Page 48 of His Greatest Treasure

I won’t, but I don’t bother saying that. There’s no reason to. She wouldn’t believe me anyway.

And she’s not the only one.

17

AVERY

I don’t get homeuntil past dinnertime. Once Nova was buckled into the back seat of Chris’ car and out of sight, that familiar sense of overhanging loneliness hit, and I buried it beneath hours of manual labour.

My back and arms ache as I step onto the curb outside my house and lock my car doors behind me. The small weight of the beaded key chains Nova’s made me over the years feel too heavy in my hand, even compared to the bottle of wine red in my other one. I need a long bath and to sift through the takeout menus in my junk drawer until I find something I can drown my sorrows in.

If I called and asked Adalyn, she might be up for joining me, but then again, she has a family of her own now. Tinsley is back in Toronto with Noah, and Maddox’s wife, Braxton, and I have never been all that close. The women in our giant found family are slim in numbers compared to the men. It’s never felt more unfair than right now.

Inside my empty, silent home, I kick off my shoes and head straight for bed, takeout be damned. The TV I bought for my room leans against the wall opposite the bed and beside the wall mount I’ve been meaning to hang. It would probably help if I hada drill or something, but I don’t know shit about tools. Not unless they come in the shape of a man.

I sneak a peek at the window that looks into Oliver’s bedroom to make sure the blinds are down before tossing the wine bottle onto my mattress and beginning to strip.

Naked, I sniff my armpit as if needing proof that I do, in fact, stink like sweat and then hop in the shower. I stay beneath the hot water for longer than I do when Nova’s home and lean my forehead against the cool tiles, my eyes drifting shut.

Surely it would be pathetic for a thirty-year-old woman to call her mom and beg her to watch a movie with her over Skype, right?

I tried the whole taking myself out for dinner thing a couple of weeks ago, and all it did was make me feel shittier about my lack of friends.

“Fuck,” I groan before turning the water off and stepping out of the tub.

Ten minutes later, I’ve slipped on a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, brushed through my hair, and applied enough anti-wrinkle cream to cover the faces of at least five different women.

Once I’ve popped the bottle of wine in the kitchen and grabbed my extra-large glass from the cupboard, there’s a knock on the door. It’s a loud, pounding one that has me immediately on edge, knowing damn well who’s responsible for it.

I leave the wine on the counter and then tug the bottom of my tank top as I go to the door. A second round of knocking starts when I’m two steps from answering. My glare is already fixed in place as I twist the deadbolt and swing open the door.

“You’re incredibly impatient,” I say, getting an eyeful of Oliver’s back.

He spins at the sound of my voice, his hand dropping from where he was gripping the back of his neck. The flush to his cheeks has to be from the heat . . .

“Sorry. Didn’t know if you could hear it or not.”

“I was only in the kitchen.”

He jerks his head in a nod and swallows before blinking four times in quick succession. When his eyes fall to take in my outfit, I’m the one flushing all the way down to the soles of my feet. Pupils swelling in the sea of deep brown, he checks me out blatantly, maybe completely unaware that he’s doing so. Weeks ago, I might have been offended by this type of attention, but now, his interest in my physical appearance makes me ache in a way I haven’t in a long, long time.

Dropping a hand to my jutted hip, I wait for him to look up again, my tongue too twisted to tell him to stop ogling my tits and the inward curve of my waist where my blue silk top is too cropped to cover. By the time he’s basking my naked thighs in the heat from his intense stare, I’m helpless to the draw of squeezing them together in hopes of soothing the intense pulsing in my core.

He notices my fidgeting. Fuck me, his lips part on a long, tight exhale before he grips the edge of the door in a hold tight enough for the veins on the back of his hand to strain and snaps his eyes up to mine.

“Do you always answer the door dressed like this?” he asks, and so help me, I think my nipples bead from the gruff words alone.

I nip at the inside of my cheek hard enough to bring me out of my lustful haze. “Maybe. What does it matter to you?”

“Nothing. Just isn’t safe.”

Unable to help myself, I raise a brow and ask, “Am I in danger right now, Oliver?”

It takes him a minute to answer, those long, strong fingers tightening on the door. “No, princess. I’m not a danger to you.”

I hear every word he doesn’t speak aloud.I’m not in danger yet, but I might be if I keep poking the bear.

“What did you need,butternalle?” I ask, attempting to sound bored.

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