Page 66 of A Chance for Us
That’s true. I was so caught up in all things wedding I didn’t pay attention to everything around me.
“I feel like an ass for not doing my job.”
Maren’s hand settles on my arm. “You did so much more than your job. You took care of everything. My point was a compliment, Oliver. Not only were you the most amazing fiancé but also you handled the resort smoothly.”
I try not to let her words sink in. “I think my siblings did that.”
“I think you had a much bigger role than you believe. This resort is going to be fantastic. I can feel it and see it.”
“And what makes you so sure?” I ask.
“Because I believe in you.”
Those words don’t bounce off. They seep into my soul like a balm that I didn’t know I needed. It covers the wounds, starting to heal the broken shit inside.
Damn her.
Before I can bristle about it, she’s scooting closer. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Just relax,” Maren says softly.
Then she moves to her side so she’s pressed against the length of my body. Her leg hooks with mine, her arm drapes over my stomach, and her head settles on my chest. “Maren...”
“It’s cuddling, Ollie. I think we both deserve it after the day we’ve had.”
My official protest comes in the form of me wrapping my arms around her, holding her tighter, and watching the movie. Yeah, after the day we had, I guess we do deserve it.
Eighteen
MAREN
Yes. Yes. Yes.
I keep my eyes closed, wholly focused on the sensations that grip me. A hand that cups my breast, lips at my neck, and pleasure—so much pleasure everywhere.
My fingers slide into thick hair, holding his mouth against my skin.
A low groan fills my ears, and I grin.
This feels so good. His warm body against mine is perfect. I moan as his hot tongue glides down toward my chest.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, tightening my fingers in his hair.
This is incredible, and I never want Oliver to stop.
Oliver. My husband.
My God.
My eyes fly open as I realize what the hell is happening.
“Oliver?” I ask with a squeak.
He lifts his head, eyes drowsy from sleep and desire. “You were saying my name,” he says. “You were begging me.”
“I was?” I ask, trying to recall anything. There is just a slight memory of . . . oh, the dream I had.
Oh boy.
