by Mara McQueen
She'd ran into this restaurant with the sole goal of getting some waffles and a decent coffee. Finally.
But after the sweet, sweet scent of fried bacon invaded her senses, she'd gone for the full English breakfast, at seven PM, and she was loving it.
After the last 24 hours, she deserved every greasy bite.
"Come now, people will start thinking I was a horrid host."
The bane and light of her existence, Kieran Bolton, wicked heir extraordinaire, chuckled as he dug into his sparse meal—scones and some jam he'd barely glanced at and which Olivia would probably steal once she finished her own plate.
"I don't understand how you're not famished," she said between mouthfuls.
"I am." He looked at her from behind those long eyelashes of his, piercing gaze telling her he was most definitely not talking about food.
That look of his, promising such deliciously mischievous things without saying a word, could be her undoing.
It was easy, pretending they were a normal couple which hadn't almost lost their lives less than twenty-hours ago.
But each time Olivia moved her arm, the bandages shifted and snagged on the big gash marring her skin, and yesterday came crashing back.
Bolton Manor, where she'd arrived a week ago to sell the estate, like the relentless real estate agent she was.
The creepy house and its creepy guests almost driving her away.
Kieran Bolton, the wicked heir that had enticed her to stay.
The madwoman who had wanted to slit Olivia's throat for ruining her devious plan of secretly and slowly poisoning Kieran's grandmother.
The chase.
The gun.
The blood.
The hospital.
The safety she had only found in Kieran's arms.
The questions that still lingered in the air, making Kieran frown whenever he thought Olivia wasn't looking.
But she always was. She couldn't get enough of the man. With their future still hazy, she wanted to bottle up each moment, each furtive glance, each smile, each whisper for when—if, Olivia, if—she wouldn't see him.
"I was wondering," he began in that raspy voice of his that softened whenever he talked to her and her alone. "Given everything that's happened—"
"The almost getting murdered part or the your-grandmother-and-my-colleague-are-still-in-the-hospital part?"
God, it sounded even more ridiculous said out loud.
But Mrs. Bolton and Underwood were in good hands, treated by some of the best doctors in the area.
Emma, the she-devil who'd gotten all of them into this mess, was also being treated for her wounds under the careful supervision of the police and some of Kieran's most dangerous associates.
"Both." A ghost of a smile passed his lips but didn't reach his eyes. "Given our particular circumstances, do you have to get back to work tomorrow?"
"No. Boss lady was very understanding—and happy neither me nor Underwood plan on suing the firm or you for putting our lives in danger."
She'd been in such a frenzy to get back to work only a day before. Now? All she wanted to do was bask in Kieran's presence.
She was going to miss him unbearably much.
"Then, would you do me the greatest pleasure and let me rent us a room for tonight?" He rolled his shoulders back, wincing slightly. His body had taken the brunt of Emma's madness. "I think we both need to rest in a proper bed."
Oh, if they would be in the same bed, neither of them would be getting any sleep. And from the way Kieran's gaze darkened as it snaked over Olivia's bare neck, he was thinking the exact same thing.
She took a sip from her glorious coffee, delighting in the way his ravenous stare followed her every move and took her sweet, sweet time replying.
"Yes," she said at last.
"Perfect." Kieran instantly signaled the waitress for the check, gaze not leaving Olivia's.
She leaned forward, smirk on her face, leg sliding underneath the table toward his. But her plan was quickly interrupted by the waitress teleporting herself to their table, all her attention on Kieran.
"Did you enjoy your meal?" she asked, much too preppy for this busy dinner shift.
"Yes, thank you," he said politely, threading his fingers through Olivia's.
"Then I hope you'll come again," the waitress said, all breathless as her eyes ping-ponged all over his gorgeous face. "Soon. Very soon."
Honestly, Olivia couldn't blame her.
Kieran was perfection incarnate, all tight angles, glorious dark hair, and a presence that could fill any room. He didn't even have to open his mouth to draw everyone's attention.
When Kieran only nodded, polite as ever, the waitress sighed, and finally asked, "Cash or card?"
"Card," Olivia said before Kieran had a chance to open his mouth. She drew her hand away from his, digging into her wallet.
Kieran clenched his jaw. "Olivia—"
"Not a word," she said and handed the card over to the waitress, who looked at Olivia as if she was crazy for turning down the offer of a free meal. "Your bank account has already taken a considerable hit because of me."
A shadow passed Kieran's face. "Very well. But I'm paying for the hotel tonight."
Olivia very much wanted to argue, but couldn't. Honestly, her bank account was so barren, her card might have been declined right now.
The air around her and Kieran tightened. Talking about money was a minefield for them.
Right before everything had gone to shit and they'd been forced to run through the endless tunnels of Bolton Manor to save its residents from Emma, Olivia and Kieran had screamed themselves hoarse in their first fight.
She'd become an estate agent as a last desperate effort to pay off her monstrous student loans. He'd gotten wind of it, and paid off her debt, upwards of two-hundred thousand dollars.
Without telling her, a woman he'd met only a week ago.
Things had been tense ever since, no matter how hard they tried to ignore it.
For him, that money was nothing. Less than change. For her, the gesture was everything—but she didn't want to go through life with him solving her issues.
But those were ugly thoughts, and Olivia had endured enough ugliness in the past week to last her a lifetime.
And all that mattered right now was that she and Kieran had survived, they were safe, and they were together, at least for another night, before reality came crashing back in.
She had to go back to her job, in Leeds. He wouldn't rest until he hunted down the people who'd wanted to hurt his grandmother, the only relative who'd cared about him all his life.
"Shall we?" He got up and offered her his hand, the perpetual gentleman even as his eyes kept on roaming over her body. Oh, the glorious things they promised. Olivia wanted them all.
Reality could wait until tomorrow. For now, they had one last wicked night to enjoy.
