did a few films together,” he said.
Very cool.
“Let me brighten things up a little in here.”
He headed for the kitchen. She heard him fumble with something, and a moment later, a soft light spotlighted his handsome face. He came back carrying a thick candle, which he placed on the coffee table.
“So, do you want me to leave?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “It’s coming down in buckets. You’d be soaked to the skin with no way to warm up.”
True. “I can stay?”
“Yes. Sit down. I’ll light a fire.”
“That would be wonderful.”
She curled up on the couch again, watching him. Fortunately he’d had logs and kindling already set in the fireplace, and they sparked quickly. Within minutes, the small space was benefiting from the heat created by the blaze, and the room was enveloped in a lovely golden glow.
She took the opportunity to look around a bit, knowing he’d only been here a few months, but sensing he’d taken steps to make the place his own. There were some nonfiction books on the mantel, along with a few thrillers. No pictures on the walls, but a couple of framed family type snapshots stood on the end table. Some colorful pillows were tossed on the furniture, and the thick rug in front of the hearth looked new and cozy.
She’d definitely seen worse bachelor pads.
“Better?”
“Much, thank you.”
He fell silent again, and she felt that tension between them that had appeared in the restaurant, after she’d gone to the ladies’ room. Compared to his friendliness before she’d left, she couldn’t help thinking something had happened. As she’d driven home, she’d half wondered if he’d made some assignation with the waitress and just wanted to be rid of her. She couldn’t deny she’d held her breath waiting to hear him come home, and was pleased he had, even if it had meant she was trapped and busted as a home invader.
He finally broke the silence. “I think I owe you an apology.”
“Oh?”
He sat on the floor, near the fireplace, on that thick rug. His long jeans-clad legs were stretched in front of him, booted feet casually crossed. The jeans pulled tight on those powerful thighs. She again noted how built he was, obviously not from any L.A. gym lifestyle but from his physically demanding job.
“Yeah. Earlier tonight, at the bar, one of the guys in the next booth told me you’d been on the phone before I arrived, having a very intimate conversation.”
She laughed. “Of course I was—intentionally! My best friend called, and I was trying really hard to make it sound like he was my boyfriend, so they would stop pestering me.”
He dropped his head back, shaking it and mumbling something under his breath. Something that sounded like, idiot.
Well, yeah, he had been. Being all macho-aloof instead of asking her about it had been the typical male reaction.
“Is that why you were such a jerk in the parking lot?” He straightened to look at her. “I’m sorry.”
“Were you angry about it?”
“Not angry. Jealous as hell,” he admitted.
That sent warm shivers of excitement rushing through her. There was no reason for Oliver to have been jealous if he didn’t want her for himself.
“I know it’s none of my business, but you said you didn’t have a boyfriend… .”
“I don’t,” she insisted. “No boyfriend, no husband, no lover.”
Just a fiancé.
The thought stabbed into her head like a brain freeze, shocking and painful. She was so used to not being involved with anyone, it was hard to remember that now, she technically was.
Oh, hell, what a mess.
She knew she should just tell him the situation, be honest and let him know what was happening. But in order to do that, she’d have to tell him why she’d agreed to a sexless marriage, and why it was okay for her to cheat on her fiancé.
She couldn’t out Tommy to somebody he didn’t know. Nobody had that right. Especially because, even if she didn’t reveal the name of her future husband, once the press got hold of her engagement and marriage, Oliver would realize who she’d been talking about. It wasn’t like he was some foreign, overseas stranger who would never give her another thought. He lived right in California, worked for her grandfather. His family lived in San Diego, and he probably still had plenty of work ties to L.A. No, he wasn’t the type who would run tattling to the press the minute he heard the news, but what if he accidentally said something to the wrong person? Tommy could be hurt—badly—because of her. She just couldn’t risk it.
Telling him the truth was out. But lying was just against her nature.
Was there a happy medium? Could she walk the tightrope and take what she wanted more than anything in the world—a wild affair with Oliver—without jeopardizing her best friend’s reputation?
Oliver watched her from the floor, his dark eyes catching glimmers of firelight, reflecting them. He cast a long deliberate stare over her, gazing from her face, down her throat, to the single bare shoulder revealed by her blouse. She’d been wearing a raincoat when she came in, but hadn’t wanted to get his couch wet. At least, that’s what she’d told herself. Actually, the thought of him looking at her, like this, hadn’t been a small part of the reason she’d taken the coat off.
Something was happening between them. Heat—quiet but intense—flared. But the problem bore repeating: what a mess.
“This has been pretty inevitable, hasn’t it?” he asked, his tone simple, to the point. As if he’d given up resisting something they had both known was going to happen.
“Yes, I think so.”
He wanted her. That was obvious. He’d been fighting it, as had she. But it seemed they’d both had enough of playing games. The attraction between them had been thick from the moment they’d met. They were always headed to this moment. Always.
Find the happy medium, an inner voice urged.
She couldn’t let it go that one last step toward becoming this amazing man’s lover until she’d clarified a couple of things. No, she couldn’t reveal Tommy’s secret, but she had to be as honest as she could be. “You need to know something.”
He didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead he got on his knees, crawling closer to the edge of the couch. His glittering eyes were narrowed, his lips parted, his hair was damp and hanging in his face. He looked earthy, primal and…hungry.
“Oliver…”
“Unless you need to tell me you’re a virgin or a nun, I don’t think there’s anything else I absolutely have to know right now.”
She couldn’t help laughing a little at his vehemence. “What if I needed to tell you I was gay?”
He moved closer, dropping his hand on her calf. “Then I’d tell you you’re a liar.”
She swallowed hard, feeling the heat of his palm through her jeans. He squeezed lightly.
Quivering in reaction, she managed to insist, “I really do need to make something clear.”
He hesitated. Her heart ached as she thought of doing anything to sabotage what she sensed could be one of the most sensual, erotic nights of her life, but she had to at least try to make things as open as possible.
“Whatever happens can’t go beyond this week.”
He smiled a little, looking relieved. Okay, maybe he had just wanted a one-night, or one-week, stand.