Oliver stayed hushed for a few moments, tracing his index finger around his half-full beer glass. Eventually, he lifted his light blue eyes and offered me a slight smile. “Everyone wants you, beautiful, but you’re mine.”

“Yours?” I laughed because it was the only thing I could do not to choke. “A little possessive, are we?”

“A little.”

Through the rest of dinner, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being stared at from across the restaurant. And every few minutes, Oliver threw a curious glare of his own in the direction of my former client.

Opting to skip dessert, Oliver seemed like he was in a rush to leave. As soon as the valet brought his black Viper to the front of the building and we were safely hidden behind the protection of several tinted windows, he bumped my knees apart.

“Scratch what I said earlier,” he growled, and I started to frown, but that expression quickly changed to one of unconcealed pleasure when the backs of his fingers caressed my center through my panties. “When it comes to you, I’m slowly discovering I’m more than just a little possessive.”

Chapter 18

Falling back on Oliver’s mattress, I pulled the dark green sheets over my breasts the following Wednesday night, struggling to catch my breath.

“Good God, we can’t do this anymore,” I groaned.

We’d spent most of the evening tangled up together, but with Margaret scheduled to call me from Paris the next morning, I couldn’t afford to stay awake any longer. To say I was disappointed about that was an understatement. Being around Oliver helped me shove my problems out of my head, and I welcomed that temporary distraction.

Grinning widely, he flipped over on his stomach, moving his lips along the column of my throat. “Quitter.” But he kissed my shoulder, his scruffy face tickling my skin.

“I’m serious, Oliver. It’s—” I lifted my head to view the clock on the other side of his bed. “—one thirty in the morning. Your mother is calling me at nine on the dot, and if I’m not there to pick up the phone, she’ll start harassing Carl and probably Dora, too.”

And the last thing I wanted was for Margaret to bring me up to Dora. I’d successfully avoided the HR director, and her requests to sign me up for a company credit card thus far.

“Poor Isadora.” He shook his head in mock remorse. “No wonder she’s so uptight. But, I can always tell Easton to forward your calls to your cell.”

“No, don’t do that. Margaret’s bitchy-sense would automatically pick up on it.”

When he chuckled, I sighed and started to shimmy off the bed. He closed his fingers around my wrist. “Stay the night.” When I pressed my lips into a fine line, he rolled onto his back, giving me a full frontal view of his nudity, and my mouth went dry. Smirking at the look on my face, he held his hands up in surrender.

“I’m a gentleman, Lizzie, and I promise to let you sleep.”

“I—” But the unmistakable chime of his doorbell stopped my words, and I chewed on my lower lip. “Company at one thirty? I’m guessing it’s not the pizza guy.”

He rolled off the bed, rubbing his hand over his face. “Shit, it might be important—” Pointing at me as he walked to his dresser, he warned, “Don’t leave, Lizzie.”

Admiring his body as he put on a pair of sweats, I shifted beneath his Egyptian cotton sheets. “I’m surprised you’re not tying me to the bed,” I countered.

“Maybe when I get back.”

Letting his words wash over me, I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of Jack White’s rendition of “Love Is Blindness” playing quietly on the music intercom system. There was a good chance it would lull me to sleep before he came back to the bedroom, which was probably the reason he’d turned on music before we climbed into bed.

He wanted me to spend the night.

And knowing that he wanted me here warmed me in a way I knew was toxic.

I hummed the chorus of the song, stopping at the part I was unfamiliar with. As soon as I went quiet, I heard the distinctive sound of a female voice coming through the crack Oliver had left in the door.

What the hell?

Scowling, I got out of bed, quickly dressing in my underwear and the clothes I wore over here—Joe’s skinny jeans, a black tank top, and a plaid roll sleeve shirt. I edged closer to the entrance and pressed my ear to it.

I heard high-pitched laughter, and I cringed. A few seconds later, the woman with Oliver spoke, and her words squashed down my anger before it could rise to the surface.

“No sane man turns down a piece of ass in the middle of the night, Ollie,” Finley Scott stated. “You can deny whatever you want, but we’ve been together before, and it was—”

I hummed, running my tongue over my teeth to drown out whatever she was about to say about their former sex life.

At one thirty in the damn morning.

Quietly, I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. I crept toward the sound of their hushed voices, following it to the family room.

Peeking around the corner, I saw Finley standing close to the stone fireplace with her hands on her slim hips and her head tilted back to glare up at the tray ceiling. Oliver leaned against the wall closest to the entranceway. Even beneath the recessed lighting, I could see that the muscles in his neck were taut.

He crossed his arms over his bare chest—the same chest I’d branded with my fingernails not even twenty minutes ago. “I’d hate to drag you out, Fin, but you’re really pushing your fucking luck,” he told her tightly. “Go back to Margaret’s. Go to bed.”

“I drove all the way here to see you,” she hissed, lowering her gaze from the ceiling. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“No. It doesn’t. I can deal with many things, Fin, but cheating isn’t one of them. We’re going on three years apart now, and I’m tired of doing this shit every time you come to town.”

She sauntered over to him, but he held her away by her thin shoulders. “You have no clue what I’ve been through!”

He sneered. “Go back to Margaret’s.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Although I absolutely wanted to hear the rest of this conversation, I realized it wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t like he’d invited her to his place—thank goodness—but nothing good ever came from listening in on things like this. Then I realized something else.

With Finley in the middle of a quarrel with Oliver, I had been blessed with a chance to take a look inside her car.

Dragging my attention away from Oliver and his ex, I crept in the other direction to the backdoor, and as I slipped outside, I could hear the argument progress to yelling. Walking as fast as I could without shoes, I reached the front of the house where I found Finley’s shiny red Jaguar parked in front of the garage bay where I’d left my Mini Cooper earlier tonight.

God, I hoped she hadn’t locked the door.

I pulled off my plaid shirt and wrapped it around my hand. Pulling the door handle, I winced—fully prepared to take off in a sprint if the alarm went off.

To my surprise, the sleek door swung open, and I leaned into the tan leather interior, inhaling the scent of new car.

Since I didn’t have time to scan what I found, I grabbed every piece of paper inside Finley’s dashboard. Shoving them into my shirt, I closed the dashboard and the car door. Surprised at how easy that had been, and feeling a little bad ass, I was halfway across the driveway and heading to the back of the house when I heard her hiss my name.

“Lizzie?”

Freezing, I thanked all the higher powers she hadn’t walked outside a few seconds earlier. I smoothed my hands over the paperwork hidden beneath my shirt, dragged in a breath, and turned around to look at the flushed woman standing several feet away.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Finley,” I drawled, echoing what she said to me every time we came in contact.