Although Oliver would avoid his father’s mistakes, his track record wasn’t exactly a glowing representation of stability and good decision making. He could intend to put his child’s needs first, but did he have what it took to make anyone happy? Already he was doubting the wisdom of inviting Sammi to stay.
He wasn’t convinced he could resist his attraction to her. Or if he should. Time and distance hadn’t dimmed his desire, and during the last six weeks their situation had grown way more complicated.
On the other hand, maintaining an emotional distance didn’t preclude him from enjoying the physical chemistry between them. He just needed to be clear and up front about his aversion to any sort of emotional commitment. The last thing he wanted to do was lead her on.
Several hours later, unsatisfied by the work he’d accomplished, he headed upstairs to find Sammi seated at the dining room table, a notebook open before her, the lined page filled with colorful sentences. She sat with one foot braced on the chair seat, her shoulders hunched as she wrote. Instead of the jeans and T-shirt she’d arrived in, Sammi had donned a pair of black wide-leg pants and a tan oversize shirt. Her long dark hair fell around her face, obscuring her profile.
Oliver studied her for several seconds, lost in the lightning flash of attraction she inspired. Now that the crisis resulting from her accident was behind them, his strongest desire was to crush her in his arms and kiss her until they were both delirious and panting. If not for the dark circles beneath her eyes, which enhanced her paleness and fragility, he might have swept her up and taken her to his bedroom.
Instead, he sat down at the table across from her, putting the width of the furniture piece between them to thwart his overpowering need to touch her.
“Did you get any rest?”
“It’s impossible when my brain is spinning.” Her brown eyes were soft with exasperation. “I have so much to do, and to be honest, most of it terrifies me.”
Oliver froze. What was she getting at? He wasn’t prepared for the air between them to electrify as she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. His inability to read her didn’t stop him from imagining how he’d like to slip her out of her shirt and expose her perfect round breasts with their delightful rosy nipples. His body tightened with need as he let his gaze play over her. If she’d dressed in the oversize clothing to hide her body from him, she’d underestimated his imagination.
His thoughts must’ve shown clearly in his expression, because her cheeks flushed with healthy color. He worked his jaw to hide a smirk, delighted to see she wasn’t immune to the chemistry between them.
“What are you working on?” He gestured at the notebook.
“The rest of my life.”
She closed the notebook in a rush before he could read any of what she’d written. Although he appreciated her right to privacy, irritation flared at her vague answer. Oliver shut down the emotion. The extent to which she intrigued him was unsettling.
As curious as he was about her plans, he knew if the tables were turned, he’d resist being pushed to share his thoughts, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Come to any conclusions?”
“None.” She pulled a face. “I’m just making a list of things I like. What’s that phrase? Do what you love and the money will follow.”
“What do you love?”
To his surprise, she flipped to a page in the notebook and turned it so he could read her writing. “Here’s what I have so far, and none of it is going to produce income.”
“I see what you mean,” he said, pointing to one item. “Morning sunshine on your face is impossible to package and sell.”
“I know.” She reached out and took the notebook back before he could make more than a cursory pass. “The problem I’m having is that modeling is all I’ve ever done.” She glanced up at him. “After you quit, how did you decide to become a photographer?”
“I...it was something I liked to do when I was a kid.”
“So how come you didn’t pursue photography first instead of becoming a model?”
Pain exploded in Oliver’s chest. “I didn’t think I was any damned good at it,” he growled, his stark explanation making her wince. He held still, expecting her to counter with a question. Instead, she waited him out, and her attentive listening encouraged him to keep going. “My brother is a fantastic painter, and even though my dad considered being an artist a hobby rather than a vocation, he appreciated Josh’s talent. When it came to me, though... ‘Photography is something anyone can do.’” Despite not hearing his father’s voice for fifteen years, Oliver mimicked Vernon’s derisive drawl perfectly.
“But your work is fantastic,” Sammi said, gesturing to the wall where he’d mounted some of his favorite magazine covers. “People connect with it because it’s so emotional.”
“Emotion wasn’t something my father had much patience for.” A layer of ice formed over Oliver’s soul as he thought back to his childhood and the absence of affection from Vernon Lowell. “He was a coldhearted businessman, obsessed with money and what it could buy. The only way he appreciated art was for its intrinsic value rather than its aesthetic.”
Sammi nodded her understanding. “My mom has always treated my looks as a commodity. Even now, when people tell me I’m beautiful, I never take it as a compliment.”
That she couldn’t appreciate just how heartbreakingly gorgeous she
