I grab her hand a second later when the shock wears off, putting it firmly in her lap. “I got it,” I say. “You should be more careful.”
My cock is straining against my pants so much it hurts. She was intentionally brushing her hand up against my cock. My cheeks are flaming, and I have to use the photo book to hide my crotch as the plane makes the final turn and starts down the runway, accelerating into the air.
“I really am sorry,” Mindy says with faux sincerity as we reach our cruising altitude. “I so didn’t mean to do that.”
Yeah, right. The little triumphant smile I see on her face says it all.
This is fucking war.
Chapter 7
Mindy
My heart pounds in my chest as the limo rolls to a stop in front of Wentworth Estate, parking on the circular driveway. It’s like something out of a storybook, or maybe even a painting. Lush green grass is perfectly trimmed on the huge manicured lawns. Three statues adorn the lawn, all of them classically-themed pieces, one of them of a man on a horse. If I remember what Mom told me, it’s supposed to be a Wentworth who won the Congressional Medal of Honor back in the Civil War or something like that.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, momentarily stunned.
“It’s nice,” Oliver agrees.
For some reason, his lack of gushing pisses me off. He sounds so casual about it all.
I’m still smarting over what he did. Pushing his body into me when he gave me the ring, intentionally pressing his big, hard . . . wait, what am I thinking? I shove the thought away, my face turning red.
Jesus, will it ever stop?
We’re not even a day in and I can already cut the sexual tension with a knife. My body is on hormonal overdrive, and I’ve still got six days, eighteen hours, and too many damn minutes before we’re done with this charade.
“You okay?” Oliver asks, seeing my trouble. “Did the plane ride upset your stomach or something?”
I wave off his concern, not letting on to my desire. I can’t let him know just how much he’s affecting me. “You can save the hero act for a bit. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.”
The corner of his lips curls up into a grin and I grit my teeth. I got the last laugh on the plane, but somehow, I know he has the upper hand now.
“Hey, don’t worry about me,” I say. “Remember the back story?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver says, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t understand yet. Mom and Grandma both have minds like tape recorders and the cross-examining skills of a lawyer. They’ll tear him apart if he starts screwing around. “You only said it a million times on the way over here. We’ve been together a year. I walked into your coffee shop and told you that you were the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Short and sweet.”
A flush comes to my chest. The words sound nice even though they’re fake. “Yeah, something like that. Don’t forget about you dropping to your knees when I said yes.”
Oliver’s smirk turns into a genuine smile, and I feel my flush deepen. “Don’t worry,” he says, giving me a reassuring, smoldering look. “They’re going to buy every word. We’ll see about going to my knees though.”
Somehow, his words don’t give me comfort. It’s like everything he says has layers of meaning, and no matter what, my mind wants to think of sex. Like him covering my body in kisses and being on his knees, his lips . . .
The door opens and the driver, an old man named Sam, stands ready for us. “The Wentworth Estate. Please watch your step on the gravel, Miss.”
I step out, relishing the cool breeze that blows in lightly from the east, caressing my soft flesh as I take in the scenery. It’s a beautiful day with sunny, clear skies, the large French Provincial mansion looming against the azure sky. If I weren’t so nervous, I’d be amazed.
“Don’t worry about your bags,” Sam says when Oli makes a move to grab them out of the back of the limo. “The house staff will get them and make sure they’re delivered to the proper bedroom.”
Oliver gives me a look. “The house staff?”
I just shrug. I knew John had money, but I’ve never cared enough to find out exactly how much. I was expecting a nice big house, not a damn castle with house staff. “I’m just rollin’ with it.”
“If you’ll come with me,” the driver says.
Sam leads us to the cobblestone walkway that leads to the huge double-door entry of the mansion. As we head up, Oliver places his hand on the small of my back. Warm currents begin to ripple out from his touch, and I squirm on the inside, flustered.