Kitabı oku: «Sultry Escapes: Waking Up to You», sayfa 3

3

CANDACE REID WAS as good as her word. Despite having probably only gotten the same few hours of sleep he had the night before, she was waiting on her grandfather’s front steps when he walked out of his cottage at 7:30 a.m.

She looked like crap.

Bloodshot eyes, pale cheeks sans makeup, sopping wet hair slung up in a ponytail—definitely not the Candace he’d met at 3:00 a.m. She wore a shapeless, heavy hoodie that would be much too warm in a few hours when the day shifted into typical Northern California mode, with its wildly swinging night-to-day temperature changes. The jeans weren’t designer; in fact, they looked worn and scruffy. And the functional sneakers in no way resembled the spike-heeled do-me shoes of the night before.

He knew he wasn’t seeing her at her sexy best, but couldn’t help thinking he liked this not-so-put-together version of the Hollywood costume designer. In her real life, with all the feminine trappings women relied on, she probably would have blended into the stylish crowd to which he had become so accustomed when living in L.A. Hell, he’d even been a part of it on occasion. But here, out of her element, obviously uncomfortable and not making any pretentious efforts to impress anyone—including him—he found her vulnerability refreshing.

Huh. Part of him should be a little disappointed that she wasn’t making any effort to impress him, considering how thick the sexual tension between them had been the night before. It had filled that kitchen like an invisible fog. He’d definitely thought about her long after he’d gone back to his bed.

But he hadn’t come to Sonoma to get caught up with a woman. He’d chosen this area because it was his favorite place to vacation—he loved the scenery, the pace and the people. He’d needed to reevaluate, to recover a sense of peace and tranquility that had been lost during his years running in the rat race with some huge rats. This period of solitude was about regrouping, finding his focus and doing penance for the shitty things he’d done to get ahead in the Orange County D.A.’s office.

Taking a sabbatical from the spotlight hadn’t been a bad side benefit, either. The press had had a field day with him when he’d blown the lid off some of the shenanigans taking place in the courthouse. Rising young stars in the prosecutor’s office weren’t supposed to refuse to railroad an innocent man in order to close a big case, and they definitely weren’t supposed to blow the whistle on the misconduct of others. Oh, yeah, he had definitely been front-page fodder, which made him persona non grata with the legal types in L.A., and would for quite some time. Frankly, that was fine with him. He wanted to forget about that period of his life, and wanted everyone there to forget about him.

So, no, having a hot affair just didn’t fit in with his plan of atonement. It was just as well Candace had dialed her sex appeal down a notch, even if nothing could really eradicate the beauty of her face or the curviness of her body.

If her appearance today was meant to send him a message, he’d gotten it. Loud and clear. She wasn’t interested.

“You sleep okay?” he asked as he walked over, already knowing the answer to his question.

“Sleep? What’s that? I feel like the princess from the fairy tale, only there wasn’t a pea under the mattress, there were cantaloupes the size of my head.”

“I don’t think your grandfather has had a chance to redecorate. A lot of the furniture came with the house, so it’s probably pretty old.”

“Who owned it before? Fred Flintstone?”

He couldn’t contain a chuckle. “The house was built by an old silent movie star, and it remained in his family for several decades until it fell into ruin. He supposedly threw some wild parties with his Hollywood buddies.”

“Huh…my kingdom for a Westin heavenly bed. I’d rather be comfortable than sleep on the mattress that once held Charlie Chaplin.” She winced and rubbed her shoulder. “And still might, given the bony lumps inside it.”

The old Oliver, the one who’d once been young and carefree and had done killer impressions that cracked up his sisters, might have tottered side to side and swung an invisible cane.

The new Oliver—hardened by the things he’d seen, the things he’d done—barely even remembered that idealistic guy.

“Ready?”

“Sure.”

She stepped into the passenger seat of the beat-up old truck as he got in behind the wheel and together, they headed toward the hospital. He could feel her tension and her anticipation. She sat forward on her seat, as if urging the old bucket of rust to go faster.

“Would you sit still?” he grumbled. “Visiting hours don’t even start until eight.”

“If we keep going negative-two miles an hour, we won’t be there until it’s time for Grandpa to go in for his surgery.”

“If we were going negative-two miles an hour, we’d be going backward.”

She smirked. “Now you’re just being silly.”

Unaccustomed to being called anything of the sort, he tightened his hands on the steering wheel.

“So how did you end up working for my grandfather?”

His grip grew even tighter. “I was just wandering. We ran into each other and he told me he was looking for help to get the old place up and running. Lucky for me, I had some time and experience.”

His experience with grounds keeping had been limited to his lawn-cutting business during high school. But that had been enough for Buddy, who, he suspected, had hired him because he wanted the company as much as Oliver’s strong back. And it had helped that Oliver was connected to the estate. He also suspected Buddy had sensed Oliver needed to be there, to work hard, not think and stay away from most of the world.

The old man had asked him if he was a criminal hiding out from the law. When Oliver had sworn he was not, they’d shaken hands and that had been that. Four months later, after studying everything he could find on the wine business, Oliver had calluses on his blisters, muscles in places he’d never known he’d needed them and the beginnings of a clear head.

“Sorry, but you just don’t look much like a gardener,” she said, obviously realizing he was prevaricating.

He cast her a sideways glance and let a faint smile lift the corner of his mouth. “You don’t look much like a fashion designer, either.”

Instead of taking offense, she barked a laugh and lifted a hand to her sopping ponytail. “Touché. I know I’m a mess. Aside from the horrible bed, a cricket kept chirping somewhere inside the house. And the water in the shower ranged from cold to frigid.”

“Devastating,” he murmured.

She continued, “There’s not a hair dryer in sight, because, of course, Grandpa doesn’t need one. I almost stuck my head over the stove but figured that might be pushing it.”

“Knowing how dangerous things tend to happen when you’re in a kitchen, that was probably a good call. And we don’t want to tax rescue services with a call about a fire. They were already out here once this week.”

“Did I mention that the airline misplaced my big suitcase? I only had my carry-on, which is why I’m wearing the old clothes that my sister left here when she came to visit a year ago.”

Judging by the clothes, the sister was a different type of dresser altogether.

“We can run by a store later if you need to shop,” he said.

“If the airline doesn’t show up with my things within a couple of days, I might have to take you up on that. I had the basic necessities in my carry-on, but I’ll be out of stuff pretty soon.”

“Are you really going to stick around for a while?” he asked, wondering if she truly intended to stay for weeks. Man, he hoped not. He was supposed to be enjoying a retreat from the real world. But this talkative, beautiful woman had brought it crashing in on him like the winds of a hurricane.

“Maybe. I’m between projects and was supposed to be going out of town for a couple of weeks anyway,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning against her window to look out at the passing scenery. “This isn’t exactly France, though.”

“You were going to France?”

She nodded but didn’t look over.

“Why would it have been better if you’d met me there?”

She jerked and swung around to stare at him. “What?”

“You said that last night.”

She bit that succulent bottom lip.

He prodded her. “Your exact words were, I believe, ‘Why, oh, God, why, didn’t I meet you in Paris?’”

She huffed. “Jeez, what are you, a transcriptionist?”

“I have a very good memory.”

“Obviously.”

“So?”

“So what?”

She was obviously trying to deflect, and he considered letting her get away with it. But something about that sad face and those slumped shoulders made him want to rile her up a little. He’d been raised with sisters, so he knew that nothing worked better to get them out of a sad slump than giving them something to be mad about.

“So, why would it have been better if you’d met me in Paris?”

“I was hysterical. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

“Not that hysterical. As I recall, you were pretty damned calm at that point. Sedate even.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Shall we talk about how you were at that point?”

Hell, if she thought he was going to apologize for getting a hard-on when he’d had a gorgeous woman in his arms, she had another think coming. “I have a Y chromosome. And you’re beautiful.”

Her bluff having been called, she looked away.

“Paris,” he reminded her.

Crossing her arms over her chest and harrumphing, she said, “I just meant if I was going to end up in some hot guy’s arms this week, it should have been in the city of light, not in my grandfather’s kitchen.”

He made a mental note of the hot, wondering if she even realized she’d just revealed a little more about her thoughts of last night.

Casting him an arch look, she added, “By the way, it could have been any guy’s arms.”

“Hot.”

“What?”

“You said any hot guy’s arms.”

“It’s like I’m riding with a digital voice recorder.”

“Like I said. Good memory.”

“The point is, I was just speaking in general terms about how a run-down old kitchen can’t compare to the most romantic city in the world. That’s all.”

He wasn’t buying it. “Didn’t sound that way.”

“Would you stop interrogating me?”

There was fire in her eyes now, and color in her cheeks. Indignation wafted from her, and he congratulated himself on getting her mind off her troubles. Let her be annoyed at him, and engage in a little verbal sparring. At least it would be a few minutes less she spent worrying about her obviously deeply loved grandfather.

“Why were you going to France?”

“Did you miss the part about not interrogating me?”

“It’s just a simple question.”

“One that’s really none of your business.”

“So, not for work, then.”

She just huffed.

He speculated aloud. “If there was a possibility you’d end up in some random guy’s arms, you obviously weren’t meeting up with a boyfriend.”

“Did you also miss the part where I said it was about kitchen vs. Paris and not about a stupid man?”

“Your boyfriend’s stupid?”

“Argh!”

Defense attorneys hadn’t called him the Honey Badger of Hollywood for no reason. Oliver had been born with a persistent gene. “Was that an answer?”

“I don’t have a stupid boyfriend.”

“Well he can’t be very smart if he lets you come alone up to Sonoma to be stalked by a potential ax-murdering maniac in your grandfather’s kitchen.”

“There’s no boyfriend, okay? Stupid or otherwise!”

He’d known that’s what she was saying but was glad for the confirmation, anyway. He couldn’t say why that certainty sent a hint of relief gushing through his veins, but it did. “Well, that’s good. I’m afraid I’d lose a little respect for you if you liked stupid guys.”

“Right now, they’re sounding very appealing,” she mumbled.

“Low standards, huh?”

“No, I just wouldn’t have to be couching every word I say so it couldn’t be used against me in a court of law.”

That was striking a little close to home. “Because a stupid guy would understand you better?”

“No, because I wouldn’t give a damn if he didn’t!”

“You calling me smart, and saying you give a damn?” He wondered if she could see his half smirk. “Gee, hot and smart in one conversation. Better watch it, Miss Reid, or you’ll make my head swell.”

“Shut up, all right? Just. Stop. Talking.”

He finally started to laugh. The sound felt a little rusty; he didn’t make it very often anymore. And after a few seconds, she slowly joined in.

“You did that on purpose.”

“Maybe.”

“Women must threaten your life on a regular basis.”

“I guess.”

They were silent for a moment, then she sighed softly and said, “Thank you.”

She didn’t have to elaborate. He knew what she meant. So he merely replied, “You’re welcome.”

A few minutes later, they arrived at the hospital. Seeing it ratcheted up her tension again, and she was yanking the handle and hopping out of the truck the second he parked. He caught up with her at the hospital entrance and escorted her to Buddy’s room.

After a soft knock, they entered to find the old man dozing. He was still hooked up to machines and a morphine drip and probably looked pretty bad to his granddaughter. But compared to how he’d looked after he’d fallen yesterday, this was quite an improvement. Oliver wasn’t sure he’d ever get over the terror he’d felt when he’d heard the loud cry of pain and he’d run around the house to see Buddy lying on the ground, looking like a fragile, broken porcelain doll.

“Grandpa?”

The eyes shot open and the old man turned to stare at her, his blue eyes shining with vitality and affection. “Candy-cane, what are you doing here?” He cast a glance at Oliver. “I told you not to worry anybody.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, bending to kiss his forehead. She tenderly brushed away a long strand of silvery hair—used in the ultimate old-man comb-over to cover the sizable bald spot on his pate. “Mom was going to come herself…”

“Ridiculous! She needs to stay in Florida and take care of your stodgy old fart of a father.”

Seeing the smile on Candace’s face, and the matching one on Buddy’s, Oliver could only think theirs was a closeknit family and the joke was an old one. Buddy had to be at least eighty, but he was usually as peppy and energetic as a much-younger man.

“Well, that’s why I came, to scope out the situation and see if she needed to visit.”

“She doesn’t!”

“You certainly seem peppy.”

“I’m feeling no pain,” he admitted. “You really don’t have to stay.”

“Of course I’m staying. I’ll be here when you get out of surgery, and I’ll be at your house waiting for you when you come home.”

He didn’t argue anymore, looking visibly touched and showing just the faintest hint of vulnerability. Buddy might not want to be a bother, but when it came to being in the hospital, nothing beat having family nearby. The old man hadn’t said anything about being nervous about his operation, but considering he hadn’t been expecting any such thing twenty-four hours ago, he had to be worried about it.

“I think I’ll give you two some time alone,” Oliver said. “Buddy, I just wanted to say I’m here and hope everything goes well with the surgery. I have no doubt you’ll be kicking up clods of dirt and rocks in no time.”

His boss nodded. “Thank you for bringing my grandbaby to see me.”

“Not a problem.”

“You’ll make sure she’s okay out there at the house? It’s awfully lonely and desolate for a helpless young girl on her own.”

He saw Candace roll her eyes at the description. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “I certainly don’t need a babysitter.”

“Humor an old man. Promise me you’ll let Oliver look after you.”

She glanced back and forth between them, her mouth opening and snapping closed. Obviously she didn’t want to promise any such thing. However, she didn’t want to upset her elderly relative, either. Finally, she hedged. “If I need anything, I’ll be sure to ask him.”

That could range from needing a roll of toilet paper to needing a spider killed. What it wasn’t was an agreement to let him watch over her.

“Promise?”

She obviously didn’t like being pressed, and mumbled, “If there’s a dire emergency, Oliver is the first one I’ll call.”

Buddy didn’t appear thrilled by the concession, but apparently knew he’d pushed hard enough. “All right.” Then he extended his hand. “Thank you again, Oliver.”

Oliver walked over for a handshake, but when he tried to end it, the old man didn’t let go. Instead, Buddy clutched his hand, while also holding his granddaughter’s.

“So, you two are getting along okay?”

If Cupid had ever suffered from a broken hip, he’d probably have taken a day off. Not so for Buddy Frye.

“Grandpa,” she said warningly.

“She’s already tried to kill me,” Oliver said, caught off guard.

Buddy snickered. Obviously the pain meds were still in fine working order. Eyeing Candace, he said, “Did I ever tell you about what your grandma did to me once, back when we were dating? She shoved me in front of a moving car.”

“No, you didn’t tell me, and I don’t believe it,” she replied a little primly. Then she gave Oliver a look that said, Don’t you dare make fun of me about this.

“Yep. She said I was smiling too much at a waitress, so she pushed me into the street. My, that woman loved me.”

“She had a funny way of showing it,” Oliver couldn’t help mumbling. “Imagine if you’d ever really flirted with someone. You’d have been nose-to-nose with a freight train.”

Candace obviously heard and her lips quirked.

“I just want you two to get along,” Buddy said, settling deeper into his bed and arranging his covers over himself. He wasn’t looking at either of them. “I think you probably have a lot in common.”

“I doubt it,” Candace said, her tone saying the subject was at an end.

Oliver didn’t back her up, or offer her a reassuring glance. He couldn’t deny he found the idea of her grandfather playing matchmaker pretty cute, even if the very idea that she’d need him to was ridiculous. The woman was smart, beautiful, funny…she wouldn’t need an elderly relative fixing her up. He suspected she could have just about any man she wanted.

She wants a stupid, foreign one, he reminded himself. Not you.

Which was just as well. He’d already decided he was not getting personally involved with Candace Reid. So the less time he spent in her company, the better.

She could take care of herself, of that he had no doubt. He would remember Buddy’s request and help her in the case of a major emergency, like if the pipes burst or a robber turned up. But as far as spiders and toilet paper went, she was on her own, and he was steering clear.

It was better that way…for both of them.

4

IT WAS THE size of a Volkswagen.

Big, hairy, with a million eyes and fuzzy spiked legs and probably a sac full of poison hidden on its bulbous body.

Spiders. God, she hated spiders. Especially spiders who were blocking the only exit from the kitchen, where she stood, wearing a filmy, short little bathrobe, freezing her butt off because she’d come down to put coffee on right after she’d gotten out of the cold-as-ice shower.

“Go away,” she ordered in a quivery voice.

The spider ignored her and remained planted right in her path. Beady little pinpoint eyes stared up at her, red and angry—or maybe not, but they looked that way to her—and she knew if he had a mouth, it was smirking.

She edged backward toward the stove, thankful she’d glanced down before walking out of the kitchen, because if she’d placed her bare foot on that furry little beast, she would have screamed loud enough for Tommy to hear her back in L.A. Besides, the little creature looked big enough to have flung her off rather than being smashed flat.

Candace wasn’t scared by much. Snakes didn’t bother her; she had been skydiving so she wasn’t afraid of heights. She’d even bungee jumped off a bridge in Mexico once. She’d stared down more than her fair share of grubby dudes with cheesy come-on lines on the street.

But bugs? Spiders in particular?

The little bastards terrified her.

“Candace?” a voice called. A voice that was familiar, even though she hadn’t talked to him much in the past few days.

She and Oliver, as if by unspoken agreement, had spent little time together since the morning her grandfather had tried to fix them up. When they’d left late that day, after visiting with Grandpa in the recovery room, Oliver had brought her to a car rental place so she could get her own vehicle. She didn’t want to have to rely on him to run her back and forth to the hospital, which was where she spent most of her time. They ran into each other there on occasion, had grabbed coffee or a quick lunch and engaged in a little small talk. But as if they both realized they probably shouldn’t spend too much time together out at the house, where they were entirely alone, they’d avoided interaction. They exchanged mostly waves as they were coming or going, or when he was working out on the grounds, and she was watching him while pretending she wasn’t at all interested.

Any woman would be interested. It was bad enough seeing him inside at the hospital, clothed and respectable. When he worked, when he stripped off his shirt to wipe his sweaty, dirty face, and those muscles rippled and gleamed, he was male beauty in motion. The few times they had talked at home, she’d done everything she could to keep from revealing how incredibly attracted she was to him. Sometimes, though, she caught him staring at her, and suspected she wasn’t doing a very good job.

She only wished he would do something to reveal whether or not he felt the same way. So far, he hadn’t. He’d been cordial and polite, never more than that, as if she’d suddenly become his employer now that Grandpa was out of commission.

Got a task for you there, Mr. Groundskeeper. How about doing a little plowing for me?

She scrunched her eyes shut, muttering, “Not French, not stupid, off-limits.”

“Candace? Are you here?”

“In the kitchen,” she said, not sure whether she was hoping he would turn right back around and leave, or that he’d stride in and accidentally squish Mr. Spider so she wouldn’t have to (A) deal with the arachnid herself, or (B) technically ask for Oliver’s help.

“I just wanted to let you know your suitcase has finally made it. The delivery service just left it on the porch. I signed for it.”

Oh, thank goodness. She’d been fighting with the airline about it all week, fearing she would have to put in a claim to replace everything she’d packed for the trip. She’d run out of her sister Madison’s left-behind clothes and had had to wash and rewash the few items she’d had in her small carry-on bag. Especially the panties. Hmm. Funny how she’d gone through panties at a record rate since she’d met Oliver. That man ought to buy stock in Victoria’s Secret.

“I’ll bring it in. Do you want me to haul it up to your room?”

She nibbled her lip, wanting no such thing. Oliver in her bedroom, near her messed bed with the silky nightie tossed carelessly on top? Him filling her private space with that delectable, intoxicating man smell?

Hell, no. She was already having the most intense, erotic dreams about the guy without ever having to picture him near her bed. No way was she going to invite even hotter ones.

“No, it’s okay. You can just leave it in the hall.”

She waited to hear him bring in the bag and leave. Waited for an acknowledgment—something. But there was nothing but silence. Frowning, she risked edging a tiny bit closer to the doorway, never taking her eyes off her fuzzy enemy, who showed no signs of moving out of the way. She briefly considered jumping over him, but had the most horrible vision of him launching up while she was split-legged above him. For all she knew, he could be the bug world-record holder at the high jump. Considering she wore nothing but the short robe, she wasn’t prepared to even think about where he might land if he leaped. Her vajayjay might have grown cobwebs from disuse, but that was taking things a step too far.

She desperately wanted to go out and make sure Oliver was gone, then dash up the stairs and put some clothes on before he could come back, but it looked like she was going to be involved in a spider standoff for hours. Thinking, she finally grabbed the broom and tried waving it in his general direction. But it wasn’t until she got the bristles to within six inches or so that the thing began to move.

Straight toward her.

“No—get away from me!”

A hard pounding emerged from the hallway. She recognized it as running footsteps just as Oliver burst into the kitchen. He didn’t hold a rake this time, but the look on his face said he expected trouble.

“What is it?” he snapped as he scanned the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. Though, when she saw where he stood, she didn’t have to force it any further. Because unless the creepy crawly had moved really fast, he was right now stuck to the bottom of a man’s thicksoled work boot. Although she loved most creatures, she wasn’t about to start playing a dirge for that one, who’d looked like a mad scientist’s experimental cross between a bug and a dinosaur.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody. I thought you’d left.”

“I was bringing in your suitcase,” he explained, walking closer, studying her face to see if she was lying, perhaps covering for a bad guy hiding in the pantry. He obviously wasn’t going to go away without an explanation.

Knowing she had to, she admitted in a voice a little above a whisper, “There was a spider.”

His frown disappeared. A twinkle might have appeared in those dark bedroom eyes, but he had the courtesy not to smile. “One that speaks English and follows orders?”

“Ha-ha, very funny. That thing was huge. I mean, it could have been wearing a mask, swinging from webs and looking for the Green Goblin!”

“Comic book fan, huh?”

“Movie biz, remember?”

And considering Tommy was hoping to be cast as the latest comic hero, he’d made her watch a bunch of them recently. She wasn’t a huge fan of the genre, but had to admit, some of those guys did an awesome job filling out their clingy costumes. She’d become a huge Jeremy Renner fan in the past year and fantasized about getting to dress him. Undressing him would be a mighty fine experience, too.

“So where is this huge mutant creature?”

“Gone.”

“Where’d he go?”

“I think onto the bottom of your shoe.”

“You sure? I didn’t hear anything that sounded like the crushing of a colossus.”

“Well, he’s not…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes rounded as she saw a black leg disappearing behind the table leg. She squeaked, grabbed his arm and ducked behind him. “Oh, God.”

“What?”

Keeping her voice low, as if they were facing a ravaging tiger, she replied, “He’s right over there.”

He followed her gaze and snorted. “That’s your monster spider? He’s tiny.”

“That thing’s as big as my hand!” Closing her eyes, she begged, “Please take it away, Oliver. I’ll pay you…. I’ll bake you a cake, cook you dinner. Just please get it out of here.”

“Are you a good cook?”

“The best. Excellent. Cordon Bleu. Restaurants vie for my services.”

“Are you lying?”

“Oh, hell, yes. Right through my teeth. Now would you please help me?”

“I thought you didn’t need any help except in the most dire emergency.”

“This is dire.”

“Are you an arachnophobe?”

“If that means I am utterly terrified to my bones and feel like I’m going to throw up if I so much as glimpse a spider, then yes, that’s me.”

“Gotcha.”

He didn’t tease her anymore, as if knowing she wasn’t playing the weak girlie-girl in some effort to entice him. Not, she hoped, that he would ever expect her to. Turning, he grabbed the dustpan, then unhooked her death grip from the broom. Drawing on his primal, caveman-hunter genes, he stalked the monster, deftly swept it into the pan and carried it toward the front door.

“Are you just going to let it go?” she asked, following him. “What if it gets back in?”

“I’m sure he’d be too afraid to risk it. You’re pretty intimidating.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t squish it?”

“Bloodthirsty, aren’t you?”

She thought about it. She wasn’t, really. Still, some things were just beyond the bounds of humanity, and sharing a house with a big honking spider was one of them.

“You’ll be glad for him during mosquito season.”

“Maybe if they’re killer mosquitoes carrying the ebola virus. Otherwise, I’ll invest in calamine lotion and take my chances.”

He opened the door, walked outside and was back with the broom and dustpan a moment later. Leaning them both against the wall, he said, “All gone.”

Relieved, she drew in a deep breath and whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You okay now?”

She nodded slowly. “Oh, sure. Fine.”

Her pulse finally stopped racing and her muscles loosened. The nausea receded, as did the panic. Not for the first time in her life, she found herself wondering if an older cousin had dangled a spider in her face when she was a baby or something. Because her phobia about them had been lifelong and was, even she could admit it, a little obsessive. Now that her heart wasn’t thumping hard enough to beat out of her chest, she could acknowledge she might have overacted just a teeny, tiny bit.

Feeling almost normal, she waited for Oliver to turn and walk out the door. Considering he usually avoided her, that’s what she expected him to do. But for some reason, he didn’t leave. He just stood there, two feet away, drawing in slow, even breaths as he studied her.