Page 90 of Oliver

The next morning, I roll over and stare at the indentation in the pillow. There’s still much unresolved between us. Especially his assertion that he’s not a good man but I believed him when he said he was protecting me.

The rest will have to fall into place because I know as sure as I’m sitting here smiling like an idiot that he’s the one for me. Maybe he is dangerous but I’m willing to take the risk.

I need him and I know he needs me to smooth out all those rough edges. To make him whole as he does me.

Now if I could just get him to stop running…

With a mental sigh, I roll over and grab my nightshirt at the end of the bed. The cool silk as it brushes my shoulders raises goosebumps on my arms or maybe it’s the weird fucking feeling skating down my spine.

“You’re awake. Good.”

“Shit,” I shriek, spinning around with my hand pressed to my chest.

My stomach lurches to find the man from the warehouse last night sitting in the chair at my desk pretty as you please.

His mouth quirks while I stare, a thousand thoughts spiraling through my brain. I’m going to die. He looks far too urbane to be a killer. I never told Oliver how I feel. I guess I don’t have to worry about apartment hunting,

“What are you doing here?” I finally rasp.

Tsking, he stands, and I shrink away when he approaches, eyeing the door.

“You know why I’m here,” he says.

“I-I don’t,” I say, and he smiles but the affectation does not inspire anything but a shit load of panic. He’s here, in my damn bedroom. What the hell do I do now?

“You just couldn't let it go, could you?” he muses, tapping his chin.

“What?” I ask, crawling backward when he stops by the edge of the bed. Why do I get the feeling he’s enjoying this? Asshole.

“That little bitch is dead. You should never have stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

It’s my deepest regret but also my greatest desire. I can’t explain it beyond that I loved my sister and letting her death mean nothing was not a possibility. None of which matters to this freak. Which is why I suck in a breath and say, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m done. I promise.”

“Are you, though?” He cocks his head and I bite my lip, nodding vehemently. I don’t even know if I believe myself, but I’ll say fucking anything if it means I get to figure it out.

“Yes!” I ramble. “She’s gone. It’s over. I don’t care anymore.”

Carefully, I ease onto the floor and stare at him from across the mattress. His eyes glint with amusement, which I can’t say that I appreciate but whatever, he can be anything if he fucking leaves.

“Don’t you?” he says. “Hm, I guess you should have thought of that before you entered the fucking Hunter’s Club. You thought you could get away with it?”

“No! No, I just. I’m sorry,” I babble, panic pushing at my throat. If I don’t figure something out and now, I’m going to die. Fuck me but where’s Oliver? Did he leave while I was asleep?

“Yes, you’ve been a bad, bad girl. Something tells me no one is going to miss you though,” he chuckles.

Dick. Way to rub salt in the wound.

“If you do this, you’ll regret it. He’ll keep looking,” I say on a whim because fuck me, but I have to try something to scare this douche.

“Your pesky boyfriend? How do you know he’s not one of us?” he taunts, and I shrink away from him.

“He’s not. He’snot,” I repeat with more force because I refuse to believe Oliver hunts women for sport. He may be an emotionless dick most of the time, but he’s not a fucking psychopath. Right? Right.

He grins with all his teeth before shaking his head. “So naive. Then why is your pesky boyfriend invading my fucking club?”

Oh fuck. Am I endangering Oliver?

Shaking my head, I sob, “He isn’t. It’s not what you think.”

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