Ollie reaches up and runs a hand down my hair as if he can sense I’m moments away from doing the same. Something about it causes the air to rush from my lungs. I take a deep breath, trying to get it back. “I’ll only be here a little while longer, Ollie,” I manage in between breaths. “Then everything can go back to the way it was. Like I never returned.”
The lines in his forehead deepen. “You think that’s what I want? To go back? Tell me your life has been better since you left,” he challenges, raising an eyebrow.
I’m pretty sure all the blood in my body rushes to my face at his insinuation. He overheard all my dirty little secrets back in the pub. He knows about failing out of school and the affair. It isn’t fair that he’s using that intel against me now.
I place my hand against his chest and attempt to push him out of my way, but he doesn’t budge. Not even an inch. Instead, he places a hand against my cheek. I inhale sharply, caught off guard by the sudden gentleness of the action. “You tell me right now that since leaving here your life has been better, that you’re happy, and I’ll walk out of this greenhouse. I’ll pretend that seeing you here doesn’t drive me wild. I’ll ignore all the things my body wants to do to yours. I’ll forget the fact that your leaving without a good-bye wrecked me.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off. “You wrecked me, Ryans,” he reiterates, his voice desperate.
I prepare to tell him that I’m happier. That life has been easier without being caught between him and Aiden. That I enjoy not having to worry the press is lurking around every corner. That I prefer being a normal girl. That the day we shared together was just that—a day. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t define me.
But the words refuse to come out of my mouth. Instead, a small gasp breaks free, and I know that if I don’t bolt soon, my resolve will shatter. Ollie’s hand slowly trails down my cheek and across the length of my neck, stopping on the delicate skin above my collarbone. My breathing picks up.
Tell him to stop, Alexandra.
He tugs at the collar of my jersey, bringing my face dangerously close to his. I bite down hard on my bottom lip. Ollie’s eyes travel down to my lips. My body gravitates toward his till it’s nearly pressing against the length of him.
When did it become this? This need? Because need is coursing through me like wildfire. We’ve only been together once. It doesn’t make any sense.
“You said it, Ryans. You won,” he reminds me, his voice all throaty and hoarse and incredibly sexy. “You want me to spend the rest of your time here ignoring all that’s left unanswered between us? Say it. If you desire to go back to that emptiness, that life that you seem so anxious to return to, I won’t stop you. Just say it’s what you want. ’Cause I can’t stand the indecision anymore, the what-ifs. I’ve lived three years of that. Wondering what could have happened if things had been different. ”
Ollie’s hand lets go of my collar, snaking around and down to the small of my back. Pressing against it, he closes the distance between us. A soft breeze could blow me into him at this point. His free hand lifts the hem of my shirt, his fingers skimming across the edge of my shorts. He clears his throat, swallowing hard. “But if you want something else, even if it’s something that can only exist while you’re here, tell me,” he continues, his fingers dipping under my waistband, teasing the top of my panties.
“Ollie,” I moan.
He sneaks a finger down. We’re both breathing heavily now. Ollie presses his forehead against mine. He’s so close to finding me. So close. “Tell me what you want, Ryans. Do you want me to stop?” His finger presses against me, and my eyelids flutter.
“Tell me, Ryans,” he demands.
I shake my head. Not because I want him to stop but because saying it aloud, voicing the need that connects me to him, the need I ran from, can never be unsaid. Ollie starts to pull his touch from me, but I grab onto his wrist, holding him in place.
His fingers still. “You have to say you want it,” he whispers against my lips.
My center pools with heat. It’s been so long. Even during my time with the professor, it never felt right. It’s not that Oliver is the be-all, end-all of my sexual exploits, but there is something indefinable about the way my body aches for his touch now.
Oh, hell.
“I want,” I reply, trembling.
Ollie doesn’t hesitate. He caresses and flicks and explores, and my knees buckle in response. We don’t kiss. No, there’s something primal about the way we claw at each other. Ollie hitches his free hand under my knee and lifts me up onto the bench. I wrap my legs around him, reaching my own hand down between us. He groans as a powerful shudder rocks his body.
This isn’t the hesitant touch of two inexperienced teenagers. It’s desperate and frenzied. Any second someone could walk in. A reporter. A staff person. A member of the family. But it’s more than the thrill of possibly being caught. It’s knowing it can’t last.
Because it can’t.
I grab onto a tuft of Ollie’s hair and yank his head back as his fingers move faster against me. I grip him harder. It’s hot and sweaty, and it’s damn better than any game of futbol I’ve ever played. I cry out as I reach the edge, and he’s only seconds behind.
We’re both left panting, our foreheads still pressed together. Sweat rolls down the back of my neck as every pore in my body tingles from one of the best cooldowns I’ve ever experienced. He shifts his face lower a few inches, so his lips hover over mine. I inhale sharply. If he kisses me now, everything would be different. Somehow the passion of a few moments earlier was all right. It was out of our control. A hurricane your pathetic little fishing boat had no chance of surviving. But if his lips meet mine, there is no going back.
Maybe he also senses the enormity of the action because he shifts again. His lips press softly against my cheek. My neck. The small space underneath my ear. My forehead. In spite of my better judgment, I sigh each time. Finally, he pulls away, and his eyes meet mine.
The way Ollie’s looking at me…
I reach up and gently push him away. “They’ll be searching for us soon. Probably best if we go get cleaned up,” I say before jumping off the bench.
Ollie stares at me quietly for a moment before he speaks, “Whatever you want, Ryans.”
Chapter Twenty
22 Years, 10 Months, and 3 Days
“Do you remember that time we were all invited to the White House to celebrate Thanksgiving? Why does this feel a lot like President Bush sitting us all at the kids’ table?” Ollie whispers into my ear.
The feel of his breath against my skin results in an eruption of goose bumps. I let free a shaky breath as I shift in my chair. My throat feels dry, and I find it difficult to reply, so I simply nod. I reach up and smooth my hair down, failing to miss the way Ollie’s cheek twitches as he tries to suppress a grin.
It has been hours since the incident in the greenhouse. As soon as we were showered, Sophie had put us to work on various obligations for her charity. Mercifully, she had separated us, so there’d been zero time for either of us to talk about what had happened.
That hasn’t stopped me from replaying the incident over and over and over in my mind ever since. Those brief, passionate moments we shared have done nothing to quell the ache inside of me—they only fanned the flame. Tuned my body with his. I am aware of every movement he makes now. I could feel when he walked into the room even though I hadn’t seen him. My body leans toward him every time he squirms in his seat as Mrs. Wright speaks. He sits forward, I sit forward. He leans back, I lean back.
It is magic or voodoo or something cosmic. Whatever it is, I am drunk on it and desperate for more.
Needless to say, I have never been more thankful to be sitting in a room full of children while being lectured by Mrs. Wright. Ollie will be forced to behave here, which means I will also be forced to be good. What happened in the greenhouse had been the result of a temporary madness that I won’t allow myself to give in to again.
“Mrs. Wright?” asks a small girl to my left, “what if they ask me a question that I don’t know the answer to?”
I’m momentarily distracted by the genuine fear that issues from the poor girl’s lips. I remember what it was to be so young and having to face the press. How powerful and overbearing they seemed. And that’s what awaits me if I let things between Ollie and me go any further.
“I don’t see why we have to sit through this,” Ollie mumbles, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest.
“No, I have no idea why Mrs. Wright would think either of us need reminding on how to act in front of the press,” I reply drily, eyeing the little girl who just asked Mrs. Wright the question. I had been too distracted by my own thoughts to hear the answer she was given, but from the way the little girl’s face pales and how she twists her hands until they are bright red, it doesn’t appear like it has offered her any comfort.
Mrs. Wright had called this meeting of all the little nieces and nephews and cousins from both sides of the family to instruct them on how to behave in front of the press, who will be descending on the palace in hordes as the wedding grows closer. Two hours of which fork to use, how picking your nose or burping is never acceptable, the evils of slouching, and how to be seen and not heard. The boys and I sat through many of these sessions growing up, but it seems like Aiden and Freddie have graduated while Ollie and I have been retained.
All things considered, that feels about right.
“Now, take your napkins and place them in your laps like so,” Mrs. Wright instructs as she places a napkin over her lap, then walks up and down the length of the room, inspecting the progress of her little protégées. She had tables set up to replicate the reception dinner, so we can all practice how to be good little boys and girls.
The little girl who spoke earlier knocks over her glass of water in an attempt to perfectly place her napkin in her lap. Every head in the room turns her way. Mrs. Wright scowls, and I swear the little girl’s eyes fill with tears.
I let out a low whistle. “Man, I always hated these things. I constantly felt like a bumbling idiot. All arms and legs. Never graceful.”
“I never knew you felt like that,” Ollie whispers. “I mean I knew you didn’t like the dinners or any of this etiquette shite, but I never, ever knew you felt like that, Ryans.”
I shrug. “You couldn’t tell I was the little cinder girl whose fairy godmother never showed up to turn her rags into a gown and her pet mice into coachmen? Come on, Ollie, I never belonged at these things.”
Ollie grabs onto my hand under the table. “That’s nonsense. I thought you belonged next to me always. Whether it was at a ball or on the pitch.”
I want to kiss Oliver Dudley right here and now.
“Remember, you always follow the lead of your sovereign,” instructs Mrs. Wright, saving me from giving the kids a real show. “If the king doesn’t touch his water, you don’t touch yours. You always follow the lead of the highest-ranking royal in the room.”
Next to me, Ollie winks before he raises his hand. “Oliver,” I warn, low enough that Mrs. Wright won’t hear me. “Don’t poke the beast.”
“For all those times I didn’t stand up for you during one of these things. What kind of best mate was I?” he replies, nudging his shoulder into mine. He clears his throat until Mrs. Wright stops scolding a chubby little boy three seats down for placing his elbows on the table.
“What is it, Oliver?” she asks, unable to keep a note of weariness from sneaking in between her words.
“What if one of them is choking?” he asks. Despite my best efforts, the overtly mock-serious nature of his tone causes me to smile. I press my lips together to keep it at bay.
“Choke?” Mrs. Wright asks. “Why ever would they be choking?”
“Because of the bubblegum?’ he replies without hesitation, as if this was to be easily understood by all in the room. A few of the kids start whispering to each other until Mrs. Wright glares their way.
“Bubblegum?” Mrs. Wright repeats, her voice clipping at each syllable like a guillotine. “And what possible reason would any of them be foolish enough to be chewing bubblegum during a royal dinner?”
Ollie leans forward in his chair, looking left and then right, making sure he has the attention of all the children. He does, of course. “Because of the bad breath, Mrs. Wright,” he says, shaking his head as if she’s gone daft.
“Bad breath?” asks a little boy from the end of the table. “I don’t have bad breath.”
“You will after they make you eat the snails during the cocktail hour,” Ollie says.
“Snails!” shrieks a girl.
“My mommy made me eat those once, and he’s right, my breath smelled really foul,” pipes up another child.
“I’m not allowed to eat bubblegum ’cause of my braces.”
“I’m going to have to eat snails?” another child asks, close to tears.
Soon, the whole table has erupted in multiple conversations. Some talk about other weird foods they’ve seen at this royal function or that royal function. A few of the girls start to cry about some cartoon they loved that was about a snail, and how they would never, ever eat one. Some of the boys start a wager to see who could eat the most snails. Others debate about the best flavor of bubblegum to sneak in before dinner.
The noise is deafening. Mrs. Wright flies from one side of the table to the other, shushing boys and girls and quieting fears. Ollie chuckles beside me as he brings the glass of water to his lips, savoring every drop of his victory.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I chide.
“Isn’t it all right to be a little bit naughty when it’s for a good cause?” Ollie leans close to me, and I’m drawn to him like a magnet. His lips hover close to my ear. “I wonder what she would make us sit through if she knew what we did in the greenhouse,” he whispers. I shiver at the mention of it. It’s the first time either of us has spoken of it, and it makes the resulting emptiness all the more real.
I want more.
I shift in my chair, so my knee rests against his. He reaches under the table, taking my hand from my lap. He interlaces his fingers with mine, and I feel every inch of my skin wanting to connect with his.
It’s a stolen moment. So small and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. A simple gesture. Still, there is something that feels so dangerous about it. My eyes frantically search the room for Mrs. Wright, afraid she’ll be able to read every detail of it on my face, but she is nowhere to be found. The room has erupted into chaos.
“Ryans,” Ollie says, tugging on my hand, forcing me to look his way. “Let’s get out of here. Find someplace where we can be alone. I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day.”
I’m about to tell him yes, or maybe no. Hell, I’m not sure what I’m about to tell him. Luckily, I don’t have a chance to find out. Abruptly, the noise in the room dies as every child pops out of their seat. I look to the doorway to find the king and Mrs. Wright. I scramble to a standing position, yanking my hand from Ollie’s. He takes a deep breath before slowly pulling himself to a standing position.
“Oliver, may I have a word?” his father asks. The pudgy boy down the table lets out a low whistle, and a few of the other kids giggle. Ollie clenches his jaw before giving a curt nod in response. Mrs. Wright must be really pissed to call in the boss. Usually, she handles things on her own.
The king has always been pleasant with me, albeit a bit on the stoic side. I’ve rarely seen him angry, but the few times I have…
Ollie doesn’t return to Mrs. Wright’s faux etiquette class. Nor do I see him after during the formal practice dinner. It’s not until Mrs. Wright is rounding up all of the children to send home that I find him. Tucked far away from Mrs. Wright’s screeching voice, last minute reminders about what is and isn’t proper, I discover Ollie kicking a futbol with none other than the nervous little girl from before.
“Mrs. Wright will kill you if she fi
nds out you’re kicking a futbol around inside the palace,” I note, leaning against the wall.
The little girl freezes midkick, her eyes the size of saucers. “I…I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“You won’t, Anna. I promise,” Ollie assures her. “Now, show my friend here what you’ve learned. Kick it good and hard,” he replies, nodding toward the ball near her foot. Her eyes dart down the hall where Mrs. Wright’s voice booms.
“But you got in trouble about the bubblegum…”
Ollie sighs and looks over at me as if to say, See what you’ve done?
He was trying to calm the girl’s fears, and here I was confirming them.
“Oh, that?” I ask. “That was nothing. I mean, look, his oversize head is still attached to his body, so he must not have gotten into too much trouble.”
“My oversize head?” Ollie gasps. “How very rude!”
Anna covers her mouth and giggles. “It is a tad bit large, Your Highness.”
“I like you, Anna,” I grin, sauntering over to where she stands, throwing Ollie a wink as I pass by. “What do you say we team up against Prince Giant Head?”
“But what about Mrs. Wright?” she asks, wringing her hands.
“We’ll protect you, lass,” Ollie assures her. “Aly and I have been standing together against Mrs. Wright for nearly two decades.” I can’t help but smile at Ollie. He grins back at me.
While Ollie may have made the little girl forget her anxieties about the press, he has done a piss-poor job of showing her how to kick. For the next half hour, I work on teaching her the proper form. Eventually, it’s Ollie’s turn to lean back and watch. It doesn’t make me nervous, the way he looks at me. I’m in my element. Everything else falls away as I help the little girl, whose only real problem is a lack of confidence. Soon, she’s kicking with both force and aim.
“How do you handle it?” Anna asks as she kicks me the ball.
“Handle what?” I ask, kicking it back.
Royal Attraction Page 13
