After Roz hung up, Olivia lay back in bed, her heart filled with a quiet, profound certainty. The desert had revealed something vital to her, stripping away old layers to expose raw truths beneath. Emma had ignited desires she hadn’t known existed, and the woman she saw reflected in the mirror this morning felt new, brave, and ready.
8
Chapter Eight - Emma
The desert sun poured molten gold across the retreat as Emma leaned casually against the wooden porch railing, a glass of cold sweet tea sweating in her hand. She watched as the world around her came alive with the heat of another blazing day, but her eyes were drawn to one woman in particular.
Olivia Harrington moved through the courtyard with a new kind of grace. Gone was the stiff, careful doctor who had arrived days ago, all crisp lines, brittle politeness, and desperate restraint. The woman Emma saw now laughed easily, head tilted back, sunlight catching in the messy tumble of her honey-blonde hair. She was effortless, radiant, and alive.
Emma sipped her tea, feeling a dangerous, possessive heat uncoiling low in her belly.My doing, she thought, a wicked little thrill sparking inside her. She had been there to see it, to cause it. She had watched this woman shed her armor piece by piece, like silk sliding from bare skin.
Willa sat on one of the stone benches nearby, her arms, still marked by scars and burns, cradling a sketchbook in herlap. She grinned at something Olivia had said, the laugh lines around her eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. Across the way, Nash leaned casually against the herb garden’s low fence, signing rapidly with Priya, their fingers a blur of movement. Even Harper, barefoot as always and wearing a battered straw hat too big for her head, tossed Olivia a wink as she passed by with a tray of lemonade for the gathering group.
And there was Olivia, right in the middle of it all—not observing from the sidelines, not hiding behind polite smiles and distance, but living, breathing, belonging. She nudged Willa playfully with her shoulder, her laughter warm and rich as Harper flung an exaggerated mock-salute her way. Emma could practically feel the ripple effect of Olivia’s openness across the courtyard, a gravitational pull that had the entire retreat subtly orbiting around her.
She was stunning, and not just in the obvious, polished way Emma had noticed on that first day. This was a deeper beauty, the kind that came from a soul stretching awake after a long, aching sleep.
Olivia’s posture had changed too. She moved with a fluid sensuality now, her hips swaying unconsciously when she walked, shoulders loose and easy instead of locked tight with tension. Her skin, once pale, had taken on a soft golden tint from the desert sun. She wore one of Marv’s old, threadbare t-shirts today, tied at the waist to reveal a sliver of toned stomach, paired with cut-off shorts that showed off long, athletic legs.
And God help her, Emma noticed every single inch.
She wasn’t the only one. Nash’s gaze lingered appreciatively a little too long before Priya smacked his arm lightly with a teasing grin. Harper whistled low under her breath. Even some of the older guests gave double-takes, drawn to the sheer vitality Olivia now radiated without even realizing it.
Emma’s jaw tightened slightly before she could help herself. A deep, primal sense of possession flared hot and undeniable in her chest. Olivia didn’t even know yet how she affected people, how she had bloomed from a cautious transplant into a wild, breathtaking force of nature.
But Emma knew. She had watched it happen. She hadmadeit happen.
A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as Olivia turned briefly, her gaze scanning the courtyard before inevitably finding Emma’s. Their eyes locked. Olivia’s smile softened into something private, something meant only for her. It wasn't shy anymore. It was confident, slow, and deliberate.
Emma felt that smile like a slow drag of fingertips down her spine.
She straightened from the porch rail, setting her glass aside.Soon, she thought. She wasn’t done with Olivia Harrington, not by a damn long shot.
Because while this newfound ease and radiance were beautiful, Emma knew there was more to uncover, more layers of need, hunger, and fire lying just beneath the surface.
And she fully intended to be the one to set them all ablaze.
The afternoon sun bore down with merciless heat, baking the courtyard in a shimmering haze. Emma could feel the sweat slicking her spine beneath her tank top as she knelt by the herb beds, pulling stubborn weeds with steady, practiced hands.
Nearby, Olivia crouched by the rosemary bushes, brow furrowed in adorable concentration, her hands moving deftly through the plants. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, catching the light like a lover’s caress. Her cheeks were flushedpink from the heat, honey-blonde hair sticking messily to her temples. The old, oversized t-shirt she wore clung damply to her back, and the tiny denim shorts rode up her thighs as she moved, exposing long, toned legs dusted in desert sand.
Emma swallowed hard, the sight of Olivia so open, so gloriously messy, sending a rush of heat straight to her core.
“You’re doin' it all wrong, city girl,” Emma teased, tossing a clump of weeds toward Olivia with a sly grin.
Olivia looked up sharply, mock outrage lighting her features. “Excuse me? I happen to be very good at gardening. In theory.”
Emma chuckled low in her throat, relishing the spark of competitive fire flashing in Olivia’s eyes. “In theory don’t mean much under this sun, sweetheart.”
Olivia narrowed her eyes playfully, standing and brushing dirt from her knees. The movement caused her shirt to ride up even higher, exposing the smooth, tempting sliver of her lower belly. Emma’s gaze snagged there, unable to resist.
“Oh, it’s on now,” Olivia declared, reaching for the nearby watering can with dangerous intent.
Emma arched a brow. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Without hesitation, Olivia upended the can, dousing Emma in a cascade of cool water.
Emma gasped as the icy liquid soaked through her shirt, plastering the thin fabric to her skin. Around them, the other guests laughed and whooped in encouragement, Willa clapping her hands and Harper yelling something about “taking cover.”
