Page 33 of Born a Billionaire

ELEVEN

Frozen pizza and chips weren’t exactly a gourmet meal, but Adelia didn’t seem to mind. After dinner, Oliver showed her to the guest room. He’d tidied up when he brought her bags upstairs, but it really could’ve used a vacuum and a dusting. He tried not to worry too much about it as she walked into the room and looked around.

“This is super cute.” She plopped down on the bed and smiled. “Cozy.”

The charm was in the angled ceiling and little window seat nook Val had insisted he build. She thought it would be cute for their kids’ room one day so she could sit in the window and read to them. So he had built it. Even though he had never really been on board with having kids.

Adelia stood and walked over to the closet and opened the door. “Oh.” Her eyes searched the room then met his. “No bathroom?”

“The bathroom is just down the hall.” He pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the hallway.

“Okay.” She turned her face away and went to her bags. Was that a blush on her cheeks?

“Towels and washcloths are in the bathroom closet to the left of the door. Feel free to use anything you want—shampoo, conditioner, body wash.” He clamped his mouth closed at that and tamped down the sudden thought of her washing up in his shower. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will. Thanks.”

He abruptly turned to leave and slammed his elbow into the door jamb. “Ahh!” he cried out.

Adelia gasped. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Good. Great. I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight.” A soft giggle followed him out of the guest room and down the hallway, and he rubbed his sore elbow all the way down the stairs.

Sleep wouldn’t come. Probably because Adelia was in his house, asleep in the bed across the hall from his room. He liked having her in his space. He liked talking to her. He didn’t know what he’d expected when he met her, but it wasn’t the woman who had spent the evening talking about her longing for a simpler life. He could only imagine what things had been like for her, growing up the way she had. And he had a strong urge to take her far away from the spotlight. But he was just letting his thoughts run away with him again.

The sound of the door across the hall squeaked, and he listened intently as the floorboards creaked under Adelia’s weight. At first, he thought she was going to the bathroom or to get a glass of water, and he silently admonished himself for not leaving a glass on her nightstand. But then he heard the loose third step make that sound it always did, and he knew she was heading downstairs.

He climbed out of bed, throwing a T-shirt on over his flannel pajama pants, and quietly followed. When he reached the first floor, she was nowhere to be found.

“Adelia?” He looked in the kitchen, the downstairs bath, the laundry room, and glanced into the entryway, only to realize the front door was open a crack.

His feet took him out the door in seconds, and he was about to call for her when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye.

And there she was, lying on his porch swing, blanket half draped over her and half on the ground.

A smile spread across his face at the sight, and he walked over and crouched down before her. She looked so peaceful. Her smooth blonde tresses were mussed up in the back, and before he could stop himself, he reached up and ran his hand over her head, trying to tame them.

She stirred slightly and let out a contented hum.

He looked out into the darkness of his yard, lit softly by the street lights. He really needed to get her inside, but who would see them at two o’clock in the morning? Instead, he carefully lifted her upper body and settled onto the swing with her head on his knee and began to move them gently, forward and back, while he tugged the blanket up and tucked it around her.

It suddenly occurred to him that the last time he’d sat on this swing was with Val, the day she told him she was leaving. His heart squeezed just thinking about it. They’d been going through a rough patch. At least that’s what he thought. Their fighting had ramped up more with every year they were married. She accused him of being married to his job. He accused her of being distant when he was there. It was the same fights over and over. Then they would work on it for a while, only to fall back into the same patterns. Toward the end, he knew things were bad. They hadn’t been intimate in a long time. She’d make excuses when he tried to get close. He had no idea she had given up on their marriage altogether and sought comfort in the arms of another. Not until that day on the swing when she told him they needed to talk.

Oliver continued to rock the swing until he got too cold in just his T-shirt and pajama pants. He slowed the movement and carefully shifted as he stood, then slid his arms under her upper body and legs, lifting her and the blanket from the swing. And like at the lake house, she curled her body into him, burying her face in his neck. Only this time, her hand traveled up his chest and her fingers slid into the hair at the base of his neck, and he swallowed hard at the sensations it created.

He carried her inside, closing and locking the door behind them, and slowly made his way up the narrow staircase to the guest room. As he was laying her down on the bed, she giggled in her sleep.

“Ollywood,” she mumbled.

He held back his laughter until he was back in his bedroom, drifting off with a smile on his face.

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