She’s laughing at something my mother is saying. Throaty, full, uninhibited, her laughter is as sexy as she is. She’s thanking the waiter with a smile as he refills her water glass, and I fight the urge to wipe his own smile off his face. When he catches my eye, his smile disappears. Hell, I need to calm the fuck down. He didn’t even realize he was smiling back at her. What the fuck is it about her? I’ve fucked women who were more beautiful, only right now I can’t remember the ways any of them could be more beautiful than Olivia. There have been women who were more intelligent, graduates of elite universities, only none of them have a mouth as smart as hers, a wit as quick and snappy and no woman has ever fascinated me the way she does.
Fuck. My mother has to ask me a question again. Her smile is knowing as I answer her. No, she doesn’t fucking know a thing. She has no fucking idea and she can never know.
My entire body is coming alive; I’m fully energized after simply going through the motions of every day since I last saw Olivia. Now that I’m seeing her again I need to commit every move she makes, every sound escaping her to my memory so I can recall it for the time when I won’t be able to see it and hear it.
Wait, what did she just say? “Olivia will be sleeping in my room?”
“Yes, dear. Just for tonight.” As if she were warning me. “While the paint dries in her room. It isn’t safe for her to sleep there. You don’t mind, do you?”
The thought of Olivia in my bed has my cock jumping again. Clenching my jaw tight, I work to get myself under control. “No, of course not. I just wasn’t sure why she needed to. I apologize, I still have work on my mind. I’m actually considering staying at the hotel for the two weeks of the festival, things are so hectic right now.” Really, it was to keep the hell away from Olivia and temptation. Except the relief on Olivia’s face is clear, and because I’m an asshole I want to wipe it off immediately. “Although we are completely booked, so it will only be if someone happens to cancel.”
For only the second time tonight Olivia looks directly at me. “Is a cancellation likely to happen?”
I have a craving for melting chocolate. “Highly unlikely. The time to cancel and not be charged passed a week ago. Even if someone can’t come the room rarely goes unused, they’ll sell it to someone else rather than be out the money.”
“I heard you make people book a week at a time and you jack up the cost of the rooms to twelve hundred dollars on your cheapest rooms. How can you do that?”
“I can because I need to. Any day of the week, the least expensive room in this hotel is four fifty and it’s never below eighty-five percent full. I only raise the rates to be on par with the others in the city that are doing the same thing. The need to have people book for no less than a week is because there are people who want and need to be here for the entire festival, those are the bookings that matter. I’m not going to lose out on them for those just coming down for a weekend look and see. I’m not doing anything any other hotel doesn’t do during a high-traffic event.”
Her little mouth purses. “I just think it’s avaricious. But maybe that’s why I do what I do and you do what you do.”
My mother pats Olivia’s hand. “It’s the way of the world, dear, and both of you are necessary to weigh each other out. However, Rourke chooses to leave out that unlike the other hotels, half of the proceeds of one week goes to a fund set up for young filmmakers to apply for grants, and the other half goes directly to a charity for the homeless who are unsettled by all these people in their area. Rourke spent yesterday meeting with others in the city to set up areas and add another building where some of our homeless can go to sleep. My son is very good at only letting people see what he wants them to.”
“No, Mother, it’s more that I don’t care what others think of me enough to try and get them to see me any other way than what I am. What would you like for dessert?”
We’ve already lingered over dinner for more than two hours, so I’m not sure why I’m annoyed both women decline dessert in favor of ending the evening. This is actually good, I have shit to do. What I wanted to know, I have confirmed: Olivia is working out. My mother is the happiest I’ve seen her in years, so there isn’t a single reason why I should spend another minute with either of them.
Except as I pull into the garage and round the car to open the door for my mother, the sight of Olivia getting out of the car, her eyes wide as she looks up at me, stirs up a longing to stay. It’s that longing that has me handing the keys to my mother and refusing to go into the house as I walk to my own car without looking back. The roar of my car’s engine answers the roar of the blood in my veins. Driving away, I promise myself a long night buried in work so I can fall asleep without remembering the ghost of a smile that played on Olivia’s soft mouth.
***
Olivia
I watch Rourke walk away and I can’t look away until the car is well out of sight. This is not fair, completely unfair that he just comes crashing into my day, my life, leaving me in all this turmoil, then leaves without even saying goodbye. Anger fills me as I go into the house through the garage. Cheryl is all the way down the hall, almost to her room.
“You have to give him time, dear. He’ll come around.”
Her words stop me cold. No. Crap, no way. I swallow hard. “Do you need help undressing?”
“No, thank you, dear. I am going to have a small shower though and get right into bed.”
“Please leave your door open then. I’m going to make some tea. Would you like some to help you sleep?” Cheryl didn’t like help bathing. Although it was required the first few weeks after the stroke, over the last week, with her physical therapy progressing, the help of a shower chair and a lot of careful patience, it wasn’t necessary.
“I am so tired I won’t need the tea.”
“Okay.” I put the kettle on to boil and go through the steps of making tea not because I want it but because I need something to do. I look into my room to see the bed is back in the center of the room where all o
f the paint and wallpaper was before. Turning around in the room, I’m really happy with the way it turned out. My comforter is red and gray while my sheets are a dark blue that goes well with the gray. I can imagine bookcases set up with all my books then flinch from the idea immediately. I can’t get too comfortable here. Not after dinner, a few hours I was sure would be miserable but weren’t, yet still made everything worse. Once my six months are up, I have to leave. If I even manage to make it that long unscathed.
“Good night, Olivia,” Cheryl calls before closing her door with a firm click. I wander out of my room; I can’t believe I stood in there for so long. Did the paint fumes get to me? Back in the kitchen I see it’s been almost an hour since we got home and my tea is cold.
I’m spurred by the need to cool off. I strip out of my dress and grab my old tattered toweling robe I only use for swimming. I have another I use for when I’m in the house. Usually I’m so inhibited about my fat ass I hate seeing myself naked in the bathroom, but when it comes to swimming naked I love it, mainly because I hate my swimming suit so much. It’s a basic black tankini to hold up my heaving stupid breasts. I’ll wear my swimsuit during the day, but at night I love how free it feels to swim naked with all the lights off except the pool lights and a lone dim light above the sliding glass door. It takes a minute to get the swimming cap on, to keep my hair from getting wet. The pool is salt water and heated and it feels absolutely delicious.
Well over an hour later, I’ve done so many laps my arms hurt and I’m still no closer to settling my chaotic mind. It’s almost eleven. I use the outdoor shower to rinse off the salt. Once I’m back in the house I go into my room to change into a long sleeping shirt and panties.
Going into Rourke’s room, my whole body tightens in need. The feeling is so foreign I’m confused by it. The room is him. Stark white walls, the window coverings heavy damask silk in a blue so dark it’s almost black. A large king four-poster bed in a dark wood is the entire focus of the room. It’s massive, heavy, with each post carved beautifully. While the sheets are a creamy white, the comforter matches the window covering. Hesitantly, I pull back the sheets then pull out the stepstool hidden beneath the bed so I can climb into it.
Once I’m on the bed, I feel like I’m on top of a mountain surveying the world around me. There is a lone dresser and a small closet. Okay, the bed is impressive and soft, crazy soft, but everything outside of it feels empty, without color. I’m surprised at the sudden sleepiness that hits me. I lie down then cover up with the silky sheet and comforter. I feel safe, secure, shockingly comfortable as I breathe in the scent of Rourke all around me. Leather, grass, rain, and something that is him alone. Closing my eyes, I slip into sleep instantly.