Someday Maybe
Page 22
Seeing him at my office was so completely out of context, I almost asked if he was lost.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I said back. The happy flutter that hit my stomach was instantaneous.
“The receptionist tried buzzing you.”
“Oh. I was on another call.” I gestured over my shoulder toward the conference table. “I had my desk phone on hold.”
Oliver nodded. “I told her I’m Sarah’s brother so she let me up.”
The flutter, my lovely, happy flutter flew away. “Oh. You’re here to see Sarah.” I scooped up my notebook and phone and walked toward my cube, not wanting Oliver to see my tragic expression before I had time to fix it. By the time I reached my desk, I was certain I looked more presentable. “She doesn’t intern on Tuesdays. Not this semester.” I pushed papers around my desk at random. “You didn’t know that? She’ll be in tomorrow afternoon and—”
“I know she’s not here. I came to see you.”
“Oh.” I hated how often I was using that word. But I was trying to limit the number of times I said “cool.” Apparently “oh” was my filler. “Have a seat.” Much too formally, I pointed at the one empty chair in my cube.
I sat but Oliver remained standing. He wore a dark blue suit, one I’d seen before. But the jacket was off, the tie was loose, and the top two buttons of his white shirt were undone. His dark hair lacked a certain, I don’t know, evidence of being combed? His whole picture of rumpled sexiness made me hot under the camisole.
“I thought you were in Canada.”
“I took a break from my meetings but have to be back tomorrow. I caught a flight out of Vancouver early this morning. It got grounded in Reno.”
“Grounded? Why?”
He looked at me kind of funny: half pity, half…something else. “Because…” I followed his finger pointing at the wall of windows behind me. I hadn’t noticed how dark it had gotten. Not just dark; the sky had an eerie green-gray tint. And when had it started raining?
“Storm?”
“Major.” We both stared toward the windows. “The North Bay’s already flooding. It’s coming from inland over the mountains and pressure from the bay is holding it in. One of those ‘perfect storm’ conditions.”
I strained to look east. The sky appeared much more ominous in that direction. “It’s a mess out there,” I said. When I glanced at Oliver, I noticed the top of his head was wet, and so were his shoulders. “You said your flight was grounded.”
“In Reno. I rented a car and drove.”
“Through a line of storms?”
He nodded.
“Oliver Wentworth. That’s dangerous!” I jabbed a finger toward the window. “Why did you do that?”
He dropped his gaze from me and started re-tucking his shirt. “I told you, I came to see you.”
I felt an “oh” forming on my lips, the lamest thing in the world to say. “Oh.” I said it anyway. And strangely enough, it was exactly what needed to be said. Oliver lifted his silvery eyes to mine, and our gazes locked. “Ohhh,” I repeated, smiling this time.
I couldn’t help envisioning how he looked that night at his house when we were alone in the kitchen, the lights out and his shirt off and our bodies pressed together.
We both jumped when my desk phone rang.
“Want to get that?” His voice was thick and hoarse, and I wondered if he’d been picturing how I looked that night, too, naked under his shirt.
“No.” My voice came out just as hoarse. “I sure don’t want to get that.”
Oliver’s lips quirked with a smile, and a fiery ball of heat pounded where my heart should’ve been. He took a step toward me right as a loud group from the creative team paraded past my cube.
“Rocky, let’s go,” one of them said. “Emergency staff meeting.” She waved her hand, beckoning me to follow.
“Can you wait here?” I said to Oliver, hoping my quick-but-steady gaze would convey everything I was thinking and feeling and dying to tell him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be but—”
“Grab all your files on Shreveport,” my impatient colleague said. “I forgot a pen. Can I borrow one? It has to be black. And bring extra paper. Come on.”
I sighed. “I’ll be right there, hold on.” I gathered up the necessary materials and was literally being muscled down the hall when Oliver caught my wrist.
“I just sent you a text.” He glanced at my cell balanced on top of the folders in my arms. “Check it when you can.” He dropped my hand as I was pulled away.
Fiery heart still pounding, the second I got settled in the conference room I discreetly pulled out my phone.
I need to see you, his text read. Can you meet tonight?
Well, what did I expect it to say? Rachel. You pierce my soul. I love you more than the new version of Adobe Illustrator.
This was a real man. Not a Jane Austen novel.
I thumbed my reply of Yes, I’ll let you know when I’m through with work, silenced my phone, and slid it in my pocket.
My mind spun all afternoon. The staff meeting was way too long, way too boring, way too moronic, and I obviously couldn’t pay attention to anything Claire or Bruce said because, A) the offer from Redbook. Huge. And, B) a wet-shirted Oliver appearing at my office. Double huge.
After the meeting, I headed to my cube, prepared to blissfully daydream for the rest of the workday. Before I sat, I remembered I’d silenced my cell. When I pulled it out, its face glowed with a new text message. It had been sent ten minutes ago.
Don’t drive all the way home in this weather. Come to my house. When?
I bit my lip and grinned, grateful that I’d shaved my legs this morning—both legs. Screw daydreaming when I could have the real thing!
As I shut down my computer, I glanced out the window. It was raining buckets now. In the meeting, no one had mentioned the bad weather. I supposed they expected us to stay inside the office until it cleared. Not a freaking chance.
I’m on my way, I texted, then grabbed my coat.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Even though it was pouring, the second I parked, he met me at my car down the street from his house and hurried me up the fourteen stairs, dumping his umbrella at the corner of the stoop.
“Whoa. Think the drought’s officially over?” I said, wiping drops of rain off the front of my skirt.
“Get in here.” He shut the door and brushed rain off his shoulders. “If you need dry clothes, you know where I keep my shirts.”
I easily caught the flirtatious tone in his voice. “I think I’m okay.” And my happy flutter was back. “So,” I said conversationally.
“So,” he repeated. “Thanks for coming.” I followed him into the living room. “Do you want a drink or something? Are you hungry?”
No appetite at the moment, I wanted to say. “I’m fine.”
We sat on the coach. Me on one end, Oliver on the other. I didn’t exactly love that seating arrangement.
“Well, you look a lot better than last time I saw you—no, I don’t mean at your office earlier, I meant at the hospital.” He dropped his chin and chuckled. “You looked good today. Really good. You look good now.”
“Thanks.”
He exhaled another chuckle and messed with the collar of his shirt. So cute. My heart and stomach flamed all over again to see he was nervous. I was, too. After so much time, and after being as close as two people could be, we were starting from scratch. Nervous flutters and all.
He’d changed his clothes since he’d been at my office. He was in jeans and a gray shirt. The color set off his eyes, and his freshly shaved chin looked so smooth it was all I could do to not to crawl across the couch and stroke it.
Starting from scratch.
“So, you wanted to talk?”
“Yeah.” He was all fidgety, touching the center of his throat to straighten an invisible tie. “To be honest, though, the timing is pretty rotten.”
“Um.” I glanced at him then out
the big picture window. Was he talking about the storm or my surgery or what? “I’m not sure…”
He slapped his hands on his thighs, not the squirmy romantic hero, anymore. “I can’t tiptoe around this, Rachel.”
“Okay.”
“My sister told me about your job offer.”
That was strange. Sarah was there when I’d read the letter from Redbook, but I hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone about the contract. I’d barely ended my phone call when Oliver had shown up.
“Is it official?”
“Pretty much,” I said. The sudden look of pain that crossed his face confused me even more. I never wanted to see him in pain again. Ever.
“Okay, okay.” He ran both hands over his face. “You’re moving back to Texas.”
“I am?” I was totally lost now. “I assumed you meant New York.”
He dropped his hands. “What?”
I thought for a second, then couldn’t help laughing at the mistake. “They want me to write for them. I got the news today, but I don’t have to move anywhere. Why would Sarah think—”
“Wait a minute.” Oliver lifted a hand. “You’re not moving?”
“Sarah knew my old boss at Dallas Morning News wanted to rehire me.”
“But you’re not—”
“Then I got the offer from Redbook. It’s not full-time, though, but I couldn’t have done it without you, I mean I probably wouldn’t have had the guts if I didn’t know what you were doing, ya know, with your company. So thank you, Oliver, thank you for showing me—”
“Rachel.” He threw both hands in the air. “You’re not moving?”
“Oh.” Had I forgotten to answer that? “Um, no.”
His eyebrows slowly inched up, hesitantly. “You’re staying in San Francisco?”
I pressed a hand over my fiery heart, beating only for him. I had a lot more to thank him for, but that could wait. “Yes,” I said.
Then it was quiet.
There was so much space between us. Like, literal space between where I sat and where he sat, and suddenly, I was the one getting fidgety. “You know what.” I cleared my throat. “I think I could use a drink after all.”
He stood and looked down at me. “Anything else?” His eyes displayed that “I’m picturing you in my clothes” expression again, and I could smell him—all freshly shaved and showered—as he walked past me into the kitchen.
I peeled off my jacket and draped it over the back of a dining room chair, which I should’ve done when I’d first arrived, since it was a little rain-damp, and his couch was leather. Luckily, the black camisole I was wearing underneath hadn’t gotten wet. Despite being briefly caught in the downpour and wind, my hair was hopefully salvaged, as I’d twisted it into a bun thing during my meeting. But then I caught my reflection in the glass of one of Sarah’s paintings.
No, this wouldn’t do. What had Meghan said before about me trying to seduce Oliver the other night? It hadn’t been the case then, but there was no time like the present.
I pulled the pencil from the makeshift knot, and my hair tumbled to my shoulders in big, heavy waves. I did a quick finger-tease at the roots to give it that perfect windswept-chic look, then I kicked off my peep-toe sling backs.
Let the seduction begin.
“Need any help?” I asked, positioning myself on one side of the kitchen’s doorframe, doing my best Lauren Bacall. Oliver was bent over the sink with an ice tray. “Contemplating hitting your head again? We should have the ER on speed dial.”
He chuckled, but when he caught sight of me leaning on the doorway, all film noir femme fetale, the laugh dropped off.
“Rach.”
“No!” But I was too late.
Somehow….again…Oliver whacked his head on the low-hanging cabinet above the sink. Those Victorian kitchens really weren’t built for people over five-foot-five, much less a mountain of a man like Oliver.
“Seriously?” He hissed and clutched his head.
I rushed to him. “Does it hurt?” He turned his head and eyed me. “Sorry,” I said over his grumbles of pain. With one hand on his arm, I scooped up some ice in a towel and led him to a chair. This was becoming a habit. “Sit,” I commanded, then I knelt on the floor beside him. “Oh, it’s not nearly as bad as last time. Just keep the ice on it for a while.”
“This is your fault,” he muttered.
I laughed. “Stop moving. You might have a concussion.”
“You said that last time.”
“Hold this here.” I took his hand and made him hold the ice pack in place. “You need aspirin.”
As I made a move to go, he caught my hand. “Wait.” He looked into my eyes, the towel of ice slipping from both our grasps. He took my other hand and stood, pulling me up with him, then leading me to the middle of the kitchen. With a playful squint of his eyes, he glanced to the right and the left then repositioned us a few inches to the side. “This looks safe.”
“For what?”
Silently, he took my face in his hands. The pressure of his lips was gentle at first, as if he really was afraid one of us was going to smack into something if we tried this again. Then his fingers slid into my hair and my neck bent back. I fisted the front of his shirt and hung on.
Bright, multicolored bubbles popped behind my eyelids, and when I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed, he exhaled the sweetest moan, sending tingles wherever he touched.
With a break of our kiss, Oliver glanced over my shoulder then began backing me up. “Hold onto me,” he said in a whisper. A moment later, my back hit the wall. “Still conscious?”
“Yeah.”
“Got all your teeth and vital organs?”
I grinned. “Only the ones I’ll need.”
He swept the hair off my shoulder, moving his mouth to my neck, concentrating on the sensitive spot behind my ear that he knew I loved. I was grateful to be against the wall so I didn’t have to worry about falling…falling…falling…
Seven years ago, Oliver had not been my first kiss, but he’d been the best, like no boy existed before him. Now, as my body, mind, and soul took time to be reacquainted with his, it truly felt as though there was no other man in the world but him.
Oliver Wentworth was who I was meant to kiss forever.
“I’m not dreaming, am I?” he whispered, his mouth at my ear.
“Not unless I am, too.” I moved to his neck, inhaling the smell I’d been craving for years.
“Do we do this in your dreams?” He pinned me gently to the wall, one solid thigh sliding between my legs.
“No,” I whispered, heart racing, as he rested his forehead to mine. “My dreams are never this good.”
“Sweet pea.”
“Did you call me that at the ER?”
“You don’t know?”
“I was really out of it. I figured half of what I thought happened was delusional.”
He took my face between his hands, so tenderly. “What do you remember?”
“You were there with the ER doctor.”
He nodded and brushed his thumbs across my cheeks. “What else?”
“I had a breathing tube and you yelled at the doctor to take it off.”
He laughed softly and kissed a corner of my mouth. “That’s true, too.” After kissing the other corner, he drew back to gaze at me with those beautiful eyes. “I love you, Rachel.”
It was the most natural thing to hear him say to me, and my whole body lit from within, pooled with a soothing, familiar warmth. “You said that at the hospital, too. Actually, you yelled it.”
“Oh, that you remember?”
“A while ago, a lot of things started coming back.” I combed my fingers into his hair and brushed the tip of my nose over his. “I love you, too.” It was the most natural thing for me to say to him.
“I know. I wasn’t the only one yelling bloody murder in the hospital that night.” There was a grin in his voice that I felt in my toes. “They must’ve thought we were crazy.”
Until I heard a thud. “Ow.” He grunted over my mouth. “Damn, woman.”
When I pulled back, he was rubbing his head. “No. I can’t believe we did it again.”
“It’s fine.” His mouth launched at my neck, but my hands were in his hair, and he winced the second I bushed against the goose egg.
“Okay.” I pressed my hands to his chest and pushed him back. “Seriously now: ice and aspirin. You”—I took him by the hand—“sit on the couch. I’ll be right there.” But he just stared at my neck, breathing hard, not finished. The hungry look on his face was beyond relishing. “Oliver—couch.”
“Fine.” He blew out a long breath. “Will you at least wear a nurse’s uniform?”
“Go.” I gave him a shove toward the living room.
After locating a proper icepack from the freezer, I passed it off to him then hurried to his bathroom in search of aspirin. I found it behind the mirror, alongside a tiny bottle of essential oil, the cinnamon I thought I’d smelled here before. I couldn’t help smiling. So much had changed between us, grew. Yet so much was the same.
When I returned to the living room, he was stretched across the couch, icepack on the floor, eyes closed.
“Oliver, sit up.”
He mumbled something defiant.
I marched to his feet at one end of the couch. “You have a head injury so you can’t fall asleep.” All he did was slightly rearrange his body.
I planted my hands on my hips, ready to dump the icepack over his head if I had to. But I thought of a better plan. With one hand on either side of the couch, starting above his feet, I crawled up his body.
His eyes flew open. “What are you doing?”
“You obviously need something to keep you awake. Might this do the trick?” When my face got to his chest, I lowered onto my elbows and stretched out across him, arranging my body so I fit into every curve of his. “Here.” I lifted his head and placed the ice behind it. “Now don’t move.”
But neither of us could obey this prescription. His arms went around my back and I inched up so my face was over his.