“Oh! Oh my… wow!” The sensations were too much and I slammed my eyes shut. I had to. I couldn’t let the power of that orgasm or the look in Oliver’s eyes make me see things that weren’t there. It was pleasure.
Satisfaction, plain and simple.
“Wow, huh?”
“Yeah, wow. Soak it up, Playboy, you’ve earned it.” He’d more than earned it, but that secret would stay between me and my memories.* * *How long did it take for the memories of an incredible night filled with orgasms to pass? About as long as it took me to remember that Oliver was a client. Technically. Sort of.
No, he most certainly was a client, and any attempt to downplay it was just me trying to ease my guilt. A massive amount of guilt about the size of the Mississippi River, because that was the biggest sin you could commit in the matchmaking business. Also, the wedding planning business, I supposed but that wasn’t my industry so it wasn’t relevant to the matter at hand. “Focus, Eva!”
It was hard to focus when you had sex on the brain. Incredible sex. Mind-boggling sex. Fun sex. God, it was so much fun that it was hard to stop thinking about it. But I had to. I needed to. There was work to be done, and most of it had nothing at all to do with one Oliver March.
With the magical tongue.
“No! Stop!” I had to focus on my work. With more than a dozen clients on my marketing roster, I didn’t have time to waste on Oliver. And why was I wasting time on him, anyway? Because he gave me really great orgasms? Maybe, sure. Okay, yes, but Oliver was not a prospect for anything long-term, which meant he wasn’t worth my valuable time. On top of that, he was no closer to falling for any of the women we’d matched him with.
Which meant I was no closer to winning the bet, either.
Which put me exactly nowhere.
So, I turned off that part of my brain and switched on the laser-like focus that had gotten me through college with two degrees in just five years, and I plowed through emails, press releases, interview requests, social media, and a quick scan of Oliver’s blog. I even managed to update my accounts so that maybe Sophie won’t have to threaten bodily harm to get them on time this quarter.
It felt good to get on top of things and focus on something other dating and relationships. It was my job—my bread and butter, as they say—but focusing on the mechanics of keeping a business running was far more… stimulating. Yeah, that was the word for it.
Stimulating.
The all-too-familiar sound of my mother’s designated ringtone pulled me from my musings and tugged a sardonic smile across my face. I’d spoken too soon. “Hey, Mama, how are you feelin’ today?”
“Oh, I’m just fine, girl. And you?”
To most people, that seemed like a benign question, a generic question people asked millions of times a day. But not coming from my mama. “I’m good, Mama, just been a busy day. How’s the ankle?”
“The ankle is fine. I heard Oliver’s car was parked outside your place this weekend. Overnight.”
Of course she’d heard, because this was a small town, where being all up in everybody’s business was our favorite pastime. “We hung out and he had too much to drink so he walked home, Mama. It’s called being a responsible adult.”
“I call bull, little girl. What kind of daughter keeps details of her sex life to herself? You’re my only child!”
“Mama, please!” I fell back in my chair, gaze aimed at the sky, wondering why I’d been blessed with such a feisty mama. “There is nothing to report. Oliver and I are becoming friends, that’s all.”
“I’m calling crap again,” she said, louder just in case all of Texas didn’t hear her the first time.
Thankfully, Kendra chose that moment to walk into my office, a uniformed delivery guy close behind her. “That’s your right to do so, but Kendra just walked into my office and it looks important so—”
“I’ll wait,” she said easily. “I’m painting my nails, anyway, so I can’t hang up.”
“Hold please.” I pressed the mute button and sighed, pointing the delivery guy to the table near the corner. It was where the flowers would go, because Oliver was absolutely the kind of man who waited two days to reach out, and then did so with over-the-top flowers. “Is there a card?”
The young delivery guy flashed a smile at Kendra but answered my question. “The manager said the ‘she won’t miss the note’ with a tone, if that helps.”
It didn’t, but I tipped the kid and watched him walk out, gathering his courage to ask a beautiful woman like Kendra on a date. “All right, Mama, I’m back. What were you saying about your nails?”