be right back,” he says, leaving the truck’s air conditioning running so I don’t get too warm.

Leaning my head against the window, I look out over his world. The yard is well-groomed, with a small garden near the front steps. I catch a glimpse of a picnic table in the backyard and a shed by the tree line. I wonder when Oliver has time to do all of the yardwork, what with his hours at Shoreline and his freelance writing projects. Not to mention all the chauffeuring he has to do for his father.

He comes back a few minutes later in his gray Henley and dark jeans, his hair combed into submission. “So, my dad wants to meet you,” he mumbles a bit apologetically.

“Oh.” I’m taken aback, because I wouldn’t think we would be at the point of meeting each other’s parents yet. Not because I’m not invested in whatever’s brewing between us. Quite the contrary. In fact, I realize with a start, I’ve never felt more invested in a relationship in my life.

Instead, it’s because people don’t usually do this so soon. Definitely not when it’s just a hook-up, and probably not even when feelings are involved if nothing’s been defined. I’m wondering what he’s told his dad to make meeting me feel so imperative.

Alternatively, maybe his dad’s just really, really bored. Or nosy. Or both.

“If you don’t want to, it’s really okay,” Oliver says. He looks nervous, and that just about breaks my heart.

“I want to,” I promise. He helps me hop down out of the truck, fingers warm against mine, one arm reaching up to steady my waist. I think I surprise us both when I don’t let go of his hand the whole way to the front door.