So she brushed her lips against his and said, “I’ll stay,” because he’d done everything in his power to protect her. He’d made her feel good again. For heaven’s sake, he hadn’t even been that upset about the ruined cookies.
By the time she finished in the bathroom, Oliver had carried her bag in. “You’re going to need more clothes,” he said absentmindedly as he stared at the solitary piece of her luggage.
She didn’t exactly have the money for new things, so she said, “It’s not a big deal. I can do laundry.”
Actually, she wasn’t sure she could but that had to be one of those things that came with instructions. At the very least, Lucille should be able to walk her through the process while minimizing fire hazards.
Oliver looked up at her like she might be crazy. He must’ve taken advantage of the other bathroom because, while he had taken off his button-up shirt, he was still in his trousers and undershirt and she was completely nude. There was no missing the appreciative gleam in his eye but she was suddenly tired and feeling self-conscious. Her hands dropped to her thighs, covering the scars, but she thought she did so casually enough that he hadn’t noticed.
If he wasn’t naked, she wasn’t going to parade about. The nightstand on the right side of his bed had the alarm clock, so she walked around to the other side and slid under the covers. She immediately felt better.
“You’re just going to walk around braless? What happens when you need to leave the house?”
That was a good question. Suddenly, she had a feeling that Oliver was going to insist that she allow him to buy her clothes.
Because that’s who Oliver was. If he saw a problem, he was honor-bound to find a solution. She had enough clothes for a week—but in another few weeks, she’d be pushing her luck with the underwear. She had a month, tops, in her yoga pants. Maybe another month in her loose tunic tops. And Oliver was right—eventually, she’d need a bra again. But if anyone caught wind of Oliver buying maternity clothes...
Destroyed. That was the only word for it.
To distract him, she arranged herself on the bed in what she hoped was an inviting way, making sure to suck in her stomach while the sheet fell down off her hips—but stayed above the scars on her thighs. “I thought you requested I not leave.”
“You’re not Rapunzel. I’m not going to lock you in a tower.” His eyes darkened as he looked her over. “Although it’s damned tempting to keep you all to myself for the weekend, at least.”
Tempting. She liked that. She could still be tempting. And she could have him all to herself for the next few days. “What was that about the weekend?”
He made a noise that was part growl, part groan and all need. But then he paused. “Can I get you anything before I join you? Water? A snack?”
And that, in a nutshell, was why she was in Oliver’s bed. “Just you.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. He flung his clothing off and was between the sheets within moments. When he pulled her against his chest and pressed a kiss to her forehead that would’ve been tender if there hadn’t been so much heat packed into it, Renee sighed with pleasure. As soon as she settled in his arms, though, her eyes began to drift closed. It had been a very long day...
When Oliver spoke, she startled back awake. “I have to go to work tomorrow and Friday,” he said apologetically. “I’ve put this meeting off twice and there’s no avoiding it. By Sunday we should know if anyone has connected you to Red Oak Hill. If not, I’d like to take you out. We’ve got museums or movies or the theater or—”
“Gosh, like a real city?” she couldn’t help quipping. She ruined the sarcasm by yawning, however.
“Smart-ass.” But as he said it, he began to stroke her hair. “There’s a pretty park with a pond and ducks about a block away—we can just take a walk. Although I wouldn’t recommend that at high noon, unless you enjoy sweating. Whatever you want—I’m yours for the weekend.”
“I’ll think about it.” She was too damned tired to make any sort of decision right now. It was probably for the best that Oliver was going to work tomorrow. Today had been wild on about six different levels and she needed to recover.
But...there was something she wanted to do before Saturday. “Would it be all right if I called Chloe tomorrow?” So much had happened in the last week—which was saying something, because a lot had happened in the last five months. If she vented to Oliver, she knew he’d listen—but she also knew that he’d try to solve the problem. And she didn’t want to be his problem.
She really needed a girlfriend, which meant Chloe. Frankly, there wasn’t anyone else.
She felt the tension ripple through Oliver but as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. “I don’t see why not. I’m sure if you explain the situation, she’ll keep your whereabouts quiet. And she’s launching a new clothing line, so she might be able to help with the clothes.”
She smiled against his skin. Even when he wasn’t solving the problem, he was still solving the problem. Men. This man.
Mine, her brain whispered as she yawned again. She was his and he was hers...wasn’t he?
“I’ll call her. But I won’t tell her about us,” she murmured against his chest. She wished Chloe were here, although...if she were, there would be no hiding the fact that Renee and Oliver were sleeping together. Or they were going to, shortly. Very shortly.
As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard him whisper, “I doubt that’ll make much of a difference.”
* * *
“You’re where?” Chloe Lawrence squealed in
