Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(116)

“What are you having?”

“Probably scotch.”

“I’ll do that too.”

He discussed the selection with the server and made his choice. When we were alone again, he leaned back and put his arm along the back of the seat, just above my shoulders.

I glanced at it, then at him. “Really?”

“Is it bothering you?”

Grumbling, I shifted on the plush bench seat. “It’s fine. As long as you understand things are not getting romantic between us tonight.”

“When have things ever been romantic between us?”

“You know what I mean. Nothing is going to happen. I’m having one drink, and I’m going home.”

Our eyes locked, and a slow smile crept onto his lips. “Okay.”

Needless to say, something happened.

I’m not even sure how.

One drink turned into two. Then three. We caught up. Laughed about old times. Asked about family. We shared stories, looked at pictures on each other’s phones, discussed the scotch.

When our glasses were empty, Oliver paid the bill and we walked out to the elevators. I was pleasantly tipsy by then, but I still caught him hitting the up arrow.

“Hey,” I said. “I have to get my coat. The ballroom is on the lower level.”

“I know.” The doors opened, and he stepped inside. The car was empty. “But my room is upstairs.”

I didn’t move. He held his finger on the button, keeping the doors open, and met my eyes. The look on his face dared me to get on. Go up to his room. Get naked.

I wished he didn’t look so fucking good in that suit.

“One,” he said.

I held my ground, but felt it cracking under my feet.

“Two.”

I clenched my stomach muscles, remembering how big he was, how he used his mouth, how quickly he made me come.

“Three.” He took his hand off the button. “Goodnight, Chloe.”

The doors began to close.

My hand shot out.

The doors opened again and I stepped through them, breathing hard. “You’re fucking impossible,” I told him.

“And you’re fucking predictable.” He lowered his voice. “But I’ve been waiting for this a long time.”

The doors closed behind me, and we went at each other like wolves.





Fueled by pent-up lust and scotch, we stumbled into Oliver’s room and tore at each other’s clothes. It was hot and rough and a little bit violent, as if we were furious we hadn’t been able to keep our hands to ourselves and wanted to take it out on one another’s bodies. We pushed and pulled and growled and grasped. We called each other names and cursed viciously. We knocked over a lamp and ripped Oliver’s shirt.

When we finally exploded together, Oliver had me up against the door, and if our yelling didn’t wake the entire floor, then the pounding must have. I’d have bruises for days.

Afterward, we collapsed on the bed, naked and sweaty and exhausted.

“Oh my God,” I said. “I can’t believe we did that.”

“I know. Me either.”

“I think I pulled a muscle.”

“I think you bit me. Am I bleeding?”

I laughed. “No, but I hope you’re not seeing anyone. If you are, she’s going to wonder about all those scratches on your back.”

“I’m not seeing anyone.” He paused. “Are you?”

“No.”

Neither of us moved for several minutes. When I caught myself falling asleep, I sat up. “I should go.”

“Why? Just stay here.”

I looked down at him. “You want me to stay?”

“Yeah.” He opened his eyes. In the low light, they almost looked black instead of blue. “Spend the night with me.”

I waited for it—the dirty joke, the excuse, the subtle dig—the reason he’d toss out for asking me to stay. It couldn’t just be that he wanted me here.

But he didn’t say anything more. He just reached out and covered my hand with his.

I looked at our hands for a moment, and a thousand memories came rushing back. Some good, some bad, but all us. I felt close to him, and I didn’t want to leave. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

“Good.” He took off his watch and put it on the nightstand.





“What should we do today?” Oliver traced the letters of my tattoo with his finger. “Museum? Aquarium? Stroll down Michigan Avenue?”

I was on my stomach, arms folded beneath my pillow. “What day is it?”

He laughed. “Saturday. Do you have to be somewhere?”

I tried to think, but my brain, like my body, was complete mush. We’d spent the entire night alternating between mind-blowing sex and short, heavy naps. Neither of us had gotten enough sleep. “I can’t remember.”

“You don’t work on Saturdays, do you?”

“No.”

“Good. Spend the day with me.”

“I have no clothes.”

“Even better.” He looked at the window. “It’s raining anyway. We’ll just stay in bed.”

Smiling, I looked at his tousled hair and stubbled jaw. “How long are you in Chicago?”