by Taryn Quinn
I didn’t say anything, since I was still clinging and hiding my eyes like a terrified child. No doubt about it, this would mortify me later, but right now? I was quite enjoying being nestled up against Oliver.
Must be the adrenaline drop after my fight-or-flight response. Also, he smelled really freaking fabulous. How had I never noticed before?
Granted, I’d never had my nose buried in his clothing before—and pressed against firm, rippling muscle—but still. The scent was an intriguing mix of cedar that reminded me of the closet in my room at home, soap, and the light tang of clean sweat, all layered with some high-end musky cologne. Delicious.
Damn near edible, if I wasn’t in the midst of a panic attack.
The plane seemed to level out at about the same time his hand stopped moving over my hair. “Are you sniffing me?” he asked against my ear.
His warm breath ruffled my hair and a shiver moved through me that had nothing to do with the drafty plane. What was wrong with me? I never reacted this way to him when we were in Crescent Cove. Sure, I might’ve brushed against him now and then, just because he was such a solid hunk of man meat, but it wasn’t sexual exactly. More like I was in a drought of attention from the opposite sex and he was a complete ass, but he was so very male.
“You smell like cedar and musk.”
“Musk? That word is horrifying, right up there with moist.”
I frowned and finally pulled back, though I maintained my hold on him just in case the plane did make any sudden moves. “Not like…personal musk.” His eyebrow did that arching thing and I coughed into my hand. “Like the scent in men’s cologne. You know. It’s a proven fact that particular smell arouses most women.”
“Oh, is it? Is that why you’ve cleaved to me like a barnacle on a ship? Here I thought it was because you were an uneasy flyer.”
I jumped back so fast that my elbow pegged Lumberjack in the arm. “Oops, sorry.”
“You can hold on to me again if you like.” His hopeful smile was in direct contrast to the noise Oliver made in his throat. I couldn’t define it precisely, but it reminded me of a possessive, irate cat. Part growl, part grunt, all alpha male.
Jeez, I really did need to get laid. I was obsessed with manly attributes.
“Kind offer, but I think the time for concern has passed,” Oliver told Lumberjack, as if he had any right to speak for me.
“Says you,” I muttered.
The plane was rocking. Lovely.
“Now that is likely a bit of turbulence. There are storms in—”
I covered my ears and blocked Oliver out. “La-la-la, can’t hear you.” I figured that childish gesture would be enough to make him retreat into whatever he’d been doing on his tablet.
Instead, he wrapped his arm around me and tugged me closer, tucking my head under his chin. My seat belt impeded movement, but we made it work somehow.
“Better?” The word rumbled through his chest and straight into mine.
My response was something akin to “ughkmph.”
That damn cologne again. Was it a hormone-provoker or something? And I really was cold, and he so was not. His chest was so solid, as was his grip around my shoulders. I wanted to cuddle in and stay a while.
Not because it was Oliver. Of course not. Just because I was nervous and chilly and overwhelmed.
He was also slightly hot. Only slightly. Truth be told, his twin was better looking. The other girls at the diner had conducted a poll once, minus Ally’s input. Even pre-wedding, she’d been Seth’s best friend and hardly impartial. Every one of the other women had said Oliver was the hotter of the two, on account of his suits and general air of imperviousness. Like he was a king and any woman would love a chance to sit on his lap.
Me? I’d picked Seth. He was friendlier. More approachable. Less likely to have an object d’art stuck up his bum.
Right now, though, I was having no problem with any part of Oliver. And that whole lap-sitting thing? It might’ve happened if these seats had been a tad wider.
“You’re shaking. Where’s your coat?” Oliver tugged at the sleeve of my thin sweater. “This is hardly capable of keeping you warm.”
It took me a moment or seven to gather my wits enough to speak. If I’d had a few more muscles in my throat, I probably would’ve purred.
“Going to Vegas,” I mumbled, fighting the urge to press my nose into his neck. There were nice gestures and then there was using them as an opportunity to cross the line.
I had boundaries. Not now. But in general.
“Your point? You’re in New York now. Or you were when you got on this plane.”
“Didn’t want to pack it. All I needed was a couple of pretty dresses, strappy heels, and maybe a bathing suit—gah!” I reared up, banging the top of my head against his glacier of a chin. We both groaned, and the sound coming from him was far sexier than it should’ve been.
That did it. I was finally caving and buying a bullet when I returned home. Obviously, something had taken over my libido and all rationality had flown out the window. Release had to be the answer.
Either that or a lobotomy.
I rubbed my head, staring at his tie so I didn’t have to meet his eyes. Dark as shrapnel, fiery like burning coal. “Sorry. I just realized I forgot my bathing suit. Dammit. Darn it.” I sighed. “Should’ve brought the jar with me. Now I’ll have to keep notes.”
“At least half of what you say makes no sense. I’m unsure if I’m the only one who misunderstands you, or if you’re just generally incomprehensible.”
Lumberjack leaned closer. “I ain’t got the foggiest either, friend.”
Oliver smiled tightly. “Thank you for the corroboration.”
“I keep a swear jar; you know, like Seth and Ally do.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “That infernal nonsense. Yes.”
“You think swearing around a youngster is proper?”
“I think life is a hard, scary place, and swear words are the least of anyone’s concern.”
“Gotta part ways with you there, bud.” Lumberjack shook his head. “Some words just aren’t appropriate for little ears.”
“Or Sage’s, apparently, since she’s self-censoring. As you will in that arena. What, pray tell, caused you to nearly break my jaw with your rock-hard head?”
“Hello, I already said it. I forgot my bathing suit. Which royally sucks. Not that I know how to swim, but I’d planned to lounge by the pool—”
“Bikini?” Oliver asked, and there was no missing the interest in his tone. Not his eyes, since I still hadn’t chanced a look there.
“Um, no. Try modest one-piece with a skirt.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because this body isn’t meant for—”
He laid a finger over my lips. “Stop right there, because whatever you say is only going to piss me off.”
Lumberjack had to chime in. “He’s right, you know. Your body is just fine.” He cleared his throat, possibly from the way Oliver lifted his head as if he were scenting blood. “Pardon me. I didn’t mean anything unsavory by that. Just that you’re a beautiful woman, Miss Evans.”
A lump was growing in my throat. Whether from Oliver’s quick rebuke of what I’d been about to say or Lumberjack’s praise, I didn’t know.
Two handsome men were indicating they found me attractive. It wasn’t even that I disagreed. I had the same issues as anyone else, but most days, I thought I had a pretty face. A nice enough body, if a little on the plump side. Just not bikini-worthy.
“I’ll buy you a bikini,” Oliver said, dropping his finger from my mouth as if the discussion was over.
“I can buy my own bikini.”
“Good. The matter is settled.”
It so wasn’t, but I sat back in my seat and bit my lip. I wasn’t buying a bikini, but maybe I’d go for a skimpier two-piece. Even go wild and skip the skirt. That would be fun.
“Oh, and since we’re on the topic of buying, I took the liberty o
f upgrading your hotel suite. I’ll be right next door. Don’t worry, a connecting door is between us, but you can lock it to your heart’s content.”
Since I was still pondering swimwear, it took me a second to catch up. “Excuse me?”
“The radio station’s accommodations were shit.”
His bold statement made me wince. “You need a swear jar too. Maybe a swear suitcase.”
“And you don’t even know the half of what I say when I’m sufficiently motivated.”
I frowned. “What do you—” The pointed expression he wore clued me in to my naiveté.
In so many ways.
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. Do you truly have any objections to a nicer hotel suite? You don’t travel much. Why not do it up right?”
“You’re not supposed to be taking over. This is my chance to be independent, to live life untethered.” I had more complaints, but they weren’t coming out fast enough.
Probably since I was still wondering what Oliver sounded like when “sufficiently motivated”.
Only academically. As far as personally? Nope. So didn’t give a fig.
“Be as untethered as you wish. I will be too.”
“Oh, no. You are not picking up women while I have no choice but to watch.” I wasn’t yelling. I was almost positive.
Until the small child two aisles ahead of us started to scream and his mother turned to glare at me.
“Mind keeping your voice down?”
“Mind not behaving as if you’re my sugar daddy?”
“First, you’re shouting because you’re concerned I’ll pick up women and force you to watch. Now you’re calling me your sugar daddy. Kindly pick your argument.”
“Either. Both. You weren’t even supposed to be here, for fuck’s sake.” I held up a hand in the direction of the aghast mother. “Sorry. Sorry. I’ll rein it in.”
Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could. My emotions were swinging back and forth harder than the plane had started to. Which was just fabulous.
As if he knew I was on the verge of panic again, he simply drew me in and stroked my hair again. Long, even, gentle strokes that had me closing my eyes despite myself.
“You’re my friend, remember? As I’m yours. That’s the spirit in which I upgraded your suite.”
I grunted and clung.
“Any other proposed changes, I’ll ask first.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. As for the other…” He didn’t respond long enough that I eased back and tilted my head. “Picking up babes?” I prompted, unsure why it mattered so much.
He was single and unencumbered. His love life wasn’t my concern in any case. Especially since I’d intended to perhaps make a love connection myself if the fates were kind.
But Oliver was far too good at the dating game. I’d probably develop comparison-envy and freeze up. That simply wouldn’t do on my first freewheeling vacay.
I exhaled, my shoulders relaxing. That sounded plausible.
Thank God.
Otherwise, I would have to admit that Oliver’s endless hookups bothered me. And that was crazy talk.
His lips quirked. “I can guarantee I’ll have my hands full with one babe all weekend.” He didn’t give me a chance to reply before his finger pressed into my lips again. “You’re far more than a babe, so don’t quibble.”
I couldn’t quibble. Not when his voice had gone husky and rough and his eyes were beckoning mine, forcing me to look into them or perish.
The arguments flew right out of my head.
His certain victory in sight, he tugged me back against his chest. I went, because there wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be just then.
Even though he was a bossy jerk who was already trying to control things.
Even though we could fight over the weather.
Even though he wasn’t even supposed to be there.
I was so very glad he was.
Four
Oliver
Holding Sage Evans ranked up there as one of the biggest mistakes of my life.
Not because I didn’t like it. The exact opposite.
I wasn’t a cuddler after sex. Definitely wasn’t a spooner. Unless I was forking, I usually took a hard pass. Just not my thing. I hadn’t been raised with much affection, and I’d never developed any particular affinity for physical closeness that didn’t involve my dick.
Crass, but true.
Sage curled into me as if I was her shelter in a brutal storm. Fanciful, but still fact. She purported not to like me—or had before we’d embarked on this flight—yet she snuggled into me as if she were starved for that kind of comfort.
I would’ve said I wasn’t. I was touched often enough to suit my needs. Or so I’d believed.
Not like this. Nothing like this.
She was so soft. So yielding and trusting. At least in this moment and in this space, if in no other. Her long blond hair was in a messy ponytail, the wild waves trying to escape, and it took everything I possessed not to bury my face in the thick, fragrant strands. Sunshine in a bottle, that was Sage’s scent. Clean clothes drying on a clothesline in the summertime. Warm, inviting.
Intoxicating.
And that wasn’t saying a damn thing about how she felt. She was curvy as hell, and let’s just say my cock had no problem with me being cozied up to the parts of her I’d only ogled the other day. Her impossibly full breasts tucked against my chest would probably live in my fondest jacking-off fantasies for the next few months.
If not years.
She eventually moved back, once the flight had stabilized and the ride had become smooth as satin. I pretended to be so absorbed in my work on my tablet that I didn’t hear her chatting brightly with her new friend, who probably would’ve offered to marry her if they’d had another few hours on the plane.
Alas, they did not, though they exchanged numbers when they parted. Rob also gave me his number, since he was now my friend too. There was talk of getting together for drinks once we were back in New York.
He was a nice enough guy, but I’d just file that idea under the heading not going to happen.
Sage might not like the idea of watching me hook up, but guess what? The feeling was mutual.
Though it did bear questioning why she cared about my dating habits. I knew why hers interested me. She was too sweet, inexperienced, and naive. Men were, by and large, pigs. She was Ally’s best friend.
Hell, my entire role for being here on this trip was to ensure she had a fun, safe time. That was why I’d wanted to growl at Rob every time he so much as smiled at her too warmly. He hadn’t been properly vetted yet, that was all.
That could be the only explanation.
We collected Sage’s eye-searing-pink suitcase from the conveyor belt and arranged for a car over to the hotel. Once we were in the backseat, she pulled out her phone and started texting, ignoring me entirely.
All righty then.
“Ally says hello.”
I glanced up from my iPad. “Hello, Ally. Kid still inside?”
Sage sighed. “Must you sound so dispassionate about your own nephew?”
“Who’s being dispassionate? I asked a question that proves my concern.”
“Sure it does.” She went back to texting.
I’d just returned to reviewing the contract I’d be presenting to Stanley Curtis next week for the purchase of a dairy farm on the outskirts of town when Sage let out a gasp and my head snapped up. Which triggered the pain in my jaw from her head colliding with mine.
Because she’d forgotten her bathing suit. Sweet Jesus. As if I needed to put a picture of her in swimwear in my brain.
“What is it?”
“Ally found the cutest Yankees outfit for the baby. Look!” She thrust her phone at me.
A tiny slugger outfit was spread out on Ally and Seth’s bed. It was cute. Hardly worthy of a gasp, however.
“Lovely.”
Sage yanked back her phone. “See what I mean? Dispassionate.”
“I’m in the middle of work. Remember, the business you said I didn’t have in Vegas?”
This particular contract had nothing to do with Vegas, but she didn’t need to know that. Distraction and subterfuge were nine-tenths of the law.
“You’re intruding on my vacation, you can at least have happy vacay vibes.”
“Not so much, since according to you, I can’t even have sex.”
I didn’t know why I’d said that. I didn’t want to have sex. Unless she was up for—
Nope. I was shutting down that line of thought this instant.
My happy vacay vibes were evidently residing in my pants, and I wasn’t about to give them carte blanche.
Sage narrowed her eyes. “You said this trip—a very short, two-day trip, I might add—was for you to combine business and being a friend to me. Unless that was Hamilton spiel and you’re really here to make sure I have no fun while you have every naked kind you can fathom. If so, don’t you think that’s taking our frenemy thing a little too far?”
I set down my tablet, more amused than annoyed at being interrupted. Maybe it was the warm Nevada air working wonders on my mood, because I never felt so benevolent toward her when we were back home.
Then again, she’d never spent half a plane ride almost in my lap either.
“Is that a word they use in the tabloids? Frenemy? Next, are you going to say stop trying to make fetch happen?”
Sage gaped at me. “You’ve seen Mean Girls?”
“I do know my pop culture references.”
“Yet you didn’t know frenemy?” She went back to texting. “Probably watched it with some chick you were trying to bed.”
“Actually, no, I saw it with Laurie.”
“She’s four. Mean Girls is too advanced for her.”
“And three-fourths.” She gave me serious side eye. “She’s got a case of hero-worship for that Amanda person. The one who dressed as a mouse. Anyway, I didn’t turn it on for her. She got control of the remote and had watched half of it before I realized what she was watching because I was buried in work. I heard that fetch nonsense before I turned it off.”
“You can’t let children ever control the remote. It’s not safe.”
