Page 25

Skirting the table, she opened the top drawer again.

Empty.

She tried the next one.

Empty, too.

Oliver had taken everything out. Not even a stray pen littered the wooden bottom.

Biting back a curse, she tiptoed to his bedroom.

Did she dare?

Pressing her ear against the wood, she listened.

The man slept the way he moved—soundless like the shadows he’d wrapped himself in. Now or never. Twisting the ornate doorknob, she walked inside his pitch-black bedroom. As the damp night air wafted in through the open windows, the curtains billowed, parting just enough to let in a sliver of moonlight. Creeping closer, she eased the drape back until she had enough light to see.

Oliver wasn’t sleeping peacefully at all.

He lay on his back, chest bare, sheets twisted around his naked hips, agony etched into his features. Caught in the throes of a nightmare, he jerked in his sleep. But even then, he didn’t make a sound.

Her heart tore at the pain he was fighting.

Unable to leave him like this, she laid her hand on his clammy brow. “Oliver?”

He didn’t wake, the muscles in his face contorting against private demons. But as she stroked his forehead, he stilled, his jaw unclenching and breath evening out. She touched his matted hair. The man really needed a cut and a wash. How different he looked from the man she’d studied online.

When she was satisfied he’d escaped his nightmare, she lifted her hand. But before she could move away, he caught her wrist and his sharp eyes met hers.

Dammit. She knew she should’ve left him alone before things got… well, to this point. How would she explain her presence in his room—on his bed?

His hold on her wrist was firm but not binding. He’d release her if she attempted to go.

But she didn’t leave.

When he pulled her closer, she let him, until she was on her back beside him.

They really needed to stop doing this.

His minty breath teased her cheek. “Look who I found.”

Even half-asleep, he managed to spark up nerve endings she’d forgotten existed.

“So sweet,” he continued. “You smell like candy.”

He smelled like anything but, yet she found him intoxicating.

His lips slid along her throat to the swell of her breasts. He cupped her over her shirt, thumbed one straining nipple. She arched into his hand, needing him without the barriers.

Oliver must have read her mind. He freed her breasts with one quick tug, pushed them together, lowered his head, and feasted.

The whimper that escaped was wholeheartedly hers.

Digging her nails into his scalp to find the strength to pull away, she inadvertently pulled him closer, demanding his lips on hers.

But he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, his dark eyes searched hers. “Tell me to stop.”

Her mouth had gone dry, and she shook her head instead.