“You. You’re … confident and sexy and … perfect.” I swallow back my emotions. “And your skin, it’s—”

Oliver presses his finger to my lips and shakes his head. Then his lips replace his finger. Hands of gentle strength glide over my body one small curve at a time.

He’s showing me.

Somehow Oliver knows when words are inadequate. I feel his passion and carnal need harnessed with incredible control as he explores my body with his, bringing me to the edge. My body begs for his, every millimeter of space between us is unbearable.

“Oli … please!” My voice is breathless as his incredible lips brush over my nipples, up my neck, finding home with mine as he sinks into me.

I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and I hold on. Oliver can take me anywhere.

* * *

Oliver

I’m in a bit of a quandary. The plan for my relationship with Vivian to remain solely physical is failing at a catastrophic level. The physical part is not even in this dimension. It’s as if she’s starving and I’m the only one in the entire world that has what she needs to survive. Will she wake up one day and realize that I’ve poisoned her? Will I survive if she does?

My nearly six and a half foot long body curls into a five by two foot space while Vivian sleeps in her greedy diagonal position across the bed. She was on top of me until I slid out at sunrise. My dad will be here soon anyway, but I can’t pass up the few spare moments I have to watch her sleep. I’m up to twenty eight on her freckle count.

“I can feel your stare,” she mumbles.

“Hold still, I’m not done.”

She cracks open one eye, but just a squint. “Done with what?”

“Counting your freckles.”

“Oh God!” She throws her arm over her face. “Yet, another undesirable trait of mine.”

I pry her arm away and kiss her freckled nose, cheeks, and then her full, delicious lips. I have to adjust my hard-on because she’s so damn sexy I can’t even think about her without standing at full attention.

“Vivian, I swear I’m going to make it my life’s mission to make you see that your brightness blinds the sun.”

She brushes her palms over my face. “I don’t deserve you.”

I kiss her and stand, slowly releasing her hand. “You’re right. You deserve better.”

* * *

“I like her.” My dad pants as he grips the water with his oars.

“I like her too.” I exert all my effort while extending my legs and flexing my arms. “Maybe too much.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“She’s so young and she doesn’t know anything about me.” I grind the words through clenched teeth as rivulets of sweat trickle down my face.

“What do you know about her?”

“She’s smart as a whip, has impeccable work ethic. She wants to take over the world, yet she doesn’t have a pretentious bone in her body.” I suck in another labored breath. “She’s kind with a childlike innocence, and seventy-five percent of her back is covered in third-degree burn scars that have been tattooed over.”

My dad stops and looks back at me. “I saw part of the tattoo near her neck and shoulders, but her hair covered most of it. I had no idea—”

I shake my head. “She fell into a campfire. God, Dad, it’s scarred her in more ways than one.”

He nods. “Have you met her parents?”

“No, of course as you know, they don’t live around here, but I don’t know if I’m ready to be that person in her life—as in, the guy she takes home.”

“You might be right, or you might be being a little hard on yourself. But she deserves the truth, Son. As much as you don’t want to acknowledge it, it doesn’t change what happened and all secrets get revealed in time.”

I take a swig of water and sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

* * *

I don’t think we make conscious decisions as to what images get burned into our brains. Some of mine will forever haunt me, but this one, I will take to my grave and save it for my next life too.

“Hey, Oli.”

Long bare legs extending beyond one of my Harvard Crimson T-shirts stretch out on my couch and cross at the ankles. That sexy mess of raven hair is piled in a knotted bun on her head, and she’s wearing black thick-rimmed glasses while reading a paper—an actual newspaper. This naughty school girl image is a keeper.

“What are you doing?” I ask, grabbing a glass of water without taking my eyes off her. Not that I could even if I wanted to.

“Reading the paper, specifically the business section. Why, what does it look like I’m doing?” She folds the top of the paper down and peers at me over the rims of her glasses.

“Where’d you get the paper? You know you can get all that info online now.” I drain my water, wiping the back of my mouth with my wrist.

“I got the paper from my house. I subscribe. And, yes, I’m aware that this information is available online.” She brings the paper to her nose and sniffs. “Ah, but this smell. You can’t get it online. I love the smell of newspapers and books. I rarely use my Kindle. Besides, it reminds me of my grandparents. They used to live near us and I’d stop by their house on my way to school. My grandma would pour me a cup of orange juice in one of those little juice glasses with the flowers on the outside and I’d sip it and watch her and my grandpa drink their coffee and read the newspaper. It still smells the same.”

I’m conflicted right now. I should feel the urge to share one of my own childhood memories. But I’m a guy … with her looking like this on my couch so the only urge I’m feeling is the one to bend her over the back of the couch and make her scream in ecstasy. I’m not proud of it.

I walk closer. “Glasses, huh?”

Vivian nods. “I only need them to read, otherwise I get a headache.”

I lift the hem of my shirt she’s wearing. No underwear, again!

“Did you walk to your place wearing this?”

She gives me the over-the-glasses’-rim look again. “Yes, why?”

God! The neighbors must love her. I shake my head, roll my eyes to the ceiling, and sigh. “No reason, I’m going to shower.”

A very cold shower!

* * *

“I’m going home to shower and get dressed,” Vivian yells into the bathroom while I’m in the shower.

“It was a perfect morning on the water. We should go boating,” I call over the water.

“Boating?” she says with uncertainty in her voice.

“Yes, my parents own a boat. We can take it out, pack some lunch, make a day of it.”

“Um …”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. Go grab your suit, pack a bag, sunscreen, whatever.”

I lather my hair and wait for a reply, but I don’t hear anything. Maybe she’s left already. Peeking my head out, I see her leaning against the door frame picking at her lower lip, eyes downcast.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing … Well, I don’t have a swimsuit. They’re back at my parent’s house. I’ll just wear a sundress or shorts and a tank.”

“You don’t have a swimsuit?”

Vivian shakes her head.

“How can you not have—”

Her gaze falters and I physically feel the pain radiating from her.

“In that case, shower, get dressed, and I’ll be over to get you in an hour.”

She squints at me.

“No questions, just go.” I give her a simple wink and a smile.

Her shoulders slump and she nods a few times before turning and walking out like an errant child. I want to chase after her, wrap her in my arms, and squeeze all the painful insecurity from her body, but I don’t. The intricate details of her self-doubt that are woven beneath her surface cannot be unraveled in a day. I know this, but it still won’t stop me from trying.

* * *

“Where are we going?” Vivian asks as we turn onto Soldiers Field Road.

“Shopping.”

“For?”

I give her a sideways glance and a grin. “Necessities.”

“There’s more than one 7-Eleven in Cambridge.”

“Not quite the necessities we need.” I rest my right hand on her bare leg.

“We?”

“Yes, we.”

Vivian shakes her head and stares out her window. By some miracle I find a parking spot and parallel my smaller car in between two SUVs.

“Newbury Street? Hope you brought your black card.”

“Funny coming from the woman who will probably own Newbury Street someday.”

Vivian opens her door before I have a chance to get out. “Wall Street, Oli, not Newbury Street.” She grins and hops out.

We both slip on our sunglasses, I take her hand, and we walk down the sidewalk scoping out the multi-level stores and boutiques.

“Why do you call me Oli?”

“It’s short for Oliver, doesn’t anyone else call you Oli?”

“Not since I was a kid.”

She looks up at me. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t until …”

“Until what?”

I can’t hide my grin. She stops and faces me. “Tell me.”

Bending down I brush my lips against hers. “Until you begged me last night, ‘Oli … please!’”

Her skin flushes and she shoves my chest. “Jerk. How do you like that instead? That’s your new name because you’re making fun of me.”

I palm the back of her head and pull her back to me, tasting every inch of her mouth until her body melts into my touch. I’m sure people are staring, but I don’t give a damn.

“I’m not making fun of you,” I whisper as she rubs her lips together. “Now let’s get what we need and get out on the water.”

Chapter Ten

I Could Love You