Chasing Olivia (Trace + Olivia #2) (23 page)

“Is it just me, or is it even better now that we’re married?” He panted.

I lightly traced my finger over his chest in a random design, mulling over what he said. “I think you’re right.”

He chuckled at that. “Maybe living in sin was weighing on me.”

“Hardly,” I snorted, moving my index finger over the tattoo on his heart that he’d gotten in memory of his dad.

“Eh, you’re right. I didn’t care.” He placed his hand over mine to cease its movements. “It’s still better though, because now I know you’re really mine and you’re not going anywhere.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere before. Besides, if I had run away…again,” I added, thinking of the times I’d become insecure because of his ex, “you wouldn’t have let me get very far.”

“Damn straight. If you’re not by my side, I will chase you down, woman,” he grinned, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear and gliding his fingers lightly over the curve of my cheek. “I would go to the ends of the earth for you, because
I love you
and when someone owns your heart, like you do mine, you don’t let them get away.”

“Whoa.”

“What?” He rolled over so that he was above me. “It’s the truth. My life was ‘okay’ before you came along. But from the moment I met you, I finally understood what it meant when people said someone ‘owned you’. It’s not necessarily about ownership. It’s about caring more for that person than you do for yourself. When I saw you standing by your car, with those big sad brown eyes, I
knew
the sadness had nothing to do with your tire and that something else was eating at you. I wanted to get to know you and unravel your secrets so that I could slay your dragons and be your Prince Charming.”

I giggled, covering my face with my hands. “I’m
never
going to live that one down.”

“Your stuttering about Prince Charming was adorable,” he assured me, pulling my hands from my face, “especially since you were referring to me. Although, most princes aren’t as ruggedly handsome as I am,” he ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. “You got lucky.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad you agree,” he smirked, rolling off of me.

“You’re something else,” I laughed, rolling onto my side and propping my head in my hand.

“Something spectacular,” he waggled his brows.

“Stop talking,” I mumbled, laying my head on his shoulder once more.

“I can do that.”

“Yeah, right,” I snorted.

He mimed zipping his lips.

My eyes grew heavy and surrounded by his body heat I found myself being lulled into a peaceful sleep.

My hand reached out, patting against the sheets as I searched for Trace. When my hand kept connecting with cool sheets I finally forced my eyes open. Early morning light filtered in through the flimsy hotel curtains. I peeked at the clock, groaning at the time. Six o’ clock was too early for me.

I sat up, holding the sheet over my chest, and looked around the room. Trace wasn’t anywhere to be found and there were no sounds coming from the small bathroom.

I slipped from the sheets and showered, changing into my clothes from yesterday since our bags were still in the car. I chose to forgo the tank top, opting to wear his plaid shirt open over my bra.

I had just sat down on the bed and was turning on the TV when the door opened. He came inside with our bags slung over his shoulders and two cups of coffee from Starbucks.

“My hero!” I exclaimed, reaching out with grabby hands for one of the cups of coffee.

“Cinnamon Dolce Latte,” he smirked, handing it to me.

I took a tentative sip of the liquid, fearing it might be a scalding temperature, but it was perfect.

“If I’m going to be up early,” I pointed at the clock, “I need my coffee.”

He shook his head, laughing under his breath at me. “Why do you hate mornings so much?”

“Because,” I drew my knees up to my chest, cradling the precious coffee close to me, “I like my sleep. You, on the other hand, seem to be fine with no sleep.”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve never needed much sleep. Much to my mother’s dismay. I’m sure if you asked she’d tell you stories of how I used to keep her up all night as a baby.”

“I’m sure you were a very interesting child.”

“Is that your nice way of saying weird?” He questioned, his lips twitching into a smile.

“You
are
weird. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

He frowned at his cup of coffee. “I hate these stupid cups they give you. Who wants to drink coffee with a lid? I want my Yoda mug.”

“Of course you do,” I laughed, scooting back in the bed so that I could rest against the headboard.

It may have been a Holiday Inn but the room was clean and didn’t smell. The walls were painted a buttery yellow with maroon carpet. The covers on the king-size bed were in a similar color palette and the pictures on the walls were the typical floral ones all hotels seemed to have.

“Yoda makes everything better,” he joked, sitting down beside me and stretching his long legs out. “Your mom tried to call me.”

“She did?”

“Yeah. I—uh—had turned my phone off yesterday after my mom called, so I didn’t see it until now.”

“She probably wonders what happened,” I laughed. “I still can’t believe I dropped my phone in the glass of water.”

“That was hilarious,” he chortled, setting his coffee cup on the bedside table.

“It was funny,” I agreed. “Except, now I don’t have a phone.”

“We’ll get you one today,” he assured me, “before your hormonal mom tries to track us down. Our road trip isn’t quite over yet.”

“Where are we going next?”

He shrugged, looking away from me. It was evasive behavior from him and it piqued my curiosity immediately. 

“Trace,” I probed.

“I thought we’d stay here for another day,” he mumbled, plucking at the white sheet. “Then head out.”

“M’kay,” I eyed him. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” he insisted. “I just want to hang here with my wife.” He batted his eyes innocently.

“Yeah, right. Come on, spit it out. I’m not dumb, Trace. What do you have up your sleeve? You’re not going to make me jump out of a plane are you? ‘Cause I’m definitely not doing that.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “No planes,” he promised when he had regained the ability to speak.

“So, what is it then? And don’t you dare say, ‘nothing,’” I mimicked his tone.

“It’s a surprise,” he admitted, glancing towards the window so he didn’t have to look at me. “Be patient.”

“Fine,” I reluctantly agreed. I knew there was no point in pushing him. If Trace said he had a surprise for me, then his lips were sealed.

“I’m gonna head down and get some breakfast,” he said after we’d been quiet for a few minutes. “Do you want to come with me? Or would you rather I brought food up here?”

I stretched out, letting the plaid shirt I was wearing fall open. “I think here sounds like I pretty good idea to me.”

His eyes widened, scanning over my stomach and up to my breasts concealed behind a lacy black bra.

“Oh, fuck the food.”

Two hours later we were sitting in bed, finally eating breakfast. I was starving. By the time I was full, there wasn’t a single crumb left on my plate.

“Uh,” I placed the plate on the end table and laid my head down on the pillow. “I’m so full.”

“You were hungry,” he chuckled. “That happens when you burn a lot of calories.”

I smacked his arm lightly.

“I’m sleepy now,” I crooked an arm over my eyes, shielding them from the sunlight streaming in through the window.

“No,” he pried my arm away. “We don’t have time for sleepiness. We should go explore the town. This place seems…cute.”

“Uh,” I groaned. “I don’t think I can move for at least five hours.”

“You can do it. I believe in you,” he winked, beaming at me. Damn him and his cheerfulness. I wish I felt that peppy. But I was exhausted and my muscles were sore.

He kept smiling at me, willing me to cave, and eventually I did. I never could resist his charms. “Fine,” I sat up, smoothing my hair back.

“I knew you’d eventually agree,” he hopped off the bed, riffling through his duffel bag.

“You’re hard to resist,” I grumbled, forcing my tired body from the bed.

“Impossible, actually,” he smirked over his shoulder at me.

“Your cockiness will be your downfall,” I muttered, unzipping my duffel bag and looking for something clean to wear. I couldn’t wait to get to the lake house in Maine so we could wash our clothes. I knew the hotel probably had a laundry area guests could use, but I was weird and kept imagining some strange bacteria ending up on my clothes from them.

“Not cocky, just confident,” he reminded me.

“You keep on telling yourself that,” I retorted.

“Is this our first martial spat?” He looked over at me, pulling clothes from his duffel bag.

“Oh, please,” I shook my head. “This is hardly a fight.”

“Good to know,” he chuckled, changing into clean jeans and yet another wife-beater and plaid shirt. I swear he had an endless supply.

I grabbed a clean pair of shorts and shimmied into them. Then put on a plain white v-neck t-shirt. Simple was my way.

I had already brushed my teeth earlier, but I did it again since I’d eaten breakfast. My hair was a wavy mess, and since I didn’t want to take the time to make it look presentable, I pulled it to the side in a fishtail braid. I had put on foundation when I got out of the shower. I was still continuing in my efforts to hide the slow fading bruise from Trace. I added some mascara to my lashes and deemed myself ready enough.

I put on my favorite pair of old converses and said, “I’m ready.”

Trace was reclined on the bed with his hands crossed behind his head. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering over my mostly bare legs. “Yes, you are,” he wet his lips.

“Trace,” I scolded. “Don’t look at me like that or we’re never going to leave this room.”

“Why
did
I want to leave? That was a dumb idea. I should’ve kept you chained to this bed all day,” he shook his head and heaved himself off the bed.

“I think I might break apart if you keep at it,” I warned him. “I’m sore.”

“Sorry,” he strode over to me, grasping my elbows. “I’ll try to keep myself under control.”

“Good luck with that,” I patted his chest condescendingly as I backed away.

“Oh, is that a challenge,” he wrapped an arm around my waist, hugging me against him, and swiped the room key off the dresser with his free hand.

“Nope, no challenge. I’ll end up being the one that gets burned then,” I tried to wiggle free from his hold but he was too strong.

He opened the door and we stepped into the hallway. Before I had walked two steps, he was hauling me over his shoulder.

“Trace!” I shrieked, beating his back. “Put me down.”

“If my wife is so sore,” he smacked my butt, “I’ll have to carry her.”

“You’re embarrassing me.”

“A little embarrassment never hurt anyone,” he laughed and I heard the elevator door ding.

“Are you going to put me down now?” I asked as the doors slid closed.

“Not a chance.”

“They’re so going to kick us out,” I pouted.

“Don’t be such a Debbie Downer,” he adjusted his grip on me.

“How am I being a downer? I’m simply stating the obvious. Now,
please
put me down. I’m getting light-headed.”

“Fine,” he lowered me to the ground, but didn’t release his hold on me. He kissed my forehead, a small smile on his face.

“I swear,” I grumbled, pulling my shorts down, “I think you get some kind of sick enjoyment out of embarrassing me.”

“You’re so adorable when you get pissed,” he chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The fact that you think I’m cute when I’m angry says a lot about our relationship,” I couldn’t help laughing.

The elevator doors slid open and I followed him out to the car.

“Where are we going first?”

“To get you a new phone,” He answered, unlocking the car, as his own cellphone began to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s my mom. I better answer it. Your mom probably told her that she couldn’t get ahold of you.”