A sickening wave of loss twisted his insides at the thought of Renee giving birth without anyone beside her to fight for her and that baby. Even if it wasn’t him, at least he could make sure Chloe was there. Just so long as Renee knew she wasn’t alone.
He shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself by months. Years. Doctors and lawyers were all well and good, but it wasn’t like he was asking Renee to stay forever. Chloe was right about that, at least. Renee’s life was too complicated for anyone to be thinking about anything more long-term. There were still trials and plea deals to work through and the media to avoid. He needed to focus on the next three weeks. After that, he’d focus on the next three weeks.
Right. He needed roses and chocolate chips. And more condoms. But those he was getting himself. Because, while he trusted Bailey completely, there was no way in hell Oliver was asking anyone else to pick up protection.
Because that’s all this was. He was protecting Renee, damn it.
And if that meant he had to go to the rodeo, then he’d suck it up.
For her. Only for her.
* * *
“Can I ask you a question?”
Breathing hard, Renee managed to open one eye and peer up at him. “I’m going to need five minutes to recover,” she wheezed. The man was simply the best—and most intense—lover she’d ever had.
At least this time they’d made it to his bed. There was something to be said for actual sheets and pillows. Plus, the air was scented with roses and the smell of them together.
He’d brought her flowers. It was a ridiculously sweet thing and if she thought about it too much, she might get teary.
He grinned. “Not that.” Moving slow, he skimmed the sheet down her body. At first, Renee thought he was going for another seduction—right until he unveiled the scars. “These.”
Renee’s lungs seized up. How could she have thought that he wouldn’t notice them? Oliver was the most attentive, thoughtful and observant man she’d ever know.
But old habits died hard. She felt her chin lift and her shoulders square, which was impressive considering she was sprawled out over at least three of the four pillows on the bed. “These what?”
“Renee,” he said, giving her a look. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” But even as the words left her mouth, she winced. Stupid defense mechanisms.
“That. When you put on your armor. You don’t have to do that with me. And these are...weird.” He looked at her thighs, catching her hands before she could cover them. “I thought they were freckles but they’re too regularly spaced and all grouped together. And your right leg has a lot more of them.”
How, exactly, did someone say, Oh, those? That’s just what happens when you repeatedly jab a fork into human skin. What of it? She had no idea.
But if she said, I don’t want to talk about them, then Oliver would wonder. And he’d ask again. He wouldn’t take the pat answer at face value because he was the rare man who actually wanted the truth instead of pretty little lies.
And she didn’t want to lie to him. She wanted there to be truth and trust between them.
Funny how those things were easier said than done.
Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the rows of tiny scars. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want. But if you change your mind, I’ll be here.”
Really, the man was too perfect. She exhaled slowly and then, when she was sure her hand wasn’t shaking, ran her fingers through his hair. “All right.”
He rested his head on her leg, staring up at her with something that sure seemed like adoration. She was just happy he could still see around her belly. Honestly, between the pregnancy and the cookies, she was impressed she hadn’t got bigger than she already had. “Do you want to go to the rodeo?”
“Maybe.” She relaxed back into the pillows and stroked his hair. “But you hate the rodeo.”
He grinned and she almost wished she could take a picture to show Chloe and say, See? He can have fun. “I can be mildly inconvenienced for an evening if you want to see the Princess of the Rodeo in action,” he said as he moved to lie down by her side again. She couldn’t help but think he sounded resigned to the fact. “Who knows—maybe we’ll get lucky and Flash will get stepped on.”
She burst out laughing.
He notched an eyebrow at her. “What?”
“Chloe said the same thing. I’m sensing a theme.”
“It’ll be fine. We won’t be in the stands—there’s usually a separate seating section for the VIPs,” he said, stroking a finger down her cheek. “Brooke Bonner is the musical act that night, too. We’ll make a date of it. If you want.”
She thought about that. “It can’t be any riskier than going to a museum, right? And I do like Brooke’s music. Country rockabilly or whatever—it’s good girl power music.”
“Then we’ll go.” He squeezed her tight.
Her heart ached with a strange sort of happiness. It was such an unusual feeling, knowing that someone was willing to do something they didn’t want to just for her.
She curled back against his side. “Oh, I ordered a few things today to go with the clothing Chloe’s sending.”
“Hmm?”
“A new bra. And matching panties.”
Oliver groaned, which made her laugh again.
She hadn’t been able to spend the money on her usual brand—La Perla was not cheap. But she’d found some cute sets at a discount site for less than fifty dollars, which was as much as she could comfortably spend. Then she’d done her best to guess on sizes, erring on the side of caution. If they were too big right now, they’d fit eventually.
“I can’t wait to see them.”
“Well, you’ll get to
