Exposed by Fate (4 page)

“This is clean.” Asher nodded at the proposal. “And it won’t put a strain on our budget. Nice work.”

“Have you told our father?” Caroline looked up at him. “He should know about this. It’s such a great—”

“Actually,” Oliver interrupted. “I’d like to wait until I have an applicant and the paperwork is ready to finalize. I just want it to be solid.” When a hint of sympathy crept into his sister’s expression, he stood and started to gather his things. He and his father had made some progress since his merger idea had saved the magazine, but he didn’t want his idea rejected before it had the chance to succeed. He smiled at Caroline to let her know all was well, but didn’t invite her to try and convince him otherwise. “I’ll keep you updated.”

Without waiting for a response, he left the conference room.

Chapter Five

Eliza stood outside Oliver’s apartment door, tapping the bottle of ouzo against her thigh. He’d already buzzed her into the building, so she didn’t have long before he opened the door and found her standing there like a nit wit. She let her head fall back on her shoulders, sucking a calming breath through her nose. The scent of marinara sauce coming from inside the apartment had her muscles relaxing. Dinner she could handle. Hopefully by the time they finished, she would have stopped feeling like her muscles might strain from nerves. In a final attempt to shake them off, she danced in two quick circles, then raised her hand to knock.

“I’m watching you through the peephole, bunny.”

She threw an exasperated look toward the ceiling. “Open the door before I drain this bottle of ouzo in shame.”

“We can’t have that.” The door swung open to reveal a barefoot Oliver, wearing jeans and a worn-in gray T-shirt. A dish towel was tossed carelessly over one shoulder, matching the finger-tousled hair on top of his head. Forget the marinara sauce.
He
looked like a meal. With a breath-stealing smile, he leaned against the doorjamb and looked at her thoughtfully.

“What?” Eliza squashed the urge to fidget.

“I’m trying to decide how to greet you. Normally it would be a hug and a kiss on the cheek, but that was before. And this is now.”

She licked suddenly dry lips. “How do you want to greet me?”

“Can’t tell you, babe, or I’ll have to do it.”

“Well. You certainly set a tone,” she said, proud that her voice didn’t wobble. Her knees were another story. “Why don’t you start by letting me into the apartment?”

He turned sideways and nudged open the door a fraction more, barely giving her enough room to pass. She gave him an exasperated look and went to squeeze past him. Oh God, the second her curves dragged across all that muscle, she felt an electrical current shoot through her body.

Oliver brought his fingers to her chin, bringing her head up. Their bodies were flush, pressed together from chest to thigh. She could feel his arousal against her stomach and although she wanted to writhe against it, she knew she needed to get her bearings first.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“Hi.” She held the bottle up. “I brought ouzo.”

“Why? Were they out of wine?”

“No. It’s a tradition in my family to begin every new business venture with a shot of this stuff.”
Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look.
“It’s supposed to be good luck. Although, my grandparents are dead broke, so maybe we should drink wine instead.”

His shook his head, trailing his fingers down the sensitive skin of her arm to take the bottle. “I like this better.”

Eliza’s brain threatened to short-circuit. “Me too.”

“Eliza?”

“Hmm.”

“You’re standing on my foot.”

“Oh! Sorry.” She shot past him into the apartment, grateful he stood behind her and couldn’t see her red face. At least he was chuckling and not asking to take a rain check that would never come. The women who normally graced these four walls probably had a repertoire of moves. All she had was a dopey expression that said…
you want zee sex, yes?

She became momentarily distracted by his apartment. Or,
loft
, rather, since no walls separated any of the rooms. Kitchen, dining room, living room and bedroom all flowed into one gigantic open plan. Above her, thick, wooden rafters moved along the expanse of the apartment. Windows lined the beautifully ornate brick wall opposite her, overlooking the East River. She could even see a hint of the lit-up Brooklyn Bridge in the distance. With her designer’s eye, she could see he’d taken care to make it homey and welcoming, without sacrificing style.

She’d expected leather and
dude colors
, as she referred to them in her head. Black, blue, gray. Instead, he’d positioned plush white couches facing the window, a low-hanging industrial light in perfect contrast to the traditional furniture. Bright red and gold area rugs. The walls were mostly bare, except for the odd family photo and shelves containing a scattering of hardback books.

With a gulp, she let her gaze move further down the apartment to land on the enormous four-poster bed tucked into the corner. Would they have sex in that bed? To her, you couldn’t get more personal than someone’s bed. It’s where they slept. Where they dreamed. They had already agreed this wouldn’t get personal. Perhaps he preferred the couch? Or a table. Her face heated once more at the thought.

Eliza turned to find Oliver watching her, leaning against the wooden island in his kitchen. His eyes appeared dark and thoughtful, before he brightened. “So, do I pass muster with New York City’s new hotshot designer?”

She scoffed. “I’m hardly that. But yes, this place is phenomenal.” A gasp escaped her throat when she saw the fireplace. She went toward it, running a reverent hand over the ancient, oak mantle. “Oh, pretty baby. You need some TLC, don’t you?”

“Are you talking to me or the fire place?” Eliza jumped when Oliver’s gruff voice invaded her ear, lips brushing against the lobe. Slowly, he turned her. “It better be me. The fireplace didn’t just spend an hour making sauce.”

This time, she couldn’t help it. Her gaze dropped to his sculpted mouth. She’d never noticed before how his upper lip flared at the top, almost stubbornly. Like it had been permanently molded that way from so much kissing. “Have you decided how you want to greet me yet?”

“Yeah.” A dimple appeared on his right cheek, eyebrows waggling. “Wanna make out?”

A laugh bubbled from her throat. “Really? That’s all I get from the famous Oliver Preston?” She gave a half-hearted shove against his muscled chest. “Do you think because we’ve known each other so long, you don’t have to try?”

He gave a dramatic groan. “Aw, bunny. Don’t make me try.”

Suspecting he just wanted to put her at ease, she couldn’t erase the stupid grin from her face. Funny enough, it had actually worked. “What about the sauce?”

His eyes darkened. “I’d rather make a fucking meal out of you, Eliza.”

Okay, so not at ease anymore. Not at all. Slow, rippling heat invaded her belly, moving lower until her thighs squeezed of their own accord to alleviate the ache. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

His quick, precise answer sounded almost angry. A nervous tingle moving up the back of her neck as she searched his expression. “I-is that still what you want?”

He looked surprised by her question. With a sigh, he lowered his forehead to hers. “Of course, I do, babe. I’m just trying to do this right.
Anything
right.” His hand found hers, twining their fingers together. “Come on. We’re going to talk about this first, even if I’d like to pet you between your legs to apologize for that mean little ache I gave you.”

She sucked in a breath, but didn’t have a chance to respond before he tugged her toward the kitchen, cursing under his breath as they went. His words echoed in her fevered brain, making the situation below her waist infinitely worse, as did the rippling of his shoulders beneath the material of his shirt. He picked her up to settle her onto a stool at the kitchen island, taking a moment to squeeze her tightly around the waist before walking away. When he rounded the island to pull two shot glasses from the cabinet, Eliza took the hint and uncapped the bottle of ouzo.

Before he returned to her, he scooped noodles and pasta sauce into a bowl, carrying it back along with shot glasses and a fork. He had a crease between his eyebrows that hadn’t been there before. He twirled a bite of pasta around the fork and held to her lips. “Open.”

As if her jaw were on a string, it dropped and a bite of pasta landed on her tongue. Oliver sat back on his stool and watched her mouth chew.

“How is it?” he asked hoarsely.

“Wonderful.” Oh God, how could she function under the weight of that sensual stare? “Aren’t you going to have any?”

He merely shook his head. “Eliza, when you enter into these kinds of relationships, such as the one you want with…him…” he trailed off. Looking suddenly restless, he poured ouzo into the shot glasses. “You have to discuss terms up front. Outline your limits. Pick a safe word. Tell someone, even if it’s me, where you’re going to be in case something happens. Before we go any further, I want you to promise me that. It’s the most important lesson I can teach you.”

Eliza nodded. She’d already understood the importance of taking those measures, but Oliver’s tone begged her to agree without equivocation. “I understand.” His hard expression still didn’t budge, so she ran her thumb over the valley between his eyebrows. “Terms, limits, safe word, phone buddy. I promise, playboy.”

Instead of responding, he wound pasta around the fork and fed it to her again. Oh boy, she could seriously get used to this. No! No, she couldn’t get used to anything Oliver-related. Is that why he was frowning? Was he worried she’d get too attached? Schooling her features, she handed him one of the shot glasses and picked up her own.

“I’ve got one more condition,” Oliver said slowly, as if he didn’t understand the words coming out of his own mouth. “You’re mine until all three lessons are over. No one else’s. Agree to it.”

“There won’t be anyone else.” She’d said it too quickly, but she’d been surprised. Surprised by him wanting that with her. Surprised how much she loved the idea. “To no messes,” she murmured, hoping to make up for her eagerness.

Oddly, her assurance didn’t make him look any less troubled. Finally, his signature smile moved back into place, and he clinked their glasses together. “No messes.”

…

One second she was looking at him like her savior, the next a hopeless player. Why did he like the former so much better? He’d never minded being written off as the irredeemable ladies’ man before. In fact, he’d enjoyed it. It had damn well saved him and his conquest some time. For some reason, hearing it from Eliza didn’t inspire relief as it usually did. It should, though. Hell, if he set aside the fact that the stunning blonde happened to be his sister’s best friend, this was his ideal situation. He would finally get the chance to act out the fantasies he’d had about Eliza over the years, secure in the fact that she wouldn’t try and nail down an engagement as soon as he let his guard down.

Feeding the girl who had always been off limits to him, watching her unpainted lips close around food he’d prepared…it got him off way too much. For a split second, he thought he might be content just to do this all night. Talk to her. Listen to her sighing breathily over the taste, watch her eyes close as she chewed, tipping her head back to expose the smooth skin of her neck. Never mind. No way would he be happy until he’d gotten another taste of what she’d started to give him last night. Every look she sent him from beneath those eyelashes felt like a squeeze of his cock.

I’m going to make her mine
. After a beat, his inner voice piped up with,
for now, buddy. For now.

Right. Of course, this would be temporary. By the end of their three meetings, he would be relieved of this inconvenient yen he had for her. He’d teach her everything she needed to know to be safe, to know what gave her pleasure, all the while catering to the instinct inside him that commanded him to rule a woman’s body. He’d been surprised to learn he had the need inside him. He loved women. Why would he want to hurt them? Withhold orgasm until they screamed and begged? Then he’d realized, it’s
because
he loved women that he felt the urge to do those things. He made the end result worth every ounce of frustration it took to get there. If somewhere along the line, it had stopped being worth it for Oliver…that was on him. Would it feel different with Eliza?

He realized he’d been contemplating for too long when she started to look nervous under his close scrutiny. Jesus, how long had he been staring at her? He set down the fork he’d been feeding her with and poured another shot of ouzo, holding it to her lips.

“Drink.”

She did as he asked, watching silently as he took another shot himself. “Does the second shot reverse the deal? I can’t remember.”

“Should we take a third shot to reverse it back?”

“Don’t ask, just pour.”

Shit. She was fun. They threw back the shot and slammed their glasses down at the same time, the loud noise echoing through his kitchen. Her full lips tilted into a smile, still damp from the alcohol. The light hit her wet mouth, beckoning him closer, and his blood sped up in his veins. Oh Christ, what he wanted to do with that mouth. The sexual urgency he’d been missing lately had decided to make up for lost time, demanding he drag her off the stool and push her onto her knees. The image alone of Eliza staring up at him obediently as she sucked him between her lips was enough to make him groan. He watched as her mouth parted on a gasp, igniting the quick rise and fall of her breasts. A pink flush crept up her throat and ended at her cheeks, a sign of innocence that only made him harder.

“Oliver, can you start teaching me now?”

Her husky question nearly killed him.
Could
he start tonight? He felt a little too desperate, a little too heavy under the weight of his suddenly robust craving to fuck. Hard. Of course it would have to be Eliza who finally brought it back for him. The girl who needed patience and caution. If he came on too strong, turned her off to what was possible, how was he any better than Porter? The motherfucker.