“Of course I did.” He slides a hand to my waist and presses a kiss to my temple. “You deserve a real Valentine’s dinner.”
Heat blooms under my skin.
“Sit.” Oliver pulls out my chair and waits for me to take my seat.
“Bossy,” I tease, settling in.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” He’s not wrong.
Dinner is incredible, a pan-seared chicken with lemon cream sauce, roasted potatoes, sautéed asparagus, and fresh homemade bread. The entire time, he keeps touching me. Small, sweet touches, like his knee brushing mine, his fingers grazing my wrist, his thumb smoothing over the back of my hand.
And every time he does, something inside me melts a little more.
We talk about everything and nothing. Movies, childhood memories, old friends… It’s just like our first date, but even better.
When the conversation comes to a comfortable lull, Oliver says something that catches me off guard. “You know you don’t have to be scared of this.”
I look down at my plate, my chest tightening. “I’m not scared. Just cautious, I guess.”
“You should be. You’ve been hurt by the person you should’ve been able to trust the most. Your heart’s worth protecting.”
Something inside me cracks open at that. Bobby never protected me. He never protected anything. Not my heart. Not our marriage. Not the life we tried to build.
But Oliver… Oliver speaks to me like I’m something precious. Something he wants to earn, not take. Something he’d never take for granted.
When dinner is done, he clears the table while I sip champagne, watching him move around his kitchen like he was born in it. When he turns back toward me, there’s a simmering heat in his eyes. The kind that curls low in my stomach.
Without a word, he extends his hand, and I take it. He helps me from my chair, then pulls me in close. “Let me show you the rest of your Valentine’s present.”
I can feel my pulse fluttering everywhere. “Oliver…”
“Shh,” he murmurs, brushing a soft kiss along my jaw. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
He backs me slowly down the hall, kissing me with every step—my mouth, my neck, the sensitive place behind my ear that makes me gasp. By the time we reach his bedroom, my legs feel like jelly. He reaches behind me and closes the door with a quiet snick.
“Come here.” His voice is low and deep.
I step closer as his hands slide to my hips. His mouth finds mine again in a leisurely kiss that feels decadent and adoring. He isn’t rushing. He isn’t frantic. He’ssavoringme. And God help me, I’m savoring him too.
When he finally guides me onto his bed, my breath trembles. “Tell me what you want,” he says, his forehead pressed to mine.
I swallow hard. “You.”
“You have me,” he whispers with a smile, trailing kisses down my throat. “All of me.” The way he says it isn’t casual. It isn’t performative. It’s a promise. A vow. A quiet kind of devotion that hits deeper than words have any right to.
Oliver slips his hands under my shirt, his palms spreading over my ribs, gliding upward with deliberate slowness. Every inch he touches sparks heat across my skin, like he’s waking up parts of me that have been asleep for years.
“Lift your arms,” he whispers against my collarbone.
I do, my breath hitching as he pulls off my top and tosses it somewhere behind him. His eyes sweep over me, hungry and appreciative, yet tender enough to make me ache.
“God, look at you.” He traces the edge of my bra with a single finger, teasing but not touching where I need him most. “So beautiful.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.” He flicks his gaze up, meeting mine. “And because no one has said it enough.”
He unclasps my bra slowly, like he’s unwrapping a rare gift. When it slips down my arms, his breath stutters. Then he leans in and kisses the soft swell of my breast, just one gentle press of his lips that makes my knees go weak.
