foyer was in shadow. I ventured into the sitting room feeling a bit like an intruder. None of my previous visits had given me a whole lot of time to explore the place. Gerry's energetic company had transformed last night into a game of verbal tennis that I was still reeling from some eighteen hours later. I hoped she wasn't coming by again tonight; I needed time to recover.
It took me a few minutes to gather the nerve to pour myself a drink. I didn't go for the hard liquor, only a bit of ice and tonic water with a slice of lemon. Oliver's sideboard had everything from fruit to very, very sharp knives. Rifling through it curbed my desire to search the rest of his cupboards. For now.
Truth be told, I couldn't get used to being surrounded by so much luxury. A part of me still worried I'd touch a Ming vase or something and end up having to sell what was left of my soul to pay for it. I was more of a plastic plates kind of gal, here only for a short-lived interlude in better homes and gardens; Oliver could keep his crystal champagne flutes.
I started when the elevator doors slid open with a hiss. I had all but forgotten I was supposed to be waiting for him.
"Honey," I drawled as soon as I saw him step into the foyer, all cream corduroy pants and a brown leather jacket. Add a pair of aviator sunglasses and he might have passed for a movie star. I was a much poorer imitation, by comparison, but that didn't stop me cocking my hip as I leaned against the doorframe. "Welcome home, darling. How was work?"
His expression shuttered. I thought he might have been smiling before he came in, but something I said put an end to that quick and certain.
"I see you've helped yourself to the juice," Oliver said in lieu of greeting. There was something cutting in his voice, his gaze suddenly flinty. The man I'd had at my feet last night was gone, vanished into the ether.
I held out my glass. "Have a sip. Maybe it'll help you lose the attitude."
There was no pretending last night hadn't happened. I knew what he looked like when he came now. I knew how to get him there. He could drop the tough guy act. Whatever power he had over me, the thought of it didn't paralyze me anymore.
Oliver huffed a breath but took the glass obediently enough. "Have a seat, won't you?"
I did. I could be magnanimous in my posturing. "Good day at the office?
"Wasn't at the office," Oliver said and offered no further detail. He kept both shoes and jacket on, as if we weren't meeting on his territory but somewhere cold and foreign—a dentist's waiting room, perhaps. He looked appropriately tense. "I'll get straight to it: I had no idea Geraldine would be here last night. I had no intention of putting you in an—uncomfortable position."
It was not what I expected him to say, but I tried not to let that show. Playing my cards close to the vest left options open I might otherwise have closed. "I appreciate that," I said. "Your sister was cool." Loud and exhausting, but cool.
I watched Oliver's brows dash upwards on a crinkling forehead, almost as if he couldn't believe I wasn't pulling his leg.
"She doesn't seem much older than you."
"She is," he said and took a sip of my non-alcoholic not-really-a-cocktail. When he licked his lips, I definitely didn't imagine kissing them. "Though," he added, "she's only older than me by about a minute and a half."
"You're twins?" Definitely hadn't caught that.
Oliver nodded. The corner of his lips twitched into an almost-smile. I wished he did that more. It was a good look on him.
"Fraternal?" I guessed. "You don't look all that alike." There were facial features that marked them as siblings, but they were so different in temperament and looks that it wouldn't have occurred to me they were twins. "Any other siblings I should know about? You know, in case they burst in while we're, uh, busy?"
"No," Oliver said, sharp like the swat of my riding crop. "About last night..."
I drew in a deep breath through the nose,
It took me a few minutes to gather the nerve to pour myself a drink. I didn't go for the hard liquor, only a bit of ice and tonic water with a slice of lemon. Oliver's sideboard had everything from fruit to very, very sharp knives. Rifling through it curbed my desire to search the rest of his cupboards. For now.
Truth be told, I couldn't get used to being surrounded by so much luxury. A part of me still worried I'd touch a Ming vase or something and end up having to sell what was left of my soul to pay for it. I was more of a plastic plates kind of gal, here only for a short-lived interlude in better homes and gardens; Oliver could keep his crystal champagne flutes.
I started when the elevator doors slid open with a hiss. I had all but forgotten I was supposed to be waiting for him.
"Honey," I drawled as soon as I saw him step into the foyer, all cream corduroy pants and a brown leather jacket. Add a pair of aviator sunglasses and he might have passed for a movie star. I was a much poorer imitation, by comparison, but that didn't stop me cocking my hip as I leaned against the doorframe. "Welcome home, darling. How was work?"
His expression shuttered. I thought he might have been smiling before he came in, but something I said put an end to that quick and certain.
"I see you've helped yourself to the juice," Oliver said in lieu of greeting. There was something cutting in his voice, his gaze suddenly flinty. The man I'd had at my feet last night was gone, vanished into the ether.
I held out my glass. "Have a sip. Maybe it'll help you lose the attitude."
There was no pretending last night hadn't happened. I knew what he looked like when he came now. I knew how to get him there. He could drop the tough guy act. Whatever power he had over me, the thought of it didn't paralyze me anymore.
Oliver huffed a breath but took the glass obediently enough. "Have a seat, won't you?"
I did. I could be magnanimous in my posturing. "Good day at the office?
"Wasn't at the office," Oliver said and offered no further detail. He kept both shoes and jacket on, as if we weren't meeting on his territory but somewhere cold and foreign—a dentist's waiting room, perhaps. He looked appropriately tense. "I'll get straight to it: I had no idea Geraldine would be here last night. I had no intention of putting you in an—uncomfortable position."
It was not what I expected him to say, but I tried not to let that show. Playing my cards close to the vest left options open I might otherwise have closed. "I appreciate that," I said. "Your sister was cool." Loud and exhausting, but cool.
I watched Oliver's brows dash upwards on a crinkling forehead, almost as if he couldn't believe I wasn't pulling his leg.
"She doesn't seem much older than you."
"She is," he said and took a sip of my non-alcoholic not-really-a-cocktail. When he licked his lips, I definitely didn't imagine kissing them. "Though," he added, "she's only older than me by about a minute and a half."
"You're twins?" Definitely hadn't caught that.
Oliver nodded. The corner of his lips twitched into an almost-smile. I wished he did that more. It was a good look on him.
"Fraternal?" I guessed. "You don't look all that alike." There were facial features that marked them as siblings, but they were so different in temperament and looks that it wouldn't have occurred to me they were twins. "Any other siblings I should know about? You know, in case they burst in while we're, uh, busy?"
"No," Oliver said, sharp like the swat of my riding crop. "About last night..."
I drew in a deep breath through the nose,
Similar Books
