She moves through the space like she belongs here, and perhaps she does—maybe this house, this life, has been waiting for her all along.
Her attention catches on a shelf lined with trophies. She stops, her fingers brushing lightly over the engraved plaques, reading.
“I figured you must have been athletic growing up,” she remarks thoughtfully. “What sports did you play?”
It occurs to me then that it’s been a long time since someone has been genuinely interested inmeand not just what they could get fromme.
“Rowing,” I finally say, the word feeling foreign on my tongue after all these years.
I started rowing when I was ten. I was introduced to the sport because my father was also a rower. I formally joined the rowing team during prep school, competing in regattas and winning championships over the years. Naturally, I continued rowing once my turn to enroll at Halford came, following in the footsteps of Charles Caldwell.
“You’re clearly very good at it,” she says, her tone tinged with admiration as she gestures to the awards. “Do you still row?”
“No.”
I haven’t rowed since I left Halford for my sabbatical. And when I decided to return, I felt like I no longer wanted to put up with the structure and commitment it required, when all I really wanted was to be where Olivia was. She’s the reason I came back to Halford, after all.
Even before her, I’d never questioned why I did it. I just did. My father had rowed, so I rowed. I chased the approval that had been given so freely to Alexander, who, conversely, pursued a myriad of sports. Perhaps that was yet another example of the edge he possessed which I, evidently, lacked.
When I meet Olivia’s gaze, I know that she senses the direction my mind has gone. She is always so attuned to me.
Without a word, she reaches for my hand, fingers curling around mine in quiet reassurance. Her expression is soft—understanding, never pitying. She doesn’t try to offer meaningless words or tell me that I was always enough; she simply anchors me with her presence.
Then, as if making a deliberate decision to steer me away from the weight of my thoughts, she releases my hand and letsher fingers trail up my arm, along the defined lines of muscle beneath my dress shirt. Her lips curve into something decidedly devious, her eyes gleaming.
“Well…” She flutters her eyelashes. “That explains your arms.”
Her fingers press into my biceps through the fabric. Instinctively, I flex beneath her touch, preening just for her.
She hums in appreciation, and I feel it like a physical thing, heat curling low in my spine. Then, rising onto her toes, she leans in, her lips grazing my ear as she whispers, “Your upper body is my favorite.”
A sharp jolt of arousal courses through me, tightening every muscle in my body.
She presses a slow, teasing kiss to my neck. “Although…” Her fingers drift down my chest, grazing the buttons of my shirt, tracing over the ridges of my abdomen. “I can’t look away from your abs whenever you take off your shirt either,” she continues, wicked amusement in her expression. “I am, after all, just a woman…”
Her hand slips lower, her fingers brushing the buckle of my belt. My breath comes out ragged. Christ, this girl is playing with fire.
I grab her wrist, stopping its downward descent before she finds my dick stirring to life.
My fingers curl around her hand, holding her still. “And I am only a man…” My voice is thick with restraint. “A man who craves you every moment of every day.” I exhale sharply, forcing myself to remember why I brought her here in the first place. “But there is something far more important I need to do right now.”
Olivia pouts, the expression so unexpected and yet so effortlesslyadorable, that I can’t help but laugh. The soundstartles me. It’s rare, this kind of lightness—so few things in my life had ever felteasy.
I see the exact moment Olivia feels it too—the way her eyes soften, how her lips curve like she’s committing the moment to memory.
Cradling her face between my hands, I brush my thumbs over her cheekbones and press my lips against hers, soft and slow, tasting the warmth of her smile against my mouth. When I pull back, I nudge my nose against hers, relishing the closeness. “I promise I’ll let you have your way with me once we’re back at my place, okay?”
She grins. “Okay.”
“Come sit.” I guide her toward the bed. “I have something for you.”
She lets me lead her, curiosity flickering in her gaze. I step to the nightstand, retrieving a small, carefully wrapped box that I tucked away earlier. When I return to her side, I place it gently into her open palms.
“A Christmas present,” I say simply.
Her fingers curl around the box, her breath catching. She looks up at me, eyes glassy with emotion. “For me?”
My chest tightens. “Just for you, baby.”
