Page 70 of Dallas Rivals

“It’s seven o’clock!”

“Cala,” he groans, half-asleep, tugging gently on my hand, “you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“It’s late, Oliver, seriously—my dad’s gonna kill me.”

He catches my wrists, pinning them playfully against the pillow, his grin full of mischief.

“Who’s the boss on this ranch—Lucien or me?”

“You, but⁠—”

“No buts,” he says, voice low and teasing. “Let me thank you properly for last night.”

His lips brush my neck, and a rush of adrenaline shoots straight down my spine.

Someone’s in a very good mood this morning.

“Oliver…” I gasp, though what I really mean to say is let me go. “If my mom comes upstairs and doesn’t find me in my room, we’re both in big trouble.”

That does it.

He pauses, then presses a quick kiss to my lips.

“You’re right.”

We jump out of bed like two guilty teenagers, scrambling for clothes and sanity.

Without another word, I bolt down the hall to my own room, throw on my work clothes, and race down the stairs.

By the time I reach the kitchen—out of breath and probably looking like a mess—Eliza’s the only one there.

She’s humming some old ’80s tune while staring into the fridge, already planning out the day’s meals.

“Where are my parents?” After months of following the same routine, it feels strange not to see them here. “Morning,” I add quickly, so I don’t sound rude.

“Oh, your father had an appointment with the surgeon,” Eliza says, still humming. “They left early, a fancy van came to pick them up. Real first-class treatment.”

Right. With everything that happened last night, I completely forgot about the appointment.

Oliver appears behind me.

“What’s going on?”

His cologne drifts straight up my nose, and I have to close my eyes for a second—to calm both my thoughts and the very unholy reaction my body’s having to his proximity.

“I forgot my parents had a doctor’s appointment this morning.”

“Mmm,” he hums, face unreadable. Then… “Your jacket’s buttoned wrong.”

He passes behind me, his hand grazing my waist as he fixes it. A slow, knowing smile curves on his lips, equal parts wicked and promising.

He’s dressed in his suit again, which means he’s heading back to Dallas for the day.

Eliza sets a cup of coffee in front of each of us. Her cheeks are puffed out from smiling so wide as she looks between Oliver and me.

“Did you sleep well?” she asks him. “You look rested.”

“Yeah,” Oliver says, lifting his cup. “Think it’s the first time I’ve ignored my alarm in years.”