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Olivia dropped her hands. “Nutsbe, please stop being so nice.” She took another step back. “Stop with your problem-solving and your consideration.” Her hands came up, and she shook them. “I'm not used to it, and it's throwing me off balance.”
“Okay.” Nutsbe slid the collar back into his pocket.
“No.” Olivia put her hands on her head and spun in a circle, then stopped and closed her eyes. Nutsbe waited as she took a breath. It had been a hell of a day for her. And he had no intentions of adding to her mental load.
When she focused on him again, she said. “Thank you for the collar. I'd really like that collar, and I really like you.”
“And you really liked the kiss.” He smiled. He got it. At least, he thought he did. She was asking for time. His system was doing weird tumbles and flips.
“Yes, I did,” she said, lowering her hands to grip them in front of her.
“But it's bad timing.” He sent her a slow smile and a shrug. She really was just so damned beautiful.
“That's it?” Olivia asked, her voice bright with shock.
“Was there something more I should say?” Nutsbe slid his hands into his pockets, hoping to make his pants lay flat. His dick hadn’t gotten the message that it wasn’t playtime.
“Yes, of course. You should tell me that I'm losing out. You’re supposed to ask me if I understand how spectacular you are–which, by the way, I do. You should be asking if I know what a catch you are. Then, when I don’t change my mind, you’re supposed to escalate to ‘you’re a frigid c-word.’”
Nutsbe’s hands curled into fists. “Men say that to you?”
“Men have been pulling that from the beginning of time.” She pulled out a chair and fell into it. “I thought you had sisters.”
“I think they keep those conversations from me.” Yeah, sitting would help. Nutsbe moved to his chair as he said, “I might be overly protective of my family.”
“Tad bit?” She winked.
“I remember my sisters talking about a scene in that book they all like—Pride and Prejudice.”
“I love that novel.”
“Funny, I've never mentioned that book without the woman I'm speaking to saying that.” Nutsbe smiled and popped his brows. “I know the scene that proves your point.”
“Yeah?”
“The weaselly guy was at the breakfast table. The whole family had to leave so he could have privacy to ask the woman—”
“Elizabeth.”
“Right. To marry him. But he was doing it like a foregone conclusion that she’d say yes. And he couldn’t fathom that she said no.”
“That scene, and then later on, the not-so-weaselly hero, Mr. Darcy, did the same thing, only worse.”
“How could it be worse?” Nutsbe asked. “I didn’t finish watching the movie.”
“Darcy basically said, ‘You’re beneath me. Everyone would be horrified by our betrothal, but I’m willing to put aside your inferiority.’”
“Inferiority?” Nutsbe’s brows drew sharply together. “Are you kidding me right now? The hero character said that?”
“He told Elizabeth that despite her inferiority, he was willing to marry her because he loved her most ardently.”
Ardently, that was the word. That was what happened; the sensation of that kiss was ardor. That’s what that word felt like, all-consuming. Nutsbe pressed his lips together as he studied Olivia’s face, the friendliness of her freckles, the intelligence in her eyes. “And women like this book? Wow, what a jackass.”
“Right?” She traced her finger over his knuckles, then slid her hand into his, looking down at their laced fingers. “I think women like that book because Darcy realizes how much of a jerk he had been. He was contrite, and he worked hard to redeem himself.” She looked up and held Nutsbe’s gaze. “Which, in my experience, almost never happens. So there’s that.”
They sat there looking into each other’s eyes, grinning like idiots.
Nutsbe wanted to pull her into his lap, to feel her head on his shoulder, to wrap her in his arms and hold her tightly. Yeah, protectively.