Page 68 of My Best Friend's Earl
Oliver gave a nod, content with her assurance that they’d speak soon. “Of course.”
That relief sustained him through the hour they spent in a private dining room at the inn. By the time he helped her into his carriage, then waved off Dorian’s, he was only slightly twitchy with impatience.
When the coachman told the horses to “drive on,” Oliver spoke, as if the words were a breath he’d been holding. “I don’t know what to do, or what to think. All of this is new, and I’m afraid I’ve already somehow made a hash of things. Whatever it is, I need you to tell me, so I can fix it.”
“Oliver… what are you talking about?” He had to giveher credit; she appeared calm and collected, until you noticed the way her fingers fussed with the edge of her cloak.
“I told you I love you, then you rode in the other carriage. I don’t know what that means.”
Her laugh sounded forced, and he thought he might vomit, then die from humiliation.
“Men say things in the heat of the moment. Don’t think I’ll hold you to that declaration.”
Oh God, he’d read all this correctly, hadn’t he? She didn’t return his regard, and she regretted what they’d done. Oliver leaned back against the seat, scrambling for the cool reserve he’d clung to for so many years. That would be his only defense against whatever came next.
“I rode with Caro because I needed to ask her about partnering with me and Hattie at the shop. I’d planned to speak with her about it while you and Dorian looked at that house, but we spent the time visiting Betsy. Given the choice between begging my cousin to go into business with me, and playing with my niece, Georgia will win every time. Besides, this way, Dorian joined the conversation as well.”
That… wasn’t what he expected. Oliver blinked and allowed the defensive reserve he’d erected to slip. “The bookshop?”
“My parents want to retire. It’s been a journey for me to accept that I can’t run Martin House on my own. However, with Hattie willing to share the work, and Caro’s influence and purse strings, we’ll make a compelling argument toward convincing my parents the shop will be secure in our hands.”
Oliver rubbed a palm over his hair. As suspected, everything happening inside her brain was beyond what he’d considered. “I would like to hear more about the future of the shop, and your role in that. Before that, might we pleaseaddress the first thing you said? About not believing my feelings are honest?”
Hang it, he needed to touch her. Oliver transferred to her bench and took her hand. When she interlaced her fingers to his, something inside him calmed.
“Oliver, our lovemaking was… magical. I’d even call it combustible. But it would be easy to confuse your first orgasm at someone else’s hand—or other body part—with abiding devotion,” she explained patiently.
“I agree with all of that.” She stiffened beside him and he wanted to growl in frustration. “Except I knew I loved you when you fell asleep on my lap in my study. If I told you too soon, I’m sorry. All of this is new to me. I’ve never been in love before, or had a relationship I actually wanted. I’ll make mistakes, but I promise you can trust me.”
Watching belief dawn across her face was a beautiful thing. Constance whispered, “You already knew you loved me? So, you were in earnest?”
“Of course I did. And then I panicked when you didn’t respond.”
Quick as a blink, she shifted from soft and wondering, to argumentative. Constance threw one hand in the air and huffed, “Oliver, you were literally inside of me, on the verge of an orgasm. Everyone knows to not believe anything a man says under those circumstances.”
His mouth covered hers in a hard kiss designed to take her by surprise, then released her. “Let me make one thing clear,” he growled. “When I say I love you, I mean it. It doesn’t matter where we are, or what is happening around us. If I’m fucking you, or yelling and angry as a wet cat, or talking in my sleep, I still love you. I adore every maddening inch of you, in any circumstance.”
She kissed him this time, and he instantly turned greedyfor more. After a morning spent wondering if he’d ever taste her again, desperation lurked too close to the surface to control himself. It was that deep primal instinct only she brought out that had him gathering her skirt toward her hips, then urging her to straddle him.
Within seconds, Constance unbuttoned his breeches, and he was home. His shout of relief was muffled against her chest, and he could die happily, just like that. “God, I love you,” he groaned.
Oliver lifted his gaze to hold hers, then sank his fingers into her hair. “You are everything I want. Do you believe me?”
Constance nodded, biting her lower lip as her eyes fluttered closed.
“Open your eyes. Tell me. I need to hear it.” One hand clutched her hip, pinning her on his cock.
“I believe you,” she gasped. Oliver canted his pelvis to hit a spot within her heat that had made her scream the night before. “I love you too.”
The need to hear more fought with his desire to feel her unravel around him. “Tell me,” he asked again.
“I love you. I crave you. Oh, God, keep doing that.”
The noises she made when he did as requested made his balls tighten.
Pressing their faces close, she panted above him and held herself still, while he kept flexing to hit that same place deep inside over and over. “I love how much you care about everyone around you. I still don’t understand the myriad things you say prevent us from being together, but you can explain when you’re not doing—God, that.”
“Later. I’ll explain later.” And he kept doingthat.
