Kaleidoscope Hearts (27 page)

“ON A SCALE from
happy
to
I can’t stop smiling excited,
how thrilled would you be if I told you Mia packed an overnight bag for you?” Oliver asks, placing his fedora on the dashboard.

After dinner, we sat and talked about Wyatt and the house, mostly, and now that we’re back in the car driving, I’ve been kind of anxious. I really, really don’t want the date to end. We’ve been driving for quite a while, listening to music, talking about movies . . . so it isn’t until he asks me this question, that I realize that the only thing we haven’t talked about are what my plans are for tomorrow.

“Well . . .” I start, pausing to laugh. “I guess you’ve only given me choices I have to smile about so . . .
really happy?
”

He grins and looks my way. “Good, because it’s in the trunk, and I’m kidnapping you for the night. Maybe for the rest of the weekend.”

“You realize that you’re setting yourself up for failure on any future date, right?”

“Never doubt an overachiever,” he says, smiling as he pushes hair out of his eyes.

I laugh and resist the urge to lean in and run my hands through his hair. “Your hair grows so fast,” I say instead.

“Yeah, that’s the upside. Too bad I need to cut it short again soon. And shave.”

“For job interviews?” I guess.

“Yeah, I let them hire me before I let my hair grow again. Nobody wants to hire a doctor with a man bun.”

“It’s not even long enough for one yet, but I happen to know somebody who thinks doctors with man buns are hot.”

“Do you, now?” he says, flashing a grin my way.

“I’m sure I do.”

“Does her name start with an E?”

“Possibly.”

“Is she afraid of the dark?”

“No,” I grumble, and look away, making him laugh.

“Does she happen to hate my jokes?”

My lips tip up, but I keep looking out the window. “I can’t imagine anybody would like your jokes.”

“Oh, but they do.”

“Oliver,” I say, turning to him with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but they’re just pretending.”

He scoffs, giving me a bewildered look. “Pretending? Okay, I get it. You just haven’t heard my latest.”

I groan and laugh at the same time. “Let’s hear it.”

He waits until we’re stopped at a red light to lean in so that his chin is almost on my shoulder. For a moment, I forget how to breathe. Then he starts talking and drops his voice so low that everything inside of me zaps, and I can’t help but hold my breath. “If I were an enzyme,” he says, his lips, a soft tickle over my ear. “I’d be DNA helicase,” he continues, as he trails his lips over my neck. My eyes flutter shut, and I grip on to my knees. “So I could unzip your genes.”

I open my eyes as he pulls back, and my heart drops into the pit of my stomach at the hungry look in his eyes. When his gaze moves to my mouth, I can’t take any more. I lose all pretenses. I pull him to me and kiss him, frantically at first, then slowly, so that the kiss teases . . . tastes . . . our tongues barely touching. He pulls away and marvels at me for a moment before the sound of honking snaps us of out of the moment and he continues through the intersection.

“Not bad, huh?” he says after a beat. I’m still trying to regain my breath. I lick my lips and close my eyes at the taste of him.

“That wasn’t a joke. That was nerdy seduction,” I say in a breath. I can’t help but smile when he starts laughing.

“Nerdy seduction,” he says, still chuckling.

“Next question, are you still dating or hooking up or doing whatever you’re doing with Grace . . . or anybody else in the hospital . . . or elsewhere?”

I watch the side of his face as he frowns. When he stops behind a car, he shoots me a look. “I told you I wasn’t, Elle. Do you think I would insist on a date if I was seeing someone else?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I’m not sure how you work in that department.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You know exactly how I work in that department.”

“So you’re not seeing anyone else right now?” I ask, ignoring his comment.

“Are you insinuating that we’re seeing each other?” he says.

“No. Why would you . . .”

“You said anyone else, which would mean that we’re seeing each other.”

“Well that’s not what I meant.”

He rounds the corner to a nice hotel on the water and pulls up in front of the valet. Oliver’s fingers paint over mine. “It’s what I want it to mean.”

My heart crashes in my chest as the valet guy opens the door for me. I make my feet move and step out of the car, just barely containing my composure. Oliver comes around with two bags in his hands, and I follow him inside. I look around, inhaling the aromas coming from the spa, and read that we’re in the Sonoma Coast. I can’t believe the car ride seemed so short—not that I’d ever been up here, but I’ve passed it plenty of times. This is the point where Vic and I usually start bickering, because the road trip is taking so long. I step aside as he goes up to the counter. I watch as he speaks to the lady, making her laugh at something he says, and then meet his eyes as he walks back to me. Oliver has always had this thing about him—this easiness that comes with him. He fits in with any group of people, because he embraces everybody with the way he is.

He carries himself with such confidence that you would think he owns the world. He’s the kind of guy who can participate in a conversation amongst important businessmen and doctors alike, and they would never question who he is. They would never suspect he was the guy who arrived in a beat-up car and worked two jobs so he could get it. He has a smile that’ll charm the pants off anybody if they’re not careful enough, and pairs that with a heart of gold. As he approaches and flashes that very smile at me, I feel myself melt.

“Ready?” he asks. I tuck my arm in his and nod, following him to the elevator. I realize that I haven’t asked him why he brought me to a hotel or what his plans are. Something happens to me when I’m around Oliver. It’s like the world vanishes around me. Everything can be falling apart, but in his arms, I’m whole.

When we reach the room, he puts our bags down beside the door and waits for me to explore. It’s a really big room, with a king-size bed, a bench by the window, and oversized, plush couches and a fireplace off to the side to make a living room. I walk over to the window and sit down on the cushioned bench, touching the cold glass with my hand. Oliver hasn’t said anything since we entered the room, and when I turn around, I find him propped up against the wall on the other side of the bed, with his legs crossed and his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. His fedora is slightly tilted down, and his hair is seeping out of it. What I can make out of his green eyes makes my stomach toss uncontrollably.

“Why are you standing all the way over there?” I ask with a nervous laugh.

“I’m kind of worried of what will happen if I step any closer,” he says. I inhale sharply.

“Maybe I want you to step closer.”

He shakes his head and bites back a smile. “I should have said this sooner, but I didn’t bring you here to take this further than, well, sleep.” I open my mouth to say something, but stop and wait for him to continue. “This is still part of our date. Tomorrow, the vineyards. We didn’t get to do that last time.”

I stand and walk over to him, stopping when we’re toe-to-toe, and tilt my head to look at him. I reach up, take the hat off his head, and toss it to the floor by the fireplace. “What if I want to take this further than just sleep?”

His face darkens. A slow smile appears over his face as he reaches for me and caresses my cheek softly. “I want to get it right this time, Elle. I don’t want to push you. I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and regret something we do tonight.”

“I won’t,” I whisper, leaning into his touch.

“Last time we slept together, I found you crying over a shirt,” he says, his voice soft and slightly pained.

“That was different.”

“How?” he asks, pushing off the wall and cupping the back of my neck. “Tell me how it was different, because if something happens tonight, it’ll be so much more than just touching. You know that, right? And I mean more than just physically. Even if we only touch or kiss, it’ll be more, and I don’t want you to wake up and feel like you’re cheating or being unfair to his memory.”

I close my eyes, needing to look away from his understanding gaze, away from the love I see in it. He’s right. I know this, and I know he doesn’t deserve to be a regret for me, but the thing is, Oliver has never been a regret. Even when it hurt . . . even when he left. Even when he came back and sliced me open again, he wasn’t a regret because I loved him. Wyatt may not have been the most understanding man—and maybe his ways of making me move past things weren’t perfect—but he did make me understand love for what it was. That’s the little tagline I send off my shattered hearts with. Wyatt was the one who opened my eyes to it, but Oliver was the reason for the hearts and the taglines. He was the one I loved first. He was the one who broke my heart first, and here he is again. For how long this time, I wonder? Does it matter? My heart bleeds.

When I open my eyes again, Oliver is looking at me like I might bolt. I wrap my arms around his neck and lean up, kissing his stubbly chin, his strong jaw, and then move up to the shell of his ear.

“What we have isn’t aligned with that part of my life. We live in a galaxy of our own,” I whisper, kissing his earlobe. I smile when his breath quickens. “Where the storms pass, and the light fades, and everything ceases to exist except for us.”

His hands squeeze my waist, and gently push me back. “I planned out this night where I would keep my hands to myself and sleep on the sofa if I had to, and then you say things like that and scatter every part of my brain—like only you can.” He dips his face and kisses my neck once, twice, three times . . . soft wet kisses . . . before he leans back and pins his gaze on me again. “You make me get lost in you, Elle. The way you look at me, the way you touch me . . .” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but instead, brings his lips down to meet mine in a long, slow kiss. As our hearts beat against each other’s chest, and our tongues dance a slow sensual mambo, everything else fades away.

Oliver’s hands make their way down my body until they reach the hem of my dress. He pulls it off me without breaking our kiss, while I unbutton his shirt and help him shrug out of it. Even though it hasn’t been
that
long since we hooked up that last time, I feel like I haven’t seen his body in ages. My eyes drop from his face to his chest. My hands trace every muscle, every contour, and every line etched on the beautiful man in front of me. My fingers reach the top of his jeans, and I begin to unbuckle his belt, and as I bring my gaze back up to his, I watch him as he watches me. A look of ecstasy clouds his face as I dip my hand into his boxers and test the weight of him, my hand squeezing as he sucks in a breath between his teeth.

“Elle,” he says, his voice a hoarse whisper, as I kneel down in front of him. He kicks his shoes aside, and I help him step out of his jeans, his boxers, his socks . . . and align my face with his length. I lean forward, placing soft, wet kisses along his abdomen, smiling against him as his muscles spasm. I work my way down, licking each side of the “V” indented on his sides, until I reach what’s beckoning me. My tongue slides under his shaft and he groans, his hand threading into my hair. I repeat the motion on either side as my hand holds his balls. He groans again, louder, when I take what I can of him into my mouth.

“Elle,” Oliver says again, his voice low and guttural. I look up, meeting his hooded gaze, and a thrill runs through me when his hands brush my hair back, away from my face, as he looks down at me. He grabs my shoulders and pushes me back until he’s completely out of my mouth with a pop, then he pulls me up so that we’re chest to chest, his nose resting on my forehead.

“What you do to me, Elle,” he whispers against me as I breathe into his chest. “It’s inexplicable.” He drops a kiss on my forehead and walks me backward until I’m forced to sit on the bed. He takes his time undoing the clasp of my bra and then pulls it over my shoulders. He does the same with my panties, sliding them down my thighs until they’re off and on the floor with the rest of our clothes. Taking a step back, he looks at me—really looks at me. His gaze leaves a trail of heat with every inch it passes over, then he lets out a laugh. “For maybe the second time in my life, I don’t know where to start,” he murmurs, kneeling down in front of me and spreading my legs apart. Kissing my knee first, he makes his way up my thigh until he reaches my pelvis, grazing the patch of hair there, then he kisses his way up my stomach. When he reaches my right breast, he pauses and looks at me over the peak of my nipple.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt of doing this again,” he says, gliding the slick underside of his tongue over it. I gasp. My hands shoot out to grip his shoulders when he does it again. He blows softly over my little bud, the sensation of hot and cold making me shiver. He drags his face to my other breast and I shiver again, this time, at the feel of his chin scraping against my skin. His mouth closes over my nipple, sucking it into his mouth. As he pulls away and blows softly, his hand tweaks the other. My body feels like it’s on fire, at the brink of combustion, and he hasn’t even left my breasts yet.

As if hearing my thoughts, Oliver looks at me and flashes a smug smile before continuing to explore south of the border. Reaching the inside of my thighs, he nudges them to the sides and holds them apart with his hands, squeezing, as he dips his face into my center. His tongue peeks out and tastes me—just tastes—and he groans, his mouth vibrating against me. My already shaky hands find his hair, and I pull lightly, pivoting my hips against his face. He stills me with his grip on my knees, and raises his gaze to find mine. The intensity in them is so raw, so pure, that I feel my stomach begin to churn. In his eyes, I find our past and our questionable future. It holds the sadness of lost years, the torturous longing of a million what-ifs, and the possibility of what could be. I try to look away . . . try to close my eyes and shut out the fervor his green eyes spear me with, because I don’t want to admit that I’m scared. I don’t want to open myself up and admit that he still has the ability to shatter me—to annihilate me completely.