“You don’t have to know, Princess. I’ll show you.”
She goes quiet again, processing my words. I don’t push. I don’t elaborate. I just continue to drive, soaking up her presence and silently wishing this night would never end.
By the time we reach her street, her breathing has steadied and her tears have dried. Her tense muscles have relaxed and somewhere along the way, her small, delicate hand found its way into mine. When I pull into her driveway and put the SUV in park, she doesn’t move. Just sits peacefully while I brush the pad of my thumb back and forth over the smooth skin of her wrist.
“Oliver?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we took the long way home.”
“Me too, Princess.”
She gives me a watery smile as she holds my gaze.
I exit the vehicle and circle to her side, pleased that she waited for me to open her door and remove her seat belt. She may not be used to it yet, but she’s learning how to let someone take care of her. HowI’mgoing to take care of her.
She accepts my palm when I offer it, and I help her out of the car. I intertwine my fingers with hers as I walk her to the door, never letting go of her hand. I watch as Jenna tilts her head back to look at me.
“Goodnight, Oliver.” Her voice is barely a whisper.
I cradle her pretty face in my hand and brush a thumb across her cheek. “Goodnight, Princess.”
As much as I want to mark every inch of her body with my dick, my mouth, and my hands right now, it’s more important to me that I find my place in her heart first. The way she’s been in mine for all these years. So I force myself to push every explicit, obscene thought out of my head and let her make the next move.
She's cautious and unsure. Her gaze lingering on my mouth longer than it should. Tentatively, she rises on the balls of her feet as the tip of her tongue peeks out to wet her plump lips. With shallow breaths, she rests her warm palms against my chest, a silent plea in her eyes begging me to take control. And God help me, because that’s when I know.
Jenna Howard is all mine.
5
JENNA
Ishould say goodnight.
That’s what a reasonable, freshly divorced, emotionally fragile woman would do. She would smile, thank the sweet, ridiculously handsome man for dinner and the scenic therapy session, then go inside to journal about her feelings while wearing fuzzy socks and an oversized t-shirt. Instead, I just stand here on my porch, staring up at Oliver like my brain has been unplugged.
“Goodnight, Princess,” he says softly. The nickname stirs something low in my belly.
The porch light casts a golden glow over his face, carving out his cheekbones and catching the darker flecks in his brown eyes. He looks like all my good and bad decisions rolled into one very sinfully muscular package.
I should end the night right here. I should reach for the doorknob and go inside.
But I don’t. I want this. Ideservethis.
I rise on the balls of my feet, leaning toward him and praying I don’t look too desperate.
His jaw flexes, just once. “Are you sure?”
No. Yes. God, I don’t know.
My heart is pounding. My stomach is flipping. My whole body is thrumming with awareness. But beneath all that, there’s a quiet steadiness that wasn’t there with my ex-husband. It’s calm and serene, laced with something else… a kind of desire I’ve never felt before.
“I’m sure.”
Oliver searches my face for a beat longer, like he’s giving me one last chance to change my mind. When I don’t, the corner of his mouth curls into a slight smirk before he presses his full lips against mine.
The second we touch, my whole body sparks. He makes a low sound in his chest—surprised, but pleased—and his hands find my waist. I tug the front of his shirt to pull him closer, kissing him like I’ve wanted to do since the moment I saw him in his shop.
