“That’s...” She cleared her throat and broke the contact between them. “That’s fine. I’m sure you have someone waiting on you to get home.” She had to turn away when she said it.
It was for the best if he left. She’d come here for the peace and quiet, right? And she definitely didn’t feel peaceful when Oliver was around. Far from it.
He snorted. “Renee.”
She put her face back together. She could do this. She didn’t want to worry him and besides, she was probably just hungry. And pregnant. It wasn’t a great combination. “Yes?”
He’d retreated back to his desk. She could feel the distance between them and, irrational as it was, she hated it. “I won’t leave until you’re settled.”
She bit back the laugh. She might never be settled again. But instead, she said, “I appreciate it.”
“I won’t be able to get back out here for a few days,” he went on, sounding nothing like the man who’d been holding her moments ago. “But if you need anything—clothes, medicines, weird foods—just let me know. I’ll plan on spending at least part of the weekend out here.”
Was he coming to see her or to babysit her? “All right.”
He looked at something on his computer and then put his phone in his pocket. “And to answer your other question,” he said, walking back toward her, “no, there’s no one waiting on me at home. But I do have to work tomorrow. It’s...”
“Rodeo season,” she finished, trying hard not to smile. It shouldn’t matter that he was available and that she was—well, maybe not available. But certainly unattached.
But it did.
“Dinner?” he said, a friendly smile on his face. His dimple didn’t show.
Right. He was being friendly because they were friends and nothing more.
“Dinner,” she agreed.
At the very least, it was good to have a friend.
Even if he was Oliver Lawrence.
* * *
The whole drive back to Dallas, Oliver tried to solve the problem that was Renee Preston-Willoughby.
He failed.
Instead of running through viable solutions to keep Renee safe and secure for the short and medium term—possibly up to and including the birth of her child—he was thinking of how she’d looked when she’d stepped into his study this afternoon. Gone were the hideous black dress, the dark hose and the understated black pumps. And in their place...
Oliver did not know a great deal about women’s fashion, but he recognized the kind of clothes Renee had been wearing. Chloe loved to knock around in the same kind of leggings and loose tops.
It was safe to say that he had a vastly different reaction to Renee in leggings than he did his sister.
The top had come to just below her hips, leaving every curve of her legs outlined in tight black fabric. It’d taken everything in his power not to picture those legs wrapped around his waist at the time. The last thing anyone needed was for him to get a raging hard-on at the exact moment she’d needed to be comforted by a platonic friend.
Now? He adjusted his pants. He had a long drive ahead of him.
Damn, this was ridiculous. He had a million things he needed to do and none of them involved replaying the way Renee’s body had fitted against his over in his mind. What he should be doing was talking to Bailey and getting caught up on everything Oliver had missed while he was out of the office today. Yeah, his executive assistant had probably already left work for the day, but Oliver was the CEO and if he needed Bailey to work late, then Bailey worked late.
Then again, Bailey was always talking about his wife and the latest adorable thing their two-year-old son was doing and Oliver would feel bad interrupting his dinner. A man should spend time with his family. He should be involved in the lives of his children.
No, Oliver couldn’t in good conscience bother Bailey after work hours.
Which apparently meant he was going to think about Renee. She had looked so much better after her nap. Still tired, still worried—but she’d been softer. Not as brittle.
That made him feel good. He had given her that.
But that was all he could give her. It didn’t matter how much his body responded to hers, how much it hit him in the chest when she smiled—or how much it killed him when her eyes watered but instead of crying, her whole face went oddly blank. What he wanted didn’t matter.
He would repeat that sentiment until he got it through his thick skull.
Because it didn’t matter that he had finally given in to his impulse and pulled her tight in his arms in the office. It made no difference when he’d felt the tension drain out of her body and it didn’t matter that, a moment or two later, he felt the different tension begin to work its way through her. It had no bearing on anything that being around Renee was a slow burn of torture.
Oliver was no angel. He’d been caught up in the throes of lust from time to time. Those affairs had always burned white-hot but fizzled out after a matter of months, if not weeks. He and his lady friends had parted ways with a smile and a fond farewell.
So he knew this attraction wasn’t just lust. His whole body was not on fire for Renee Preston-Willoughby.
Had he seriously told her that he wouldn’t be back until maybe the
