“Why, in the name of all that is holy,” he sputtered, dumping the ruined cookies into the sink, “was the oven set to five hundred degrees?”
God, she was an idiot. “Oh! I forgot to preheat it so I thought I’d turn it on high to make up for it and I must have forgot to put it back down to the right temperature.”
He laughed so hard that he slapped his thigh. She had to wrap her arms around her stomach to make sure she didn’t accidentally wet her panties. When she thought she had herself under control, she eyed the mud puddles. They clearly had spread beyond the ability of the cookie sheet to contain them—but now that they were charred, they weren’t going anywhere. “I may owe you some new cookie sheets,” she said, which set off another round of giggles.
“What did you do to those poor things?” He grabbed the spoon she’d used to scoop out the dough and poked at the closest mud puddle.
And then they were off again. God, when was the last time she’d laughed?
She couldn’t remember when. How sad.
But she was laughing too hard to let self-pity take control. She sagged into Oliver’s arms and he buried his head against her shoulder, which didn’t do a whole lot to muffle the almost unholy noises of glee he was making. They both were making.
Eventually, the giggles subsided. But her arms were still around Oliver and his arms were around her and he’d promised he’d always come back for her and then he’d almost kissed her, and she still wasn’t wearing a bra.
“It’s a good thing I came out here to check on you,” he murmured against the skin of her neck.
“It is,” she agreed, holding her breath. Would he kiss her again? Or let her kiss him? She shifted against him, bringing her breasts flush against his chest again. “I’d feel really bad if I’d burned your house down.”
“That would’ve been tragic.” Then she felt it, the press of his lips against the sensitive skin right below her ear.
She exhaled on a shudder as his mouth moved over her jaw. Then his lips were on hers and this time, it wasn’t a hesitant touch.
This time, he kissed her like he wanted her.
Even though she knew she shouldn’t because complicated would never be a strong enough word to describe her life, she kissed him back.
Months of sorrow and anger drifted away under the power of Oliver’s kiss. Because it was an amazing kiss, sweet and hot and a seduction, pure and simple. His hands circled her waist, his thumbs tracing a path along her lower ribs. All the while, his lips moving over hers, his tongue lapping at the corners of her mouth. She opened for him and his tongue swept inside, claiming her.
Branding her as his own.
Because he wanted her. Not because she was her father’s daughter, but in spite of that, Oliver Lawrence wanted her.
God, it was so good to be wanted.
So Renee kissed him back. She looped her arms around his neck and lost herself in the rhythm of their mouths meeting and parting and meeting again. Her body went hot and soft and hard all at once and she wanted him with a fierceness that left her dazed.
She wanted this to be real. She needed it to be honest and true.
But the niggling doubts in the back of her mind wouldn’t be quieted. Because what if it wasn’t? She couldn’t bear another person lying to her.
She pulled away. Slowly, but she did—and just in time, too, as Oliver’s hands had begun a slow but steady climb up her ribs and toward her aching breasts. She wanted him to touch her, wanted him to soothe the tension with his touch. With his mouth.
But she wasn’t going to throw herself at him. She wasn’t going to do anything until she was sure.
She had no idea what that certainty would look like, however.
He let her pull back, but he didn’t let her go. Instead, he clutched her to his chest, breathing hard. She curled into him, unwilling to break the contact.
“We should...” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “We should do the dishes.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of them moved.
He stroked her hair. “I’ll need to head back tonight. I have an early meeting tomorrow.”
That was a good thing. Because if she knew Oliver was asleep right down the hall, she might do something stupid, like slip into his bed in the middle of the night and pick up where they’d just left off.
Funny how him leaving didn’t feel like a good thing.
“You can’t miss your meetings,” she said, her voice wavering just a little. “Not for me.”
He made a snorting noise. “I might be able to come back out tomorrow night. Just to see how you’re doing. But I can’t make any promises.”
She smiled and hugged him tighter. “I’m going to try cookies again.”
“Maybe this time, you could follow the recipe?”
“Maybe,” she agreed.
They laughed and, as if by silent agreement, pulled away from each other. “Then we better wash the dishes.”
She grinned. The ways she’d messed up those cookies... “And find the baking soda.”
Six
He really didn’t have time for yet another three hours in the car, round-trip, plus however long it took to make sure Renee was doing okay and hadn’t set the oven on fire. He’d cut out of work an hour early today in an unsuccessful attempt to beat rush-hour traffic, which meant yet another meeting with Ritter had been pushed back. That wasn’t going to make his father happy.
Oliver needed to be focusing on his job. His jobs—he needed to check in on Chloe and see how the negotiations with ESPN were going.
Funny how that to-do list wasn’t stopping him from making the long drive out to Red Oak Hill again.
He pulled up in
