Page 68 of The Payback Plan
Oliver had brought their clothes up when he’d rescued Pavarotti and they were now sitting in a pile on the dresser. He didn’t know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that Paige wanted to cover up but she was still here and that was all that mattered.
He tossed her the requested article and in one little shimmy it was over her head and down her body as she’d hauled herself into a sitting position, without even a nip slip. It was startlingly efficient which shouldn’t be sexy but somehow was, as was the grin she levelled at him like she knew she’d just bamboozled him and Oliver was utterly freaking charmed.
‘Smells good,’ she said, adjusting the pillows behind her back to prop herself a little forward as she gathered the duvet around her waist and crossed her legs lotus-style beneath.
Turning her attention to the tray, she noticed the flower for the first time, her mouth softening into a smile. ‘Oh.’ Reaching for it, she brought it to her nose. ‘I love daffodils,’ she murmured as she fingered the stem and brushed the petals under her nose, inhaling the floral essence. Lifting her gaze, she met his eyes. ‘Thank you.’
Oliver shrugged. It had been an impulsive gesture but, seeing her genuine delight, one he was pleased he’d gone with. Handing her the coffee mug, he waited until she’d placed it and the daff on the bedside table before offering her a linen serviette. Dutifully, she spread it over her lap and plonked the plate he passed her on top.
Mimicking her position, Oliver climbed on top of the duvet, his back to the door, also balancing his plate while his mug sat on the tray between them.
‘I don’t know, Oliver,’ she murmured as she glanced at the food, picking up a piece of extra toast he’d cut in half diagonally and put on her plate. ‘There’s going to be crumbs. How will you cope?’
Oliver laughed at her teasing. ‘I think I’ll cope this once.’
‘But…’ She shook her head. ‘Bed crumbs are the worst crumbs.’ Then she bit into the toast.
She was right, bed crumbswerethe worst crumbs but the way her eyes shut as she savoured the buttery crunch had him suddenly rather fond of them.
‘Mmm.’ She sighed, her lashes fluttering open. ‘Good.’
They tucked in and for a couple of minutes there was just the sound of cutlery scraping on crockery and contented sighs as coffee was sipped. Paige was an appreciative eater but not in some performative erotic consumption of food way. No staged lick lipping or finger sucking. Just pure hedonistic enthusiasm.
Who knew that was such a turn on?
The silence was companionable and Oliver was loathe to break it but with the mood this mellow, it also felt like an opening for that civilised discussion.
Picking up his mug, he sipped it as he watched her devour her plate, all fresh-faced and wild ginger hair. He could picture her with a wreath of vine leaves entwined in her curls surrounded by ripe fruit and exotic flowers like a painting he’d once seen of Pomona, Roman goddess of fruitful abundance.
And she was in his bed. And he reallylikedher. Sure, he’d liked all the women he’d had in his bed butnoneof them had felt likethis.
She lifted her eyes from the plate and met his as she swallowed her mouthful. ‘What?’ A reddy-gold eyebrow kicked up. ‘Have I got food on my face?’ She brushed at her mouth.
‘No.’ He smiled. ‘I was just thinking you’re much more…’ Oliver chose the next word carefully. He wanted to say calm, but, in his experience, it was a word that could have theoppositeeffect in a conversation. ‘Chill than I thought you’d be this morning.’
A storm of emotions turned her eyes the milky jade of the ocean and for a moment he thought he’d blown it. That she might not answer. That she might change the subject. But then she sighed and her shoulders slumped a little. ‘I’m not.’ Her curls shifted as she shook her head. ‘Not really. I’m just trying not to think about it.’
‘About last night?’
‘Yep.’
‘Because denial is better than self-loathing?’ he asked tentatively.
She laughed but there was no joy in it. ‘Oh, I absolutely hate myself and I know the second I leave this room and face reality it will beallI think about.’
Luckily, Oliver had a solution for that. But it was hardly appropriate in the midst ofthisconversation to suggest she didn’t even bother leaving the room. That she stay naked in his bed for as long as she needed to stop the loathing and he would administer all the sustenance she needed through a constant supply of scrambled eggs, coffee and cunnilingus.
‘The bigger problem is how conflicted I feel about what happened.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘It should be cut and dried, right? But it’s not. On one hand I feel truly awful about sleeping with my friend’s ex. Kissing you was bad enough but going all the way like that?’ She grimaced, clearly disgusted. ‘How could I do that?’
The question was rhetorical he was pretty sure so Oliver didn’t answer. Plus, she was actually talking about it this time, not running away with her fingers jammed metaphorically in her ears, so it would be idiotic to interrupt.
‘But, also.’ She shut her eyes. ‘It was… good.’
He grinned. He couldn’t help himself becausefuck,yeah, it had been. It had been seriously superlativerumpy-pumpy.
She hummed as if reliving the more salacious details then opened her eyes. ‘I hadn’t thought it’d be that good.’
Oliver wasn’t sure whether to be affronted or pleased but, as usual, her frankness was weirdly endearing and he couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Um, thank you? I think?’
