Four
Renee came awake slowly. It was so quiet here. New York was never quiet. There was always someone shouting, horns honking, sirens blaring. A person could barely think in New York City.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so deeply. Usually, it was because terrible nightmares woke her up every few hours, panting and crying. Right now, she felt surprisingly calm. She wouldn’t go so far as to say peaceful, but she was thrilled with calm.
A thunk from somewhere below her finally got her eyes open. She started when she focused her eyes on the clock. Was it four thirty already? She had been asleep for hours. She needed to get up and...do something. What, she had no idea.
But it wasn’t like her to laze the day away. Even back when she’d been little more than a trophy wife, she’d still kept busy. She’d been on the boards of several charities, including her favorite, One Child, One World. She liked helping kids but...since the Preston Pyramid collapsed, she’d resigned from all those boards rather than taint their good works with her family’s scandals.
Which left her at loose ends. But it was fine. No one was missing her in New York, that was for sure. This was part of her plan to hide in Texas. If she wanted to nap, she would nap, by God.
She tossed back a blanket and forced herself from bed. It was tempting to go right back to sleep, but...
Oliver had said he would wait for her to wake up.
She was hungry and she had to pee. She stretched, trying to get the kinks out of her shoulders. Over a dresser there was a large mirror and she recoiled in horror when she caught sight of her reflection. Her hair was lopsided and her makeup had not survived the nap. Plus, her dress was wrinkled horribly, and besides, it really wasn’t very comfortable.
But her lawyer had recommended that, if she went out in public, she maintain a somber, mourning appearance. It wouldn’t do anyone any favors if she were seen looking frivolous or, God forbid, happy. Not that there was a lot of risk of that, but Renee understood the point.
Her entire life had been about keeping up appearances. The bereft widow, the horrified daughter—they were all just another role to slip into.
She tore the dress off and kicked it under the bed. She couldn’t wear it for another moment, couldn’t maintain the fiction that she mourned her husband.
She looked around the room. Had she fainted? She didn’t remember coming into this room. She only remembered...Oliver’s arms around her, holding her close. His deep voice rumbling in her ear, although she couldn’t remember the words. A light touch on her forehead, then her cheek. The smell of his cologne.
She remembered feeling safe and cared for. That was all she needed.
But this was a nice room. There was a small sitting area with a low coffee table—her bag was on it. The love seat ran along one wall and a fancy desk that looked like it belonged in the parlor instead of a guest room was on the other side. The walls were a pale green and the bedding was pristine white. It was calm and peaceful and reminded her of a garden in the early-morning sun.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could breathe here.
She dug into her bag. Along with her wedding ring, she had left most of her couture and designer clothing for the feds. Her wardrobe had been worth hundreds of thousands of dollars—but it had been just another prop in her never-ending role as the adoring wife, the picture-perfect daughter. She was tired of living that lie.
She dug out leggings and a slouchy tunic. This was her normal outfit for yoga classes—but it was forgiving enough that she could still wear it comfortably. She might even get several more months out of the top. She’d love to take her bra off because the damned thing barely fitted anymore and sleeping in it had not been a good idea. But the thin, creamy cotton of her shirt wouldn’t hide anything from anyone. Especially Oliver.
A chill raced over her and her nipples tightened, which was exactly why she had to keep the bra on. She really hoped Oliver wasn’t involved with someone else. But the moment that thought crossed her mind, she scowled at herself in the mirror. Okay, he was amazingly hot. And yes, he was being really sweet to her. That didn’t mean there was any mutual attraction here and even if there was, what was she going to do? Seduce him? Please. She was the hottest of hot messes and almost five months pregnant.
Fine. It was settled. No seduction. At least...not on her end anyway.
Purposefully not thinking of what Oliver might do if she paraded around braless, she used the en suite bathroom and fixed her hair and face, opting for a simple ponytail and just enough under-eye concealer to hide the worst of the dark circles. When she was done, she took stock again.
She looked not-quite-so-pregnant in her loungewear and the nap had helped a lot. She didn’t look like the woman she’d been six months ago. The salon-perfect hair was gone, as was the expertly contoured foundation. And she could see the pregnancy weight rounding out her face and her arms. Her mother had called her fat right before she’d run to Paris.
No, Renee was not the same woman she’d been six months ago. Was that such a bad thing? She’d been a mannequin then. Someone to be seen and coveted but not heard. The problem was, she wasn’t quite sure who she was now.
She wouldn’t allow her voice to be silenced again. As she stroked her stomach, she made a promise to herself and her child—she would do better. Better than her mother. Better than Renee herself had been. She’d be...someone like Oliver’s mother. Renee would be the fun mom who made cookies with her child and friends or took them for ice cream in the park. Whether she had a boy who liked fashion or a girl who played soccer, it didn’t matter. Just so long as Renee was a better mom. A better woman.
She dabbed at her eyes. Stupid hormones. If there was one thing she’d learned growing up, it was how to keep her emotions on lockdown to avoid getting into trouble. But suddenly she was pregnant and hiding and she couldn’t keep her stupid eyes from watering stupidly. Gah.
Besides, there was no need to get teary now. She had a long way to go before tea parties and sports. She had to start being this new, improved woman before the baby got here and it wasn’t likely to happen in the bathroom. She needed something to eat and... Well, food first. Plans second.
Quietly, she made her way downstairs, listening hard for the sounds of people. A low hum seemed to be coming out of Oliver’s study. He was talking to someone, she realized—probably on the phone. A wave of relief swept over her. He’d made a promise to her and he’d kept it—even if it was an inconsequential promise to hang around for a few hours. He’d still kept it.
Guilt wasn’t far behind. She’d pulled him away from a workday. He was probably trying to get caught up. She shouldn’t interrupt him. He’d said the kitchen was in the back of the house, right? She should go.
But then, in a voice that was more of a shout than a whisper, Oliver clearly said, “You are, without a doubt, the most vile, abhorrent, morally bankrupt idiot I have ever had the misfortune to know and that’s saying something. You know that, right? I mean, what the hell were you thinking, Clint?”
Renee stumbled to a stop. Eavesdropping was not exactly on the moral up-and-up, but was he talking to her brother? How the hell had he pulled that off?
She moved to stand just on the other side of the door to his study. There were some pictures here, so she pretended to look at them. But really, her entire attention was focused on one half of the phone conversation happening in the next room.
“Yeah, she’s here. What the hell, man? You send me a one-line email with no other explanation, no other context—no, I didn’t know your entire family had crashed and burned. I’m busy!” This time, he was shouting. “I have my own family to manage, my own business to run—a business that does not steal money from investors! So you’ll excuse me if I haven’t kept up with all the ways you’ve destroyed your life!”
A wave of nausea roiled her stomach and she didn’t think it was morning sickness.
“No, I know.” He said this in a weary voice, and Renee honestly couldn’t tell if it was better or worse than him shouting. “Yeah, she told me. How could you let her marry someone like that?”
Renee bristled. Her brother was not her keeper. She was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions and her own mistakes, thank you very much.
That, however, hadn’t stopped her from wondering the exact same thing a hundred times over the last few months. Clint had known who Chet was. They’d both worked for her father for several years before the wedding. And yet her own brother had done nothing to warn her that she was marrying a serial cheater and a con artist.
It was hard not to be bitter when there was so much to be bitter about. Growing up, she and Clint had stuck together. So much of her childhood had been the kids against the parents. Even when they’d fought—and they had fought—they’d still protected each other from the icy punishment of their mother and the casual neglect of their father.
But when she’d really needed her brother, he hadn’t been there for her.
Instead, it was Oliver who was mad on her behalf. Oliver who was defending her.
“That’s a shitty excuse and you know it,” Oliver snapped. “She trusted you. Your investors trusted you. Hell, I trusted you. And you did nothing to earn it...No, I’m not going to take it out on her. I’m not a monster, unlike some people I know...Yes,” he said, sounding defeated. “She did? I thought you two were going to go the distance. But I guess she couldn’t live being married to a snake oil salesman.” Another pause. “Renee really didn’t know, did she?...I didn’t think so. Look, I said I’d take care of her and I meant it. Enjoy your time in jail, buddy.”
Renee sagged against the door frame as relief pushed back against the nausea. Oliver believed she hadn’t been a part of the scheme. He understood, at least on some level, how badly the betrayal by her family had hurt her.
She shouldn’t have come here. She shouldn’t have listened to the phone call, either. She didn’t want to put Oliver at risk for being a decent human being to an old friend and she didn’t want to put either of them in a position where he felt like he had to lie to her.
But she was so glad she was here.
“Renee? Will you come in here?”
She jumped, her heart racing. Had he known she was listening the entire time? Oh, heavens. Busted.
She swallowed and felt her face go pleasantly blank, felt her shoulders square up and her chin lift. The reactions were hard-wired at this point and she was helpless to stop them.
With one final deep breath for courage, she stepped into the study.
And stumbled to a stop.
Oliver was leaning against his desk, his ankles crossed and his arms folded in front of his chest. He looked very much like he had earlier—had it only been this morning?
But the differences. Oh, the differences! He’d lost his suit jacket and his tie. His white button-up shirt was now open at the neck and he had cuffed the sleeves, revealing strong forearms. And strangely enough, he was barefoot.
Oh, dear God. He’d made business professional look good but he was making casual look positively sinful. Her mouth went dry and for a moment, she forgot how to speak.
Then everything got worse and better at the same time because he notched an eyebrow at her at the same time the corner of his mouth curved up into a smile, revealing a dimple she didn’t remember being there before. Had she ever really seen him smile like that? He was so impossibly gorgeous that her mouth disconnected from her brain, and she blurted out, “I wasn’t listening,” like an idiot because obviously she had been.
That got his other eyebrow in on the action. But instead of calling her on her juvenile defense, his gaze swept over her. Her skin flushed as he took in her shirt, her leggings, her own bare feet. When he lifted his eyes, Renee could tell that, even from across the room, they were darker, more intense.
Was it hot in here or was it just her?
“I see the nap did wonders for you,” he said, his voice low and serious and nothing like how he had sounded on the phone with Clint.
It was broiling in here. She was starting to sweat. “I hope you don’t mind that I changed into something more comfortable. Since I have no plans on going back out into public today. Or tomorrow,” she finished lamely.
“Or even the day after that?” he teased, pushing off the desk and coming to stand in front of her.
Renee knew not to show fear. Showing guilt was even worse. She had trained herself to keep her head up and her eyes open, no matter what cutting comments or terrifying punishments her mother had decreed.
But this was Oliver. Serious, grumpy, stick-in-the-mud Oliver. And he was smiling down at her, warmth and humor in his face and maybe just a little concern as he said, “My house is yours for as long as you need it. I want you to be comfortable here. I want you to be yourself,” as he settled his hands on her shoulders.
Wonderful. Her eyes were watering and she was sweating. Maybe she should’ve stayed in bed a little longer. “Do you know—” and she was horrified to hear her voice waver “—that no one has ever wanted me to just be myself?”
His smile faded. But then his thumbs began to rub little circles on her shoulders and she didn’t know if she was getting closer to him or if he was getting closer to her. Maybe they were both moving, drawn together by strange circumstances and an even stranger attraction.
Whatever it was, she found herself in his arms, her breasts pressed against his chest, her chin tucked in the crook of his neck—and her bare toes brushing his. The contact felt shockingly intimate, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
It wasn’t right, how much she sank into his touch. It certainly wasn’t proper, the way she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on as if her life depended on it.
“I’m sorry I eavesdropped,” she muttered against the collar of his shirt. “And I’m sorry I lied about it. I’m...still getting used to honesty.” It didn’t sound any less lame, but at least it was the truth.
“It’s all right,” he said softly, and one hand began to rub her lower back in small, delicious circles of relief that made her sigh.
“How did you know I was listening?” She’d thought she’d been quiet. But not quite enough, apparently.
“I heard you get up. I’m sorry you heard me call your brother a vile idiot.”
“Even if he deserved it?”
Oliver chuckled, a rich sound that rumbled out of his chest. “Especially if he deserved it.” He leaned back and Renee looked up at him. This close, she could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes like hidden treasure. Something in her chest tightened as he stroked the finger over her cheek and down her chin. “Renee...”
She held her breath. God, she needed...something. She needed to hear the truth.
But then again, what was the truth here? She was naive and gullible at best? Complicit? An idiot, vile or otherwise?
She’d work on facing the truth soon. Tomorrow. Right now, she desperately changed the subject. “Thank you for being here when I woke up.”
“I gave you my word. I keep my promises.”
She shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. She buried her face against his shoulder and automatically, his arms tightened around her. “That’s...that’s good to know,” she mumbled against the collar of his shirt. “Not everyone does that.”
“I’m not everyone.”
Thank God. But she didn’t say it out loud. Instead, she said, “Now what?”
“Hmm.” She could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat. That was what made him safe.
But what made him dangerous was the way his body began to rock almost imperceptibly, pulling her along into a rhythm. What made her weak was the way his hand splayed out against the small of her back, pushing her into his solid chest.
Her nipples went painfully hard and given how very little separated him from her, she was sure he could feel those hard points against his chest. Her cheeks flushed and she shivered at unbidden images of her in Oliver’s arms, but with far less clothing and far more moving.
Oliver was everything and nothing she needed right now. She absolutely was not thinking about sex, especially not with him. She still hadn’t determined if he was involved with anyone else, for crying out loud! She wasn’t interested and she wasn’t looking to get lucky. End of story.
Good lord, it was hot in here.
And he still hadn’t answered her question. That hmm didn’t count, especially not when she was breathing in the scent of his cologne—something light and spicy and warm that smelled perfect on him.
Then, so slowly she almost missed it, he began to pull away. His arms loosened around her chest and he leaned back to look down at her again. But even then, he kept letting go of her, one moment at a time. “I need to get back tonight,” he said, his voice low and serious and perfectly Oliver. She didn’t know if that was supposed to be a good thing or not. Was he happy he was getting out of here before she lost her composure again? Or was she only imagining that there was a hint of regret in his tone?
“That’s...” She cleared her throat and broke the contact between them. “That’s fine. I’m sure you have someone waiting on you to get home.” She had to turn away when she said it.
It was for the best if he left. She’d come here for the peace and quiet, right? And she definitely didn’t feel peaceful when Oliver was around. Far from it.
He snorted. “Renee.”
She put her face back together. She could do this. She didn’t want to worry him and besides, she was probably just hungry. And pregnant. It wasn’t a great combination. “Yes?”
He’d retreated back to his desk. She could feel the distance between them and, irrational as it was, she hated it. “I won’t leave until you’re settled.”
She bit back the laugh. She might never be settled again. But instead, she said, “I appreciate it.”
“I won’t be able to get back out here for a few days,” he went on, sounding nothing like the man who’d been holding her moments ago. “But if you need anything—clothes, medicines, weird foods—just let me know. I’ll plan on spending at least part of the weekend out here.”
Was he coming to see her or to babysit her? “All right.”
He looked at something on his computer and then put his phone in his pocket. “And to answer your other question,” he said, walking back toward her, “no, there’s no one waiting on me at home. But I do have to work tomorrow. It’s...”
“Rodeo season,” she finished, trying hard not to smile. It shouldn’t matter that he was available and that she was—well, maybe not available. But certainly unattached.
But it did.
“Dinner?” he said, a friendly smile on his face. His dimple didn’t show.
Right. He was being friendly because they were friends and nothing more.
“Dinner,” she agreed.
At the very least, it was good to have a friend.
Even if he was Oliver Lawrence.
* * *
The whole drive back to Dallas, Oliver tried to solve the problem that was Renee Preston-Willoughby.
He failed.
Instead of running through viable solutions to keep Renee safe and secure for the short and medium term—possibly up to and including the birth of her child—he was thinking of how she’d looked when she’d stepped into his study this afternoon. Gone were the hideous black dress, the dark hose and the understated black pumps. And in their place...
Oliver did not know a great deal about women’s fashion, but he recognized the kind of clothes Renee had been wearing. Chloe loved to knock around in the same kind of leggings and loose tops.
It was safe to say that he had a vastly different reaction to Renee in leggings than he did his sister.
The top had come to just below her hips, leaving every curve of her legs outlined in tight black fabric. It’d taken everything in his power not to picture those legs wrapped around his waist at the time. The last thing anyone needed was for him to get a raging hard-on at the exact moment she’d needed to be comforted by a platonic friend.
Now? He adjusted his pants. He had a long drive ahead of him.
Damn, this was ridiculous. He had a million things he needed to do and none of them involved replaying the way Renee’s body had fitted against his over in his mind. What he should be doing was talking to Bailey and getting caught up on everything Oliver had missed while he was out of the office today. Yeah, his executive assistant had probably already left work for the day, but Oliver was the CEO and if he needed Bailey to work late, then Bailey worked late.
Then again, Bailey was always talking about his wife and the latest adorable thing their two-year-old son was doing and Oliver would feel bad interrupting his dinner. A man should spend time with his family. He should be involved in the lives of his children.
No, Oliver couldn’t in good conscience bother Bailey after work hours.
Which apparently meant he was going to think about Renee. She had looked so much better after her nap. Still tired, still worried—but she’d been softer. Not as brittle.
That made him feel good. He had given her that.
But that was all he could give her. It didn’t matter how much his body responded to hers, how much it hit him in the chest when she smiled—or how much it killed him when her eyes watered but instead of crying, her whole face went oddly blank. What he wanted didn’t matter.
He would repeat that sentiment until he got it through his thick skull.
Because it didn’t matter that he had finally given in to his impulse and pulled her tight in his arms in the office. It made no difference when he’d felt the tension drain out of her body and it didn’t matter that, a moment or two later, he felt the different tension begin to work its way through her. It had no bearing on anything that being around Renee was a slow burn of torture.
Oliver was no angel. He’d been caught up in the throes of lust from time to time. Those affairs had always burned white-hot but fizzled out after a matter of months, if not weeks. He and his lady friends had parted ways with a smile and a fond farewell.
So he knew this attraction wasn’t just lust. His whole body was not on fire for Renee Preston-Willoughby.
Had he seriously told her that he wouldn’t be back until maybe the weekend? That wasn’t right. She was all alone in the middle of nowhere in a strange house. Yes, he’d shown her how to operate the stove and where the pantry was and walked her through the remotes for the televisions. He’d even left her with keys for his ranch truck, in case she needed to get to Mineola, the closest town.
But what if something went wrong? What if she had a medical emergency? What if someone figured out where she was—someone who did not think kindly of the Preston family?
He almost turned his Porsche around. He could stay the night and make sure everything was okay and then get up and...
Okay, getting up at four to slink out the house wouldn’t help anyone. And she was a grown woman who could navigate New York City by herself. She wasn’t a child or an invalid. She’d be fine.
At least for the night.
Maybe he’d go back out tomorrow night, after work. Just to make sure she was doing all right.
Yeah. He’d do that.
That’s what friends were for.