Page 40 of Oliver
A far cry from the rumpled, pillow-wall-building man I'd left two hours ago.
"You clean up well," I said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in the vicinity of breathless.
He turned, his eyes widening slightly as he took me in. I'd changed into a simple emerald sundress for the mixer, nothing particularly revealing, but the way his gaze lingered made me feel like I was wearing couture.
"So do you," he said, his voice a touch lower than usual.
For a moment, we just stood there, looking at each other, the air between us charged with unspoken awareness. Then Oliver cleared his throat, breaking the spell.
"I've been reviewing the guest list," he said, all business again. "Ryan is scheduled to arrive tonight."
The mention of Ryan's name was like a bucket of ice water. Right. That’s why Oliver was here—to keep Ryan at a safe distance.
"Thank you for the heads-up." I smoothed my dress, mentally shifting into work mode. "Dinner will be crowded enough that we shouldn't have to interact with him much."
Oliver nodded, picking up his navy sports jacket from the back of a chair. "Ready to face your family?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
As we headed for the door, Oliver's hand settled at the small of my back, a gesture that was becoming familiar. Comforting, even.
"Zahra?" I turned to look at him, suddenly aware of how close we were standing. "About this morning…" he started, then seemed to think better of it. "Never mind. We should go."
He was right. Whatever had happened, or hadn't happened this morning, wasn't important. What mattered was getting through the next two weeks with our arrangement intact.
Even if a small, treacherous part of me wondered what he'd been about to say.
Even if I couldn't stop thinking about the comfort of waking up in his arms.
Even if I was beginning to suspect that pretending to be in love with Oliver Beck might be the easiest role I'd ever played.
But none of that would make a difference if it all fell apart. Because, despite how I framed Oliver’s role, he wasn’t just a buffer.
He was a shield.
A borrowed one. An unsuspecting knight in shining armor. Only this time, he wasn’t on a quest to fill my world with pink crayons.
In a few hours, Oliver would have his first battle with my personal monster.
Thirteen
OLIVER
Steam filledthe bathroom as I plotted my next moves, mentally mapping out the week ahead.
The brunch went off without a hitch. I just needed to maintain our cover through the scheduled events, slip away when Zahra was busy with her wedding duties, gather evidence about the trust violation, and find the documents proving my parents' betrayal.
Simple. Straightforward. Logical.
I shut off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist, wiping condensation from my glasses before slipping them on. The bathroom mirror revealed a man with purpose, with a plan. Everything was proceeding as scheduled, despite this morning’s...complications.
The surge of desperation when she tried to wiggle free was enough to pull me out of deep sleep, but not enough to wake me up completely. I remembered Zahra freezing when I instinctively pulled her back to me, then melting against me like she belonged there, wrapped in my arms. Safe.
I could chalk that up to biology. Proximity and warmth triggering a primitive response. Like most natural phenomena, it could be explained by science, controlled through awareness.
But no amount of reasoning managed to erase the memory of waking up with Zahra’s scent all over me, her warmth lingering where she’d been curled up against me, the feel of her cheek against my heart. How I didn’t need to be awake to be aware of her, to know that the best sleep I’d had in years was because she was in my arms.
I gritted my teeth, pushing back the surge of pure, unfiltereddesirethat shot from my hippocampus straight to my cock.
