Page 33 of Between Desire and Denial
“Yes, of course,” I responded and then waited for her to explain her abrupt change in plans.
“You won’t be here much, right?” She looked up toward the ceiling, then brushed away some of the moisture on her face.
“Why?” I said slowly. If she was here, I might just opt to stay.
“Does it matter why? Don’t you only care about getting what you want? It’s a good investment.” She tapped her foot on the ground like she was impatient for an answer even though she wasn’t giving me any information.
I liked to take a risk here and there. Shit, I’d spent millions on investments that tanked because, even with all the facts, jumping into an uncertain situation sometimes paid off. It’s why I also went skydiving or swam in shark-infested waters or pushed myself always. We couldn’t grow without it.
Here, though, I hesitated. Olive was more dangerous than shark-infested waters. She was a woman I was quickly getting attached to. I obsessed about my investments, not women. Yet, I found myself constantly wondering about her. I’d scheduled her itinerary for Paradise Grove and watched her damn flight, tracking it to make sure she arrived on time. Then I’d jumped on an opportunity to act like we were planning a family in front of all the important players in Paradise Grove—and not because it’d be good for my investment.
Watching her respond to that brought me joy I hadn’t felt in a long time. And the idea of a family with her grew in my head like it might be a damn fun adventure.
This line of thinking wasn’t good for me. Not at all. Not if she wasn’t going to reciprocate the feelings. I needed to pull back and maybe even abort that plan now. “Well, I don’tonlycare about the investment. And, yes, I do care about getting what Iwant.” What I wanted was yet to be determined. “I just recently was trying to come to terms with you not being here.”
“How do you expect to win over the community?” She put her hands on her hips. “Walter and Reggie hate you. Jameson—who, might I add, has a lot of pull around here—thinks you have no idea what you’re doing. And I’m pretty sure everyone wants you out. I’m your only hope.”
She was bold in her anger. “You’re a shot in the dark.”
“Without me, you don’t even have a gun to shoot.” She lifted her chin, still fighting me with tears in her eyes.
“I want to know what happened to make you want to stay.” I wanted to know every single thing about her, but this was a start.
“I just need to do some stuff. I won’t be in your way. You’ll barely notice I’m here.” She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on her legging, and I recalled how I’d torn a large hole in another pair the last time I’d seen her.
“That’s impossible, Olive.”
She frowned, her full lips pouting out. “Why would it be impossible?”
“Because if you’re here, my attention is on you and your sweaters and your haggard-looking leggings and the bright flowers in your hair—”
“They aren’t haggard!”
“If you’re here, I’m thinking about fucking you. Twenty-four seven. I notice you in every room. And I notice when you’re not in the room.” I told her the truth, laid it out for her to understand.
“Dimitri.” She breathed out my name before she started nibbling on her bottom lip. “You probably shouldn’t say stuff like that to me when I’m here.”
“I will.” I wasn’t going to lie about it.
“Well, you won’t even be here much.” She turned to look out the window of the living room. “I just need to stay.”
The quiver in her voice had me getting up and moving over to stand beside her. “Tell me what happened.”
She shook her head, pursing her lips. “I’ll stay upstairs, out of your way. You stay out of mine, okay? Completely out of the way,” she said louder, like that was going to help me stop asking the question.
“Well, I can be here all day every damn day, in your way, if you don’t explain to me why you look like you’re about to burst into tears.”
“There’s no looking like it, Dimitri. Iamabout to burst into tears!” she blurted out.
Then there was one sob. And another. And then I pulled her into my arms. She basically wore her heart on her sleeve, and I was finding I wanted to bubble wrap it up, not because I was uncomfortable when women cried but because her cry made my own heart hurt.
It all should have felt too intimate, but instead it felt right. Especially when she curled into me and her tears hit my chest. I let her cry, and my arm wrapped more tightly around her while my other hand threaded through the curls in her hair. She didn’t hold back for probably a whole minute, and I didn’t ask for any more explanation. Support didn’t look like prying, and I knew she needed unconditional compassion more than ever now.
Finally, she stepped back and looked at my shirt. “Sorry.” She glanced around and stepped away, hurrying over to the kitchen where there was a white towel hanging from the oven handle. She pulled it from the bar and brought it over to blot out the tears on my shirt. “I can wash this for you, if you want. I don’t think it’s ruined. I don’t have makeup on or anything.”
“No makeup?” I murmured and stepped back to really study her. Olive’s skin was flawless without it; a tint of rose touched her tan skin as she rubbed at her nose.
“Don’t look so closely, Dimitri,” she said softly, waving the towel in front of her face but I was taking in how her long dark lashes were a deeper hue from being wet, how her curls were a bit of a mess now that I’d run my hands through them while she cried.
