by Elise Noble
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s… It’s…wrong.”
“Wrong how?”
“Because it’s private.”
He lifted my skirt and ran a finger between my legs. “And it turns you on.”
I pressed my thighs together, but even as I did, a ripple of heat flooded through me. Down below, the woman adjusted her position, leaning forwards slightly as the man reached up and kneaded her breasts. I’d never watched two people together like that in real life, and I wasn’t prepared for how it would make me feel. Oliver was right, even if I didn’t want to admit it.
He slid one finger inside me, and I gasped. Everything about this was wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself as I ground down onto him. The man made me wild.
“You like to watch, don’t you, princess?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do.” He swept my hair to the side and kissed his way up my neck. “I know you want to watch another woman come.”
His finger disappeared and my insides pulsed with need. “Please.”
“Please what, princess?”
His zipper sounded, and I realised what he was going to do.
“No! Not that! What if they look up and see us?”
He ripped my blouse open, baring me to the night air. “It’s dark up here. Besides, they’re busy.”
Oliver didn’t bother to remove my panties, just pushed them to the side and filled me. Of all the things he’d done, this one was the most illicit, the one I should have stopped but couldn’t. I could only hang on to the railing as he found his rhythm, matching the man below. Every time the woman smiled, every time her eyes widened with pleasure, I felt it too. Then when she went over the edge, her mouth open in a silent scream, I fell with her.
The man pulled out and shot his load over her bare breasts as Oliver released deep inside me, biting down on my shoulder. Aftershocks ran through me as he held me up, and without his arms around my waist, I’d have ended up on the floor for sure.
Holy shit. What a ride.
Oliver carried me back to bed, and I still couldn’t believe what we’d just done. Or how much I’d enjoyed it. Part of me wanted to scratch my eyes out. The other part longed to start at the beginning and do it all over again.
He tucked me under the comforter and knelt at my bedside.
“It’s okay to enjoy it, Steffie.”
“It’s weird.”
Maybe that view came from growing up in Hartscross, where anything other than the missionary position would surely cause a scandal. Or maybe my time at Rubies had conditioned me to be wary of anything out of the ordinary.
“Nobody ever rocked the world by taking the safe option.”
“You rocked my world tonight,” I whispered.
“You’ve rocked mine all week.”
One more kiss and he disappeared, leaving me alone to think. And think I did. About him.
“Are you still planning to go home today?” Oliver asked on Sunday.
I wasn’t aware I had a choice. But even if I did, it was for the best. All my pondering last night had led to the conclusion that Oliver was hot, but dangerous to a girl’s heart. I didn’t want to end up with mine broken.
“Yes. Imogen will be around more this week, my wrist hurts less, and I’ve gotten used to hopping around.”
“Do you need a ride back?”
“I was planning to call a cab. Aren’t you going into work?”
For a normal person, Sunday would mean a day off, but Oliver had already proven himself to be far from average.
“I brought the files I need home with me yesterday.” He took a sip of his smoothie and made a face. “What the hell is in this?”
I reached for the bottle. “Blueberry, baobab, maca, and broccoli. According to the label, it’s supposed to give you more energy.”
“It’s disgusting. I think Bridget’s trying to kill me with her health kicks.”
I reached for the glass. “Can I try it?”
I certainly needed a bit of zing. I was still exhausted after yesterday, and I hadn’t slept well.
He slid it over. “Be my guest.”
I took a sip. “It’s not that bad.”
“Then you can drink the other six bottles in the fridge.”
“I won’t be here, so you’re on your own.”
“Take them with you. Please.”
“Maybe one or two.”
By four o’clock, I’d packed my suitcase, including the extra bits Bradley had sent. I took one final look around my big room, lingering for a second on the roof terrace. The rooms formed an L-shape around it, so all the bedrooms as well as the lounge shared the amazing view. I sure would miss it, especially the filthy memories of last night.
“Are you ready?” Oliver asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He wheeled my case as I shuffle-hopped to the elevator, and when he punched in the code, the silver doors silently closed on his world.
“Did you know your elevator code is the same as my birthday?”
“Yes.”
Nothing else, just yes. I wanted to know why. Which came first? Meeting me or picking the code? But the words wouldn’t come, and when we hit the basement, I still hadn’t figured out how to ask. Nor was I any the wiser by the time Oliver hefted my case into the back seat and closed the doors.
The man left me off-balance, and I especially wasn’t prepared for the way he thumped the steering wheel.
“What’s wrong?”
“Shit.”
“Oliver, what is it?”
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“This. Drive you back home and pretend the last few days didn’t happen.”
“Then don’t pretend. Keep those moments as good memories.” I laid a hand on his leg. “That’s what I’ll do. And they were good. Nobody’s made me…enjoy things like that before.”
He clasped my hand in his. “I’m all wrong for you. I don’t do relationships, and you’re a witness in my case, for fuck’s sake. But I’ve never wanted to come home from the office before, and for the last couple of days, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought this through. Well, I have, but I didn’t get very far.” He shook his head. “Listen to me. Oliver Rhodes, the man who made his name by always knowing what to say, and I haven’t got a clue.”
“You want to see me again?”
“Yes. But I don’t do commitment, so it isn’t fair of me to ask.”
“If you don’t do commitment, what do you do?”
“Food. Fucking.”
“So you want to have dinner and sex with me?”
He shrugged. “It’s hardly the most romantic proposal in the world, is it?”
No, it wasn’t. But was I ready for romance? I mean, I’d thought so once, but my judgement was screwed right now, and look at what happened with Landon. At least Oliver was straight with me. And the dinner would come from a damn fine restaurant.
“Friends with benefits?”
“Something like that.”
My insides still clenched every time I thought of last night. Or Thursday. Or Wednesday. Or the time over the table…
“Twice a week. I can do twice a week. No strings on either side. If one of us meets someone else, it ends.”
“You’re agreeing?” He sounded surprised.
To be honest, I shared his sentiment. If someone had told me last week I’d agree to be the plaything of a depraved lawyer who challenged the very boundaries of my sanity, I’d have laughed them right back to Georgia. But this week… This week, things were different.
“Twice a week,” I repeated. “No more.”
Twice a week should be enough to combat these wild urges I was getting in my nether regions but not enough for my heart to get any stupid ideas of its own.
Right?
CHAPTER 28
THIS NEW REL
ATIONSHIP with Oliver, if you could call it that, took a bit of getting used to. At eleven o’clock on Monday morning, I got the first text message.
Oliver Rocky Rhodes: I can free up evenings on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday this week. Which of those suit you? O.
When I’d suggested the twice-a-week thing, it hadn’t really occurred to me that I’d be scheduling sex in like a hair appointment or a manicure. Or a Ruby. No, Stef. Do not go there. This thing with Oliver was totally different. Wasn’t it? But mainly because he wasn’t paying me.
I cast that thought to the back of my mind as I typed out a reply.
Stef: Thursday and Saturday. Imogen works Thursdays and she’ll probably go out on Saturday. And you don’t happen to have Malachi’s number, do you?
Oliver Rocky Rhodes: I’ll slot something in those days. Malachi’s girlfriend wouldn’t be too happy if I gave Imogen his number.
Slot something in? I bet he would. And I’d need to break the news about Malachi to Imogen gently.
Then there were the logistics to organise.
Oliver Rocky Rhodes: Shall I arrange a car to take you back in the evenings? Or do you want to stay over and I’ll drive you home on my way to work?
After dinner, wine, and sex, the last thing I wanted to do was leave late in the evening. It was what I used to do most of the time in my former profession, and the way the cab drivers looked at me… They knew exactly what I’d been doing, and it made me feel so cheap.
Stef: Can I stay?
Oliver Rocky Rhodes: I’ll ask Bridget to make up the spare room.
But for all the weirdness, during the evenings we spent together, Oliver did treat me like the princess he always called me. Imogen helped with my hair, and I made the effort to dress up, even if I didn’t stay in my clothes for long—like the night he ate dessert off me, stretched out on the table. I’d never forget that experience.
Plus he kept his promise about speaking to Giovanni, and I spent two afternoons a week in the office at Il Tramonto while Giovanni showed me how the restaurant was run. And in week four, the doctor said I could take the bandages off my wrist, and I got the use of my hand back.
“Hallelujah!” I screeched as I shuffle-hopped around my apartment.
“Everything works again?” Imogen asked.
“It’s stiff, but it only hurts a little, and the doctor said I should start using it to build up the strength again.”
“Thank goodness. We’ve been stretched at Java. It’s busier than ever.”
“Want me to come in and help out? I can’t stand for long, but I could sit by the register and take the money.”
“I don’t think the boss’ll pay three people for a shift.”
“And I wouldn’t expect him to. I feel bad about leaving you guys in the lurch, and I’m lonely here all day.”
“In that case, we’d love to have you.”
As well as getting me out of the apartment four mornings a week, being back at Java meant I could sneak in an extra few minutes with Oliver, because once he realised I was working there, he came in every day.
“If I tip you, will you chase me across the street again?”
“I would if I could run but not because of the money.”
He handed over twenty bucks and lowered his voice. “I’d rather kiss you.”
“That’s Wednesday this week.”
He leaned closer. “Princess, you’re killing me. I jack off every night I’m not with you, and I’m getting RSI.”
I almost choked, but thankfully nobody else heard what he said. He smiled that devilish smile of his and headed for the door before I managed to think up a reply. A girl drinking hot chocolate at the table nearest me watched his ass all the way, and I wanted to scratch her eyes out.
The man drove me crazy.
A couple of days after the bandages came off, Dan insisted we go out for lunch. She acted bright, but the set of her jaw suggested a certain tension.
“Is everything all right?”
We’d gone to Il Tramonto, where the chef served us perfect crepes despite them being French rather than Italian, and Dan covered hers in chocolate sauce.
“Not much worse than usual. The court case is wearing a little thin. I just wish it was over.”
“Me too.”
“I don’t know how Oliver does it. He’s got all of Emmy’s corporate stuff on top of two trials, and he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him. Are you two still seeing each other?”
“Sort of. I don’t know what we’re doing.” I cringed slightly as I gave her the bare bones of our arrangement. “I know it’s weird, but I’d miss him if we stopped.”
“You’re probably what’s keeping him sane right now. He’s worked too hard for years; I’ve kept telling him that. You guys should take a vacation when the two trials are done.”
Oliver had committed to one more big court case after Carter’s, the prosecution of the man behind disaster number three, and Dan was involved in that one too.
“I don’t think that’s what he wants. That type of relationship, I mean.”
“Convince him. The man needs a break.”
“I don’t…”
Giovanni interrupted us, beaming as usual. “Ah, my favourite girls. The staff are looking after you, si?”
I nodded. “Yes, very well.”
“You are still coming in tomorrow? I’ll talk through the new marketing campaign with you.”
“Two o’clock?”
“Perfetto.”
He grinned again, then headed for his office.
“You’re working here?” Dan asked.
“Not really. Oliver arranged for me to get some work experience. One day, I’d love to get into hospitality management.”
“I’m sure Oliver can help you find a job as well.”
“I doubt that. He doesn’t think I’m that great at it.”
“Huh? He actually said that?”
“Not in those words, but I originally asked to shadow Louis at Rhodium, and he said no.”
Dan burst out laughing.
“What?”
“He said no to Rhodium because he likes you, not because he thinks you’re incompetent. Louis chases anything in a skirt, but Giovanni’s gay.”
“You really think that’s the reason?”
“I know how Oliver’s mind works. And if you don’t want to ask him about a job, I can speak to Emmy. She’s got fingers in every kind of pie you can imagine. Nick and Nate too.”
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. We like to look after our own.”
I appreciated the sentiment, but I still wasn’t sure I entirely fitted into their group. Every one of them was extraordinary in terms of looks and skills and intelligence, whereas I’d wound up knowing them by accident. I didn’t want to push my luck.
Not with Dan, and not with Oliver.
I’d have loved to suggest three nights a week with him, or four, but apart from that comment in Java, he’d never shown any inclination of wanting more. And the way things were, I was happier than I had been in a long time. Imogen made me laugh, Bridget made me drink sometimes-awful smoothies, and Oliver made me come. The prospect of being alone again scared me more than the want growing inside me.
So I kept my feelings hidden.
The day the cast came off my leg, Oliver informed me by text message that he wanted to celebrate. It wasn’t one of our regular days, but no way was I going to decline. I caught a cab from the hospital to his place, nodded at the concierge, who’d gotten used to me by now, and practically ran into the elevator. Zero two zero seven. Seconds later, Oliver met me at the door with a glass of champagne.
“Drink this. Then strip, because I want to pour the rest of the bottle over you then lick it off.”
He didn’t waste time, did he?
“Won’t that get messy?”
“I’m counting on it. Then I’m going to fuck you in the shower, which I’ve been waiting to do for six damn
weeks.”
The last time I was here, he’d laid me on the bed and kissed me all over, the epitome of sweetness. Tonight, I got the Oliver who bent me over the table that night at Rhodium, and I wasn’t sure which one I liked better.
Both. I wanted both. As often as I could get them.
I stripped.
CHAPTER 29
NOTHING GOOD EVER lasts, does it?
Oliver hauled me back to reality the day after our shower adventure with a reminder that I needed to go to his office for a formal interview. And it wouldn’t just be him there. No, I’d have to spill the sordid details in front of his co-counsel and assistant.
And the court case was getting closer—it began in eight days. Oliver had avoided discussing it, but I saw the subtle changes in him—the deepening lines on his forehead, the way he’d zone out for a few seconds at a time while we ate dinner, the nights he’d head straight back to his study after sex, leaving me to lie awake and worry.
“What will happen?” I asked him one evening over dinner.
“I can’t talk about it. I’m skirting ethical boundaries enough with you at the moment, and I need to keep that side of my life separate.”
I understood that, but I hated to see him stressed.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You already are, princess.” He added more quietly, “More than you could ever know.”
The day of the interview dawned grey and wet, a slow drizzle that soaked my shoes and made my hair frizz under my umbrella.
As I crossed the lobby at Rhodes, Holden and Maxwell, I thought back to the last time I’d visited. My embarrassment at Oliver’s questions and the way I dashed out afterwards. I didn’t doubt today would be just as uncomfortable, but how things had changed. Instead of wanting to cut out Oliver’s tongue with a letter opener, I longed for him to wrap his arms around me and make this whole nightmare go away.
An immaculate receptionist who’d either arrived before the rain started or used a heck of a lot of hairspray showed me to a conference room. Three people were already seated on the other side of a long table—a stranger in the centre, Oliver to his left, and a younger girl on the right. From the way she kept clicking her pen, she seemed as nervous as me. An intern?
