Page 28 of Hired For the Billionaire's Secret Son

Later that evening, and after a few hours of losing and finding herself in Bo’s arms, Ollie rolled away from him, immediately missing his warmth and the length of his strong body against hers. She’d never had such good sex, had never felt so intimately connected with a man, before. His eyes were closed. Picking up a T-shirt of Bo’s, she slid it over her head and walked out of his bedroom.

She needed to rehydrate.

After checking on Mat and dropping a kiss on his head, she padded to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. Cracking the top, she swallowed half the bottle and stared out into the night. The last few hours—and weeks!—with Bo and Mat had been sublime, a step out of time and completely wonderful.

But it wasn’t real life.

Ollie rested the water bottle against her forehead and pulled in a deep breath. She was grateful she’d only met him on her last nanny job and sleeping with him wouldn’t affect her professional life. Oh, she doubted Bo would tell anyone they’d slept together, but she knew she’d stepped so far over the line that it was out of sight.

Professionally, that was. Personally, her body was singing. She felt both relaxed and energised, sleepy and excited. But, more than anything, she wanted to stay in his bed for as long as she could and keep loving him.

She felt so comfortable with him, so at ease in her body, happy to tell him what she liked or didn’t. There was a freedom with him that she’d never felt with Fred—she’d been so worried about disappointing him. With Bo, she felt as if she couldn’t let him down, that everything she did, liked or responded to was fine. Maybe it was because he had a whole bunch of tricks up his sleeve, and Fred had been a bit of a one-trick pony.

Either way, she felt sexually emancipated, as if she’d been given the freedom to explore. It was liberating and rather lovely.

But she had to be careful that she kept her emotions in check, that she didn’t allow like to bleed into love, that she guarded her foolish and impetuous heart. As lovely as this was, whatever it was, Bo wasn’t a long-term prospect. Even if she hadn’t been returning to the UK in a few weeks, he’d made it very clear that he didn’t do commitment and that he wasn’t looking for a long-term lover.

She’d been warned and if she fell for him, if she allowed her heart to come to the party, she’d have no one to blame but herself.

Ollie swallowed some more water.

Be wise, Olivia, be strong and do not do anything stupid. Sleeping with him was a choice. If you get hurt, you can only blame yourself. Sex is sex, love is love...do not muddle the two!

‘Can I get one of those?’

Ollie jerked her head up and blinked. Bo stood in front of her, dressed in a pair of black cotton sleeping shorts, his chest bare and his hair mussed. Why hadn’t she heard him approaching? Really, the man should wear a bell around his neck to warn her of his approach. Nobody should move that quietly; it was against the law of nature...

‘Okay, she’s spaced out,’ Bo said. He stepped towards her, banded his arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet, swivelling her so that he could open the door to the fridge. Still holding her feet off the ground, he used his free hand to pull another bottle of water out of the fridge and kicked the door closed with his foot. Then he put Ollie down in the exact position in which she was standing before.

‘You can’t just move me around like I’m a piece of furniture,’ Ollie complained, but there was no heat in her voice. Honestly, she rather liked it.

And, judging by his small smirk, Bo knew it. ‘You’re as light as a feather so it’s easy to do,’ he told her, opening his bottle of water. He drank deeply before sitting on a stool next to the granite-topped island. ‘Are you okay? You were miles away.’

Ollie nodded and sat down next to him, placing her bare feet on the rungs of his chair. The inside of Bo’s knees touched the outside of hers and she instantly felt anchored and safe. She ran her finger up and down the side of her bottle, collecting condensation on her finger.

They sat in silence for a while and Ollie was surprised by how comfortable it felt. There was no need to rush in with chatter, to make inane comments or to issue platitudes. There was freedom in saying nothing, in being comfortable in silence, and she revelled in it. In most of the homes she’d lived in, ad in her childhood home, people had spoken all the time, and a lack of noise had meant an argument or that there’d been an issue.

With Bo, it just felt peaceful.

Maybe if she and the De Freidmans had sat with their grief a little more, allowed it to have its space and time, instead of filling their days with people and being busy, they might’ve handled Becca’s death better. There was such power in sitting with your emotions, not having to explain them or validate them or, more importantly, push them away. Whether it was a new sexual experience or the loss of a young life, feelings and people shouldn’t be contained by boxes, have time frames or be squashed into what society demanded.

Bo ran his hand down her arm and linked his fingers with hers. ‘You have very loud thoughts, Olivia.’

She smiled at him, knowing that he wasn’t demanding to know where she was mentally but that he’d listen if she needed to talk. ‘I was just thinking how wonderful it is to sit in silence.’

Ollie placed her chin in her hand, grateful he hadn’t turned on any lights when he’d entered the kitchen. In the semi-darkness, she felt as if she and Bo were in a cocoon, a bubble, a place where they temporarily couldn’t be reached by anyone outside of this house by the sea.

‘Maybe if I’d taken a little more time to sit with my thoughts and my grief I would’ve coped better,’ Ollie stated. She turned her head to look at him. ‘Do you remember me telling you that there’s a reason I only stay three months with a family?’

‘Yeah,’ Bo replied, his voice sounding deep and rich in the semi-darkness. It sounded like dark, rich chocolate tasted...

Iwould kill for chocolate right now.

Bo left his seat and she frowned when he headed into the pantry. When he returned, holding a bar of chocolate, she realised she’d spoken aloud. Bo ripped off the packaging and handed her the bar so she could snap off a square...or six.

She saw that it was white chocolate and not dark, her preference. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think we can be friends any more, Sørenson,’ she told him, shaking her head. ‘White chocolate—really?’

‘I gather you are a dark chocolate girl?’

---