“Listen, asshole.” My smile, big and bright, is firmly fixed in place. “I’m her boyfriend. That’s all you need to know. Good night, Hank.” I swing the door wider, inviting him to leave.
He lifts his hands. “I meant nothing by it. Goodbye, Olivia.”
She doesn’t reply, just glares at both of us until he finally takes the hint and steps out. I shut the door behind him with a solidthud.
When I turn around, she’s got her arms crossed, eyes blazing. “What the hell, Sam?”
“What the hell,me?” I poke at the center of my chest, incredulous.
Ignoring me, she brushes her hair from her face. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be here tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I know.” I jab the thumb still at my chest. “Your boyfriend—you know, me—wanted to see his girlfriend and spend more than three goddamn hours with her before he has to fly home. So he thought he’d surprise her.”
The words taste bitter, but they keep me from saying the one thing I’m actually thinking.I missed you too much to wait.
“Sam.” Her tone softens, her posture loosening. “Shit, I’m sorry. It was nothing. Just a date. Mrs. Preston’s been hounding me to go out with her nephew, so I caved. I only did it to get her off my back.”
“A date?” The word slices through me. “You know what’s easier than caving? Telling Mrs. Preston you have a boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” Her hands slap against her sides. “Sam, this is casual.”
Casual.
The word grates, raw and sharp. She says it like a shield, but I can see the lie in her eyes. We’re not fucking casual. Never were.
I force the words out through clenched teeth, trying with everything I have to keep it together even as I go along with her falsehood. “It may be casual, but we both know it’s exclusive.”
The edge in my voice lands. Her lips part, eyes wide. We stand there, both stubborn, arms folded, neither backing down. The silence stretches—thick and charged—until I finally break it.
“Olivia.” My tone softens, the anger bleeding out. The last thing I want is to fight her.
She sighs, rubbing her temples. “Sam, I should’ve told you. You’re right.”
“Damn straight.” I step closer, every part of me thrumming with the need to close the distance between us.
In one swift move, I cage her against the door, my hands braced on either side of her. The tips of my thumbs graze the underside of her breasts, and her breath catches. Her nipples pebble through the thin fabric of her dress, and that’s it—my restraint is gone.
I lower my head, my mouth finding her breast through the soft fabric. My tongue flicks once, teasing, and she gasps as her hand tangles in my hair, holding me there.
She curses under her breath as I lick, suck, and nip, each sound from her mouth feeding something primal in me. I want to mark her, to remind her she’s mine.
When I finally pull back, there’s a damp spot on her dress where my mouth was. Satisfaction coils in my chest. My mark.
“Did you kiss him?” The question rips out before I can stop it, sharper than I intend.
Her eyes widen. “No, I told him I was seeing someone. I told him about you, that you were from Montreal. I made it clear it wasn’t a date.”
My fingers trail up her cheek, soft, possessive. “He clearly didn’t get the message.”
“Ah, I think you fixed that,” she says with a laugh, her lips curving into a grin.
I huff a short laugh too, tension easing. “Good.”
Then I lean in again, brushing my mouth against her ear. “I missed you, mon trésor.”
Before she can respond, I crush my lips to hers. The kiss is deep, punishing, desperate. I pour everything into it, every ounce of jealousy, every scrap of need. My tongue slides against hers, claiming, reminding, promising.
I press my mouth to hers, the words rough against her lips. “Only you and me, Livvy. Say it.”
