“I’ll become your sexual slave in perpetuity.” He held up his hand. “So help me God.”
She smiled grudgingly, turned and started up the stairs toward the house.
8
Tate felt Olivia’s tension ratchet higher with each step toward the house.
He slipped a hand beneath her hair and stroked it down her back, looking up at the majestic historical brick home. “Wow. This is amazing.”
She smiled. “I’ve always been so in love with it.”
Pausing on the porch, trimmed with a white banister and rails that had seen better days, she looked around the yard with its overflowing flowerbeds, lush lawn, and mature trees.
“My parents bought it about forty years ago right after they got married. It was in foreclosure and had been abandoned for a long time. My dad renovated it from top to bottom over the years. He did the historical research on the house, so whenever I’d help him, he’d tell me all the stories. It was fascinating.” She ran her hand over the peeling paint on a banister and watched the flakes flutter to the porch. “So sad to see it falling into disrepair. This would have driven my dad crazy.”
Tate leaned against the column. “Were you a daddy’s girl?”
She grinned, but it was sad. “Two hundred percent.” Her gaze drifted toward the front door. “Quinn has always been mamma’s girl.”
Huh. That explained a couple of things.
Tate studied her profile while she was lost in thought, realizing what a complex woman he’d stumbled over. And what a big hole she was going to leave in his life after such a short time together.
She took a breath that raised her shoulders, then heaved a sigh. “Guess I can’t stand out here all night.”
When Olivia reached for the door, Tate said, “Hey.” She glanced at him. “It’s going to be okay.”
She smiled, but it looked pained. Then nodded and pushed into the house.
Tate followed, closing the door at his back while he took in the rich wood floors that looked original, the plaster walls, the high ceilings and thick crown molding. A chandelier cast dappled light over the neutral paint. The foyer was generous and welcoming with a bench, plenty of hooks for winter jackets, racks for winter boots, and an umbrella stand. To the left a wide staircase lead to the second floor, a carpet lining the middle of the wooden steps. The first few stairs were wide and curved, tapering into a straight staircase.
Tate ran his hand over the origination of the banister, a pillar where the remaining rail spiraled to begin an elegant curve up the stairway. “Beautiful.”
Olivia glanced back at him and smiled, and Tate could see her love for the house in her eyes. “Dad and I refinished the entire staircase. Sanded every balustrade and the entire railing by hand.”
Tate’s gaze slid up the stairs again, now looking at what had to be over a hundred balustrades. “Oh my God.”
She laughed softly. “Yeah. Every corner of this house has a memory of my dad in it. I can’t ever imagine it leaving the family. Mom and Dad used to talk about having grandkids running through the hallways the way Quinn and I did. I thought Quinn would have a couple by now.”
The image hit at the heart of Tate’s own fantasies. At least the ones he’d had when he’d married Lisa. Hearing Olivia talk so fondly of kids was creating a pull inside him that he knew instantly was both illogical and dangerous.
“Why hasn’t she?”
Olivia sighed, shrugged. “She’s so wrapped up in mom and mom’s business, but…I really don’t know.”
“And why haven’t you?” There was no possible way for him to keep the question inside.
It made Olivia laugh with real humor. “My life is not conducive to children.” She looked around. “The idea of being able to share my dad’s legacy with my own children is a romantic one, and I haven’t been a romantic in a long time. Realistically, I doubt I’ll ever have children.”
That news kicked Tate in the stomach. He realized exactly how irr
ational that was. How childish. And just how infatuated he’d become with her. Because he wanted to expand this little slice of intimacy they were sharing, he forced himself to detach and responded the way he would to a female friend.
“Really? Why? Your life may not be conducive now, but you’re young.”
She lifted a shoulder and studied the chandelier. “I like kids, enjoy my friends kids. My secret pleasure is kids birthday parties, even though I end up barely breaking even on the cost. I just love the kids. Had hoped to have some nieces and nephews to teach French and travel with when they got older, you know? But, me?” She shook her head. “I don’t see it. I’ve never had anyone in my life who changed that.”
Tate stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. A dull ache nagged somewhere at the center of his body. He was probably stepping over a line, but hell… “Liv, have you ever been in love?”