Nights With Parker (6 page)

“Yes,” I snap. My attempts to keep the bitch away are failing.

“Well, stop.”

“Oliver.”

“I thought it might be nice to get out of Savannah and see someplace new. I’ve heard good things about this place. I don’t have an ulterior motive for everything I do.”

“Shocking,” I mutter under my breath but not low enough.

“I’m not as bad as you think I am.”

“You’re probably worse,” I retort dryly. He says nothing, but I swear I can see the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. Jackass. Our verbal sparring match concludes, and I turn my attention away from him, letting myself enjoy the rest of the drive without letting thoughts of Oliver and what’s in store for me invade my mind. He takes us to an upscale seafood restaurant situated just steps away from the water. It reminds me of the weekend trips we’d take here with my father when he was alive and healthy. Money wasn’t such an issue in those days—when going away for the weekend, staying in nice hotels, and eating at great restaurants wouldn’t break the bank.

“You’re very quiet,” Oliver states some time after we’ve been seated, our orders placed, and my attention turned to the waves crashing just beyond the window. His voice invades my thoughts, breaking the memories that had begun flooding in and calling my attention back to him.

“I used to come here, to the island, when I was younger.” I can hear the nostalgia and melancholy in my voice, and I hope he doesn’t notice. He isn’t the man to help me work through those emotions. He has his own agenda.

“Not anymore?”

“No. Not since my father died.”

If he has any reaction to what I’ve just said, he doesn’t show it. Not even so much as a flinch.

“When did he die?”

I reach across the table and grab a piece of bread out of the basket the waitress dropped off. “About four years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking a bite out of my bread and avoiding eye contact. I don’t want him to witness the pain that still lives inside me whenever I think of my father. “Are you close to your parents?” I ask trying to shift the spotlight from myself onto him.

“I’m closest to my mother.”

“Why not your father?”

He looks at me for a moment with steel in his eyes, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or even angered by my question. I brace anyway, thinking that he might actually yell at me for asking yet another question.

“Because my father is all about the business. He wasn’t around much when I was growing up.”

“Are you closer now that you work for the family business?” I’m honestly curious. Something about the family dynamic is off, and I want to know what it is. Maybe because it will help me figure out why Oliver is how he is, or maybe I’m just nosy.

“Well, we certainly communicate more, but I wouldn’t say that we’re closer.”

I tilt my head to the side, his answer confusing me. “But you’re following in his footsteps. Isn’t he proud of that?”

“My older brother, Jacob, is the one following in his footsteps,” he says, leaning back in his chair and looking completely bored with this conversation. “He’s the next in line to head the company, and yes, my father is
very
proud of him.”

“Would you want to run the company?”

“No,” he declares firmly with no hesitation.

“Why not?”

“Riley,” he clips, and I know the topic is no longer up for discussion. I think about it as the waitress delivers our meals, trying to figure out why the family dynamic is such a touchy subject for him. I come to no conclusions but decide instead that if he doesn’t want to talk about his parents, we’ll move on to other possible family members.

“Are you married?” I prod, with an almost disgusted smirk on my face. Oliver smiles as he reaches for his wine glass and takes a healthy swig.

“And why would you think that?”

“Why wouldn’t I think that? I don’t know … I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you.”

He looks at me disbelievingly, and he almost looks disappointed. “You mean to tell me you haven’t researched me?”

“I haven’t.”

“Even after you agreed to our arrangement, you didn’t think to take five minutes out of your day to look me up?”

When he puts it that way, he makes me feel stupid, small, as if I have no smarts or common sense when, really, what I’m lacking is free time.

“It’s not like I had a lot of time. This has all happened so fast.”

“I’m not married, for God’s sake. If I were, I wouldn’t be here with you.”

“You wanted to be here with me,” I toss out defensively. “Why are you so miserable about it now?”

He doesn’t even try to hide his look of amusement, and that only pisses me off more. The idea that he’s treating this like a game, when it is absolutely not a game to me, infuriates me. “Miserable?”

“Yes. Miserable,” I confirm.

“I’m not miserable.”

“You act it.”

“I just don’t have a lot of tolerance for useless questions, but that doesn’t mean I’m miserable.”

“Then you’re just mean,” I state, like it’s an ah-ha moment. Like a light bulb has gone off in my head and I’ve solved one of the many mysteries of the world.

“That’s true,” he confirms proudly.

“You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“Eat your food,” he orders me,
orders me,
as if I were a child being told to eat everything on her plate. I want to get up and storm out of the restaurant, leaving him here all alone, but that would leave me stranded. “Don’t even think about saying whatever smartass response you’re concocting in that pretty little head of yours. I’ve had just about enough of you and that mouth tonight.”

My blood feels like it’s boiling in my veins. As badly as I want to do exactly the opposite of what he’s just demanded, I don’t. I don’t because I think of my mom and what it would mean for her if I let my anger get the better of me. I look down at the plate of food that was placed in front of me, pick up my knife and fork, and eat my dinner just like I was told. Just like a good girl and I hate every minute of it.

We finished dinner in silence, and even though I tried my best to act normally, I’m positive he could sense the hostility radiating off me. Regardless of my attitude, he was a perfect gentleman, treating me with nothing but respect throughout the remainder of dinner. The drive home was equally silent, though not as hostile, because I had enough time to calm myself down. This is probably because, by the time we got in the car, I realized that our time together would soon be coming to an end, at least for tonight. We pull up to the hotel, and I barely wait for the car to come to a complete stop before I’m unbuckling my seat belt and getting out. I watch as Oliver hands the keys to the valet and makes his way over to me. I’m all set to say good night to him when he grabs me by the hand and pulls me into the hotel.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to my room.”

“Why are you dragging
me
with you?”

“You know why,” he says, pushing the call button for the elevator. Just my luck, the doors slide open immediately, and I’m pulled inside with no chance of escape.

“Oliver, I thought we were just having dinner tonight? You know, getting to know each other?”

“We did dinner, and we got to know each other. Now, we’re going to get to
know
each other,” he declares, putting just enough emphasis on the knowing part. I know exactly how much more he wants to get to know me.

My natural inclination is to fight him to do whatever I have to do to get away from him, use whatever excuse I can muster to grant myself a stay of execution, but what would that buy me? A night … two, if I’m lucky? There’s really no point. I’ve made a deal with the devil, and at some point, I’m going to have to pay up. My entire body goes cold as I think of what’s going to happen and what I’ve agreed to do. I never imagined I’d ever be in a situation like this. It doesn’t matter, though; the agreement’s been made. Taking a deep breath, I do my best in the short amount of time I have to come to terms with what’s about to happen. When the elevator doors slide open, Oliver pulls me out and down the hall, only letting me go momentarily so that he can open the door to his room.

Just like last time, he’s on me as soon as the door closes behind us. He grabs my face firmly in the palms of his hands, and I gasp when his lips crash against mine. I want to say it's too aggressive—his touch, his mouth—but the truth is that when his lips are on mine, it feels nothing short of spectacular. Even though my brain knows what he’s doing to me is wrong, my body betrays me in the worst way. It gives in, siding with the enemy like a traitor. Instinctively, my hands clutch the lapels of his suit jacket, an act that only ignites Oliver more. He releases my face, his hands landing on my hips, and with a shove, I’m moving backward. I go willingly because all I can think about is how good his kiss feels and how amazing he is at this.

There’s a moment of astonishment when we hit the bed with a bounce, but he never breaks the kiss. He’s relentless. Maybe because he knows that I might bolt if he lets me up for air; that my brain might catch up with my body and I’ll run out of here just as I did the first time. What he doesn’t realize is that my mom’s job is too important for me to go back on our deal. This job is the only thing standing between us and home foreclosure. We’re always just a paycheck or two away from losing everything.

His large hand lands on my leg, just below where the hem of my dress lies, and I start to tense as it travels north. I know exactly where he’s going, so I take a breath and force myself to relax. He gives my thigh a squeeze, and yet again, I note how good his touch feels. It’s too good, and an underlying sense of guilt accompanies it. It shouldn’t be this way; I should hate him for doing this to me. His touch shouldn’t make me want him, want more of him, yet it does.

The sudden sound of a cell phone ringing cuts through the otherwise quiet room and causes me to jerk with a start. I have a combined sense of relief and disappointment as my mind and body battle it out.

“Shit.” Oliver grunts, pushing off me. “Hold that thought,” he utters in my general direction while at the same time grabbing his cell phone. I lay there panting, trying to catch my breath while watching him with fascination as his expression goes from annoyed to downright furious. “What?” he answers curtly, and I’m grateful I’m not on the other end of the line. He listens for a moment, and yet again, I witness his face transform from angry to something else. Worry, maybe. Without any notice, he’s up and out of the bed in a flash.

“All right. I’m on my way,” he says before disconnecting the call. He grabs the hotel phone and dials the front desk, asking whoever is on the other end to have his car brought around. Once he’s finished, he turns to me, and I can tell that look from before is definitely one of worry.

“I have to go to the hotel. There was a fire in one of the guest rooms.”

“Is everyone all right?”

“Yes, but the police and fire department are there. I have to get over there.”

“Okay,” I tell him scooching off the bed and straightening my dress. I forget about what my body was telling me it wanted and say a silent thank-you to God for the reprieve.

“Come on,” he commands, reaching his hand out for mine. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

I do as he asks, giving him my hand and letting him escort me out of the room. We stand in silence waiting for the elevator, and I can tell that his body is tense. Part of me wants to help him, to offer to go with him to the hotel even if it’s only for moral support, but that’s not my place. I will never play that role in his life.

“You don’t have to walk me to my car. It would take too long. I’m at a lot down the street.”

He looks down at me, and the look of annoyance that I’m becoming so accustomed to has returned. “Why are you not parked in the hotel?”

“Because the valet here is too expensive,” I return, pointing out the obvious. “I parked for half the price down the street.”

He lets out an audible sigh as we get into the elevator.

“Next time, park here, and I’ll cover the cost.”

Leaning against the wall, I look up at him, ready to dispute his latest demand. “Oliver.”

“Do as I say, Riley. I don’t need your shit right now.”

Yet again, I bite my tongue because I know that his mind is preoccupied. He has the hotel to deal with, and I don’t need to add to that. My next thought is that I shouldn’t care what’s happening in his world because he’s thrown mine into upheaval without a second thought. He takes my hand as we walk through the lobby and out onto the street where, just as requested, his car is waiting for him. He lets me go and opens up the passenger side door.

“Get in.”

“Why?”

“I’m driving you to your car.” Before I can protest, he lets out a tired sigh and continues. “I don’t have time to debate with you. Just get in.”

I do as he asks, not wanting to drag this night out any longer than it needs to be. Not to mention, the idea of walking down the street in these heels is not at all appealing to me right now. It only takes a minute for him to drive me to the lot where my car is.