She smacked his arm, and they hurried back out of the store room and tried to make it look like they’d only taken a casual walk inside. They barely stepped out the doors when the bodyguards converged on them, and Theo demanded to know where they went.
“It’s alright. We needed to find a restroom is all… Bit of an emergency,” he whispered and glanced at Olivia.
To her credit, she winced and apologized. “We may need to stop at the palace before our luncheon. I’m so sorry.”
Theo cleared his throat and shifted as he turned to the others and told them they were leaving. Quincy laughed at the look of annoyance on Olivia’s face at his excuse for their disappearance, but when did any man argue with a woman when it came to feminine problems? The walk to the Jeep was brisk, and he saw the longing in Olivia’s eyes as they drove away.
“You can still come here, you know,” he told her over the wind rushing past them. “Marie would love to have you at her university.”
“Something to think about.”
“So you’re considering it?” he asked, trying not to sound too excited.
“Maybe. I’ll have to see how the rest of the summer goes.”
That was good enough for him. Quincy wanted her to stay on the isle, and if convincing her to attend the university was one way to do it, then he’d make sure he found a way for her to go there. The thought of her leaving at the end of summer made his hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
“Quincy, are you alright?” she asked as she stared at his hands.
“I’m fine, just thinking about something, that’s all.”
“And what would that be?”
Did he admit how he felt so soon or would it be too much? There was a connection between them, one he’d felt since the first day he watched her get off that plane. When he looked in her eyes, he saw it there, a spark of what they could have together if they had the chance. But the uncertainty was too much.
“This lunch… My father is going to hound me about women again.”
Olivia took one of his hands in hers and squeezed it before placing it on her bare thigh. “Just think of me the whole time and you’ll be fine.”
“That won’t ever be a problem, I can promise you that.”
Chapter 12
Several days passed after Olivia’s visit to the university when she and Quincy had enjoyed a moment alone together. Never before had she experienced such a wanton need for something, and it was driving her insane. She’d taken to painting late into the night while he was locked away with his father in meetings with advisors and members of court for wedding preparations and what it would mean for him as the prince. She knew they were also discussing his decision for a wife.
Olivia thought of Gigi with him, and the paintbrush in her hand snapped in half.
“Damn it,” she muttered and tossed it aside, glaring at the canvas in front of her, the scene of Quin’s private cove. She’d barely added anything to it. She was too agitated to do much except waste paint by letting it dry out.
A clock chimed one somewhere in the palace, and she groaned. Her bed called her, but she was in no mood to sleep yet. In the morning, she had another fitting for a ballgown and the final one for her bridesmaid dress. Her mother, at least, hadn’t asked about the missing ballgown still stashed in the hidden passageway on the other side of the palace. Eventually, she would go and get it, but there were more important things on her mind.
“Like a drink. Maybe that will help.”
She stood, stretched her arms over her head, and walked inside to the bottles of wine left for her by admirers. It was weird that she had admirers, but the wine was appreciated. Once she had picked a sweet red, she opened it and poured a large glass, hoping it would either settle her nerves or put her to sleep.
The sweetness of the wine hit her tongue, and she was immediately reminded of Quincy. She’d tasted this one on him before, the first night they had sex on the beach. Her eyes closed, and she pictured his body, naked and muscled in the moonlight. A smile lit her lips as she thought of his hands massaging her sides and up to cup her breasts in his hands, the softness of his palms while they rubbed her nipples. Olivia shifted as she grew hot and wet just from thinking of him, what he’d done to her, and what she still wanted him to do. Her clothes felt too tight and made her sweaty, so she set down her wine glass and made sure her bedroom doors were locked. Olivia pulled her tank off over her head and let it fall to the floor, followed quickly by her yoga pants. In a red lace bra that pushed her boobs up and panties that were barely anything but a scrap of cloth, Olivia felt more comfortable.