Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia), page 21
“Alright?” I smacked his shoulder.
He grinned. “Okay, maybe it’s more than alright.”
“I’d say,” I whispered, peering to the right of the staircases where there was a living room. A gas fireplace was lit there, and I watched the flames for a moment, admiring the way they illuminated the room with an orange glow.
“Enough gawking,” Trace grabbed my hand, leading me to a different part of the house. I think he was purposely trying to get me lost so that if I decided to run, I wouldn’t be able to find my way out.
Suddenly, Trace stopped, and I would’ve fallen over my feet if he hadn’t had a firm hold on my hand.
“I really am sorry that I didn’t tell you,” he cupped my cheek with his free hand.
“It’s okay,” I sighed. “I understand why you didn’t.” I glanced around at the spacious hallway and expensive fixtures. “It’s a bit much.”
“Still, you were right. You’ve been honest with me, Olivia, and I didn’t return the favor,” he rubbed his thumb over my cheek. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Alright,” I breathed, my eyes fluttering closed as his thumb skirted over my lips.
He kissed me lightly, and I jerked back, eyes popping open. “Trace! Someone might see!”
“You’re so shy,” he chuckled, “it was just a little kiss.”
“Yeah, a kiss that your mom, grandma, grandpa, or brother could’ve walked in on,” I ticked each of them off on my fingers.
“You worry too much. Live a little,” he grinned and pushed open the double doors we had stopped in front of.
The doors opened into a formal dining room, that much was clear, but I couldn’t look around. Instead, my gaze was focused on the four people sitting at the table, looking right at me.
Trace cleared his throat. “Hi, mom.”
She smiled at her son and then smiled at me. “You must be Olivia. Trace can’t seem to stop talking about you.”
My cheeks colored at her words and my eyes darted to the ground.
“Mom,” Trace groaned.
“Don’t mom me,” she eyed her son. “It’s true and it makes me so happy that Trace has finally found someone he cares so much about,” she addressed me.
“Thank you,” I squeaked.
“Stop being rude boy,” a gruff man with thinning gray hair said from the end of the table, “introduce us to your girl.”
Trace coughed. “Olivia, that old geezer is my Gramps, Warren.”
“Just call me, Gramps,” Warren smiled. “No need to get all fancy.”
Trace pointed to the distinguished older lady beside his grandpa. She had curly, shoulder-length, graying blonde hair. Her eyes and smile were kind when she looked at me. She had a calming affect that instantly put me at ease. “And that lovely lady is my Grammy, Eleanor.”
Eleanor smiled and surprised me by scooting her chair back to hug me. Trace released my hand and I hugged his grandma back. “It’s so nice to meet you, sweetie,” she held me at arm’s length, “and call me Grammy or Ellie, it’s up to you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Ellie,” I smiled back.
She took her seat and Trace pointed to his mom. “That’s my mom, Lily.”
Lily, like Eleanor, stood to hug me. She was on the shorter side with straight dark brown hair and bright blue eyes.
“It’s nice to meet you, Lily,” I whispered when she pulled away. My voice had all but completely left me.
“And that fucktard—”
“TRACE!” Lily and Ellie screamed while Warren chuckled.
“—is my brother, Trenton,” Trace grinned.
“But everyone calls me Trent,” the guy spoke up. He looked a lot like his brother, with dark hair and expressive eyes, but while Trace’s were green, Trent’s were a bright blue like his mom’s. A black baseball cap sat atop his head and he had black gauges in his ears. His grin was infectious, with small dimples indenting each cheek, and I was sure that the girls at his school dropped at his feet. Trace had the whole hot bad boy thing going for him but Trent had it even more. The sleeves of his blue sweatshirt were rolled up to his elbows and at the edge of the fabric, I saw the start of a tattoo that I was sure went up the rest of his arm.
“Hi,” I waved.
“Now that introductions have been made,” Warren grinned, “you can sit down and eat.”
I followed Trace to the side of the table where his grandma and Trent were sitting. He pulled out the chair beside his brother and flicked his hand in a gesture for me to sit down. I did and he pushed the chair into the table.
“I knew there was a gentleman in there somewhere,” Warren chortled.
“Gramps,” Trace muttered, “quit it.”
“A little teasing never killed anyone,” Warren winked and took a sip of red wine. “Cecilia!” He called through a doorway I hadn’t noticed. An older Hispanic lady came scurrying into the room. “We’re ready for lunch.”
Cecilia brought out each of our plates, and drinks for Trace and me. She paused by Warren’s chair, waiting for instruction.
“That’ll be all,” he said, “please help yourself to a plate in the kitchen. There’s plenty.”
She smiled, and scurried out of the room, her short black heels clacked against the marble floors.
I took a bite of the roasted chicken. It was coated in a citrus glaze with a hint of basil and the flavors exploded across my tongue.
I was swallowing a bite of garlic-mashed potatoes when Lily asked, “Did you grow up around here?”
“No,” I shook my head. “I grew up in New Hampshire. I came here for college.”
“Oh,” she smiled, “what are you planning to major in?”
“I want to be an English teacher,” I answered nervously.
She beamed. “I was a science teacher before I met my husband. I miss it.”
“Really?” I asked, shocked.
She nodded. “It’s a rewarding job when you’re in it for the right reasons. So,” she cleared her throat, “are you planning on staying here after you graduate or going back to New Hampshire?”
Before I could answer her, Trent nudged my arm. “That’s her backwards way of asking if you’re going to take my brother away. He’s her favorite,” he grinned boyishly. His smile and looks were so similar to Trace’s that it was disarming.
Trace chuckled beside me at his brother’s words and his mom was blushing. “Trent,” she scolded.
“What?” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s all true.”
I laughed, starting to feel more at ease. I looked across the table at Lily. “I plan on staying in the area. I like it here.”
Trace squeezed my knee under the table.
“Good,” she smiled, “it’s nice here.”
“It is,” I smiled back, “and the people,” I looked over at Trace, “make it even nicer.”
c h a p t e r
Twenty
“I told you they were nice,” Trace grinned, showing me around the palatial mansion.
“They’re great,” I agreed.
Trace pushed open a set of double doors and dragged me inside.
I stopped in my tracks, looking around the empty room, with tables and chairs for events stacked against the wall and a stage in the corner. Crystal chandeliers dotted the ceiling and gold sconces were affixed to the walls. The walls shimmered with ivory and gold wallpaper, accented by the shiny marble floors.
“A ballroom? You have a freakin’ ballroom in your house,” I gasped.
“Not my house,” he chuckled.
I rolled my eyes. “According to what your grandpa said, it will be yours.”
“Yeah,” he shrugged, leading me out to the middle of the floor. “But I never plan on living here. I mean, I grew up here, and I turned out fine,” he grinned like a little boy, “but…it’s kinda…cold. I want a home. I don’t want to raise my kids in a palace. I want them to have a normal life, with a dog, and white picket fence.”
I smiled. “You want kids?”
“Well, yeah,” he scratched his head. “Not now, but eventually. Until then,” he leaned down to whisper huskily in my ear, “I’ll have lots of fun practicing.”
I shivered and he chuckled.
Changing the topic completely, he held out a hand for me, and asked, “May I have this dance?”
“But there’s no music,” I laughed, “and you suck at dancing.”
“You wound me,” he winced but with a smile. “Maybe, I just want an excuse to hold you for a little while.”
I shook my head but placed my hand in his outstretched palm. He took advantage and pulled me flush against his body. With his free hand, he pressed my waist against his, and I gasped aloud when I felt the prominent bulge.
I blushed and gazed up at him. With a very bad, fake British accent, I gasped, “Mr. Wentworth, I’m scandalized.”
He laughed. “It’s your fault,” he winked, “you always look so damn hot. Now,” he smiled and his green eyes shimmered, “stop talking and just enjoy the music.”
“But there is no-”
He began to hum and we swayed back and forth.
With a light laugh, I laid my head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart.
“Now there’s music,” I murmured.
I didn’t know how much time had passed but it wasn’t long until the doors of the ballroom opened.
I reluctantly pulled away from Trace, and faced Warren, who was leaning against one of the open doors, with his hand on a cane.
“What is it, Gramps?” Trace sounded concerned.
“I wanted to let you two lovebirds know that you’re snowed in,” he muttered. “I called the snow removal company I use and they can’t get here till morning. That’s what we get for living in the boonies,” he thrust a finger in the air. “Regardless, it’s snowing something fierce out there, and not fit for driving. You’ll both stay here tonight.”
“No,” I gasped, “I can’t.”
“Of course you can, darlin’,” Warren covered a cough.
I looked beside me, at Trace, nervously chewing my lip.
“Looks like we’re snowed in,” he grinned, rubbing his hands together. “This is going to be fun.”
★★★
It was official. I had the worst luck ever.
Honestly, who goes to meet their boyfriend’s family, and ends up snowed in at their McMansion?
This girl, that’s who.
Trace and I ended up hanging out with his brother, and watched movies for most of the afternoon, before eating dinner, and heading upstairs to go to bed.
Trace opened the door to what I assumed was a guestroom, but when he flicked the switch and the room was illuminated, I knew it had to be his bedroom. The walls were painted a light gray and the bedspread on the king sized bed was charcoal and red stripes. The tip-off, that it was Trace’s room, was the baseball memorabilia scattered around.
“Nope,” I bumped back into his chest. “Nope, nope, nope, nope! I can’t sleep here,” I turned around, and tried to escape out the door, but he was blocking it.
“Yes, you can,” his eyes darkened. “It’s my room, and it’s my bed, and I want you in it.”
I gulped. “But your mom and-”
He snorted. “They’re not from the dark ages, Olivia,” he pinched my hip lightly. “Besides, their rooms are all on the other side of the house, and Trent’s room is in the middle. Even if that wasn’t the case, these walls are really thick.”
“Trace!” I shrieked.
He answered with a chuckle, and picked me up by the waist, tossing me over his shoulder.
He ran across the massive bedroom and dropped me on his bed.
He gazed down at me and wet his lips. “Now I have you right where I want you.”
“Trace,” I warned but he silenced me with his mouth. He was really good at doing that.
He hovered above me, careful to keep his weight from pressing against me.
I pushed at his shoulders lightly, and he pulled away, gazing at me quizzically.
“We really-”
He cut me off with another kiss.
He pulled away again and pressed his hand against my mouth. “I’m going to keep kissing you until you give in.”
I glared and stuck out my tongue in an effort to lick his hand.
He grinned and wiped his hand on his jeans.
“Try that again, buddy, and I’ll bite your hand,” I cautioned.
“Promise?” He asked with playful wide eyes.
“You’re so weird,” I pushed his shoulder, and he rolled off me onto his back, and pulled me with him so that I was straddling him.
He reached up and cupped my cheek. “We don’t have to do anything, Olivia. I’m perfectly content to lay here and hold you in my arms.”
I snorted. “Yeah, it really feels like you’re okay with that,” I ground my hips against his.
He chuckled. “I can take a cold shower. Problem solved.”
Conflicted, I bit down on my lower lip.
I wanted Trace, badly. The slow ache building in my core was proof of that, but the thought of his family being in the same house, freaked me out.
“Hey,” he reached up and tugged my lip from between my teeth, wiping away a smidgen of blood I had drawn. “It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?” I asked hesitantly.
He sat up with me in his lap, cradling my bottom in his hands. “Absolutely, Olivia. I would never force you to do something you’re uncomfortable with.”
I leaned my head against his chest and nodded. “I want to…I do…but I can’t.”
He forced my head back so that he could stare into my eyes. “I understand,” he kissed me sweetly. With a grin, he added, “I wouldn’t feel comfortable with your mom around hearing you scream my name.”
I ground my teeth together and narrowed my eyes. “Do you think before you talk?”
“Of course,” he fingered one of my loose curls, “but I enjoy watching your reactions to the things I say. A blush here,” he grazed his fingers lightly over my cheek. “Or there,” he brushed the curve of my ear. “But my favorite,” he looked into my eyes, “is when you blush right here,” he skimmed his fingers lightly over my breasts.
My breath stuttered out in short little gasps as I tried to get air to my oxygen-deprived brain.
Trace held out a hand to me. “Want to shower?” My eyes widened and he chuckled. “I promise to be good boy, and go down the hall to take my shower, separate from you.”
“Sure,” I nodded. I knew if Trace got in the shower with me, neither of us would be able to hold back.
He led me through a short hallway in his bedroom. There was a door on the left that he said was his closet and the door to our right was the bathroom. I could see through the archway in front of us that there was even a living room attached to his bedroom.
Trace opened the bathroom door with a flourish.
I stepped inside, looking around at the shiny black floors and countertops, gray walls, and all the fancy finishing touches. My eyes zeroed in on the massive shower that looked more like a car wash. It could have easily fit six people inside.
The amount of knobs and showerheads was scary.
“I’m never going to be able to work that,” I pointed to the shower.
“It’s not as hard as it looks,” he chuckled, “but I’ll get it going for you.”
I watched as he turned several knobs, water spraying out of a rain showerhead, and body sprayers. He checked the temperature and closed the glass shower door.
“I’ll grab you some of my old clothes to wear. I doubt that would be comfortable to sleep in,” he plucked at my dress, “and,” he grinned impishly, “if you sleep naked, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”
Before I had the chance to reply, he strode out of the bathroom, and into his closet. He returned with an old high school baseball team shirt and a pair of boxers. He laid them on the counter, then dug underneath the cabinet, pulling out a cloth and towel. He placed those on the counter and continued to look for something.
“Aha!” He finally chimed and held out a new toothbrush and toothpaste triumphantly. “You should be all set,” he looked around the bathroom, which was quickly filling with steam.
“Thank you,” I smiled, suddenly feeling bashful.
He kissed my cheek, as if sensing my sudden shyness, and closed the door behind him.
I wasn’t in the shower long, just enough to clean my body, and scrub my face free of makeup. I could wash my hair in the morning. I had always hated washing my hair at night and going to bed with it wet.
I dried off, wrapped the towel around my body, brushed my hair out with a comb I found on the counter, and then brushed my teeth.
I pulled on Trace’s shirt and it hung down past my butt but not quite to my knees. I grabbed his boxers and pulled those on as well so I wouldn’t feel so exposed.
I cleaned up the counter and then padded back into his bedroom. He wasn’t back yet and I breathed a sigh of relief. I pushed the covers back and sighed in pleasure at the feeling of the soft sheets rubbing my skin.
The door cracked open and Trace tiptoed inside.
“I’m not asleep,” I grinned.
“Oh,” he chuckled, running his fingers through his damp hair.
I sat up and studied him in the dim light of the bedroom. “Are you wearing glasses?”
“Oh, um, yeah,” he stuttered. “I can’t sleep in my contacts.”
“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” I tilted my head and smiled at him. “I like them.”
“They’re so dorky,” he groaned, sliding in beside me.
“I don’t think so,” I laid back and turned on my side to face him in the bed. The glasses were thick black-framed retro looking ones.
“You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not lying, you look good in them. You should wear them more often,” I cupped my hands under my head.
“I didn’t know you had a fetish for glasses,” he snickered.
“You’re impossible,” I rolled over to my other side and faced away from him.
He turned out the light on his side of the bed. The sheets rustled as he wiggled around and settled beside me.
“Are you mad at me?” He asked. “Or can I hold you?”
