Page 36 of Little Did You Know

"What kind of stuff?" I asked curiously.

"Mostly her jewelry. I hadn't wanted to, but he'd told me it wasn't the time to get sentimental, and he was right." I pushed my raging anger back down. I was going to kill Emmett if I got my hands on him. "I lost everything else in the fire. You know, stuff that wasn't worth anything monetary."

"I'm sorry, Olivia." The words felt hollow, inadequate. This wasn't on me, but guilt gnawed at my chest for not watching them more closely. She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug and took a final bite of pizza. We slid off our stools in unison, colliding in the narrow space.

She swayed slightly, and suddenly every point of contact between us blazed like a live wire—the brush of her hip against mine, the warmth of her breath against my neck, the whisper of her hair across my jaw. My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. Each inhale filled my lungs with her scent—vanilla and something uniquely her that made my head spin. The rational part of my brain screamed for distance, but my body had other ideas, drinking in every subtle shift of her weight against me.

"Olivia." Her name came out rough, barely controlled. "We need to talk."

She stepped back, and the cool air rushed between us like a slap. The ghost of her warmth lingered on my skin as she turned away, the curve of her neck a temptation I forced myself not to follow.

Releasing a deep breath, I followed her.

She was already sitting on the couch, and I sat across from her on the coffee table.

The words sat like stones in my throat. My gaze held Olivia’s for a long moment, buying myself another precious second before I had to shatter this fragile peace between us.

"Olivia." My voice came out rougher than intended. "I can't have sex with you."

She set down her glass with careful precision, but I caught the slight tremor in her fingers. "Is it because you're not attracted to me?"

"Christ." I ran a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to pace. "That's not—I'm attracted to you. More than I should be." The admission felt dangerous, like lighting a match near gasoline. "But sex isn't going to fix what's hurting you."

Her eyes met mine, dark and challenging. "What exactly are you getting at, Nick?" She traced the rim of her wine glass, the repetitive motion betraying her nervousness even as her voice remained steady.

I forced myself to hold that gaze, to not look away from the vulnerability I saw there. "If anything happens between us—and I'm not saying it will—it needs to be about want, not need. Not healing." The words tasted bitter, like medicine. "And there are things you should understand first."

A small furrow appeared between her brows as she tilted her head. The gesture was so quintessentially Olivia that it made my chest ache. "Like?"

I took a long breath, steeling myself. "Like the fact that I don't do relationships." The carefully constructed walls around my life suddenly felt paper-thin. "I'm not monogamous with the women I sleep with. I have rules—dozens of them—and being with you would break every single one."

She lifted her wine glass, studying the liquid as if it held answers. "Tell me these rules of yours." Her voice was steady, but her fingers tightened around the stem.

"No staying the night." Each rule felt like a shield I was holding between us. "No sharing my bed." I forced myself to meet her eyes. "No kissing, which we've already broken." The memory of her lips against mine burned hot in my chest.

She set down her glass with deliberate care. "You're right." A soft exhale escaped her lips, carrying the weight of resignation. "This won't fix what's broken in me."

My fingers drummed against the coffee table, betraying the tension coiling in my gut. "Are you taking back your proposal?"

Olivia's gaze fell to her lap, dark lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. When she looked up, her "no" was barely a whisper, but it hit me like a thunderclap.

"Why me?" The question escaped before I could stop it, hanging in the air between us like smoke.

Color bloomed across her neck, painting a path up to her cheeks. Her eyes found mine, and the raw honesty there knocked the breath from my lungs. "Because you make my body react in ways I never knew possible." She squared her shoulders, chin lifting in defiance. "And I trust you not to hurt me. Physically, at least."

"And emotionally?" The question clawed its way out of my throat, rough and vulnerable.

A dangerous smile played at the corners of her mouth as she leaned forward. "How do you know I won't be the one leaving you with emotional scars?"

The challenge in her voice sent a shiver down my spine. She'd seen right through my carefully constructed walls, recognizing them for what they were—not rules, but armor. And she was offering to walk straight through them, consequences be damned.

A smile tugged at my lips despite myself. If only she knew—I'd built walls so high around my emotions that hurt couldn't reach me. Or so I told myself.

She pushed herself up from the couch, smoothing her dress. "I'm pretty tired. I'm going to call it a night." Exhaustion seemed to weigh on her shoulders, or maybe it was disappointment.

Chapter Eighteen

It felt too quiet downstairs without her and that was terrifying. I was already getting used to having her here and she couldn't stay.

---