Oliver froze, the blood draining from his face. A quick glance at Renee told him that the opposite was true for her. She was turning an unnatural shade of scarlet. She shot him a helpless look.
Oliver wanted to bolt but he couldn’t abandon Renee to Lucille’s questioning. “You should ask Lucille for some tips,” he said, ignoring the status of his britches. “She does most of the cooking for me. And she makes an amazing cinnamon roll. I know it’s not a cookie but...”
Bless her heart, Lucille said, “You should try a sugar cookie, honey. Once you get the basic dough recipe down, then you can start messing around with it.”
“I saw some recipes but they looked really complicated—lots of detailed icing,” Renee replied. “I don’t think I could do that.”
“You only need that much icing if you’ve got a boring cookie.” The older woman eyed the kitchen counters. “I don’t think anything you bake could ever be boring.”
Oliver could have kissed the woman. Renee looked relieved and that was the most important thing. “I did see some really cute things on Pinterest I wanted to try...”
And they were off. “I’ll be in my study—Bailey is emailing me,” Oliver mumbled, making a break for it. He didn’t know if it was a lie or not. Bailey probably had been emailing him.
He dropped into the chair and put his elbows on his desk. He was tempted to yank his hair out of his head, if only to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated the last two hours. Renee was right. None of this—the smoke alarms, the fire department, Lucille—would’ve happened if he’d been able to stick with the plan. He should’ve stayed in Dallas. Barring that, he should’ve kept his hands off her. And barring that...
He shouldn’t have teased her in the pond. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. A jumble of emotions churned in his chest. He wasn’t thinking straight and he knew it.
He wanted Renee. One time with her wasn’t going to be enough. If anything, he wanted her more now than he had before he’d stripped her bare and slid into her body.
He did not want her to burn his house down. Thus far, they’d had two close calls and he didn’t want to find out if the third time would be the charm.
He needed to make her laugh again, to see that joy lighting up her face. He didn’t want to see the shadows that hovered around her anymore.
And he’d completely failed her because people knew where she was now.
What a freaking mess.
So he did what he always did when things went sideways on him. He worked. He logged in and attacked the twenty-one emails that Bailey had sent him since 3:45 p.m. this afternoon with a fervor that bordered on possessed. He sent a message to Herb Ritter that he absolutely would make their 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. He reviewed the messages from Chloe summarizing how negotiations with ESPN were going. He ignored the ones from his father.
“Oliver?”
He jumped. How much time had passed? It wasn’t enough. Seeing Renee in the doorway to the study, her head tilted to the side, light from the hallway settling around her shoulders—he was terrified to realize it might never be enough. “How’s everything going?”
“Good. Really good.” She stepped into the room, but not very far. He could feel the distance between them. “Lucille’s going to bring over some recipes on Friday. I helped her with the dishes. There’s a right way and a wrong way to wash dishes, apparently.”
He knew that, but he said, “Who knew?” in a teasing tone.
She took another small step into the study. “I’m going to go take a shower. For some odd reason, I smell a little like a pond and charcoal.”
“Do you now?” Oliver couldn’t fight back the grin.
She nodded, putting together a reasonable appearance of innocence. “Will you...” She paused and straightened her shoulders, her chin coming up. Oliver didn’t like that look on her. But he was starting to recognize it for what it was—Renee putting her armor on. “Will you be here when I get out of the shower?”
Screw this distance. Oliver was out of his chair before he could think better of it, crossing the room and pulling her into his arms. “I won’t leave you without saying goodbye.”
That wasn’t what he wanted to say. Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted to say. It wasn’t like he was going to tell her he loved her. He cared for her, yes. He worried about her. He wanted her happy and well and safe. But that wasn’t love.
The problem was, he didn’t know what it was.
She looked at him, her eyes round with something that looked too much like fear. “Is this goodbye?”
This was not love. But it was definitely something more intense, more focused than he was used to feeling.
“No,” he said, brushing his lips over hers. “It’s not.”
She exhaled against his mouth and he deepened the kiss, clutching her tighter so that her body was pressed against his chest. His hands moved down her back, cupping her bottom and pulling her against him. She gasped as the hard length of his arousal made contact with the soft flesh under her belly.
He lost himself in her. That’s what this was. It wasn’t love and it wasn’t lust. He was simply lost to her.
God help him, he didn’t ever want to be found.
He already had her shirt half-off when a loud clatter echoed from the kitchen, followed by some of Lucille’s more creative language. Oliver and Renee broke apart, both breathing hard.
“I...” Blushing furiously, Renee backed away. “I need to shower.”
Oliver begged to disagree. What she needed was to stay right here in his arms. Preferably with less clothing between them. But he didn’t say that out loud. He needed to put more space between them. He needed to get his thoughts—and his
