Page 24

“When I was growing up, my mom made sure to stress to everyone that my name is Oliver. Anytime anyone called me Olly, she corrected them.”
“Well, I like it.”
He smirked.
She quirked her brow and let out a laugh. “I just realized, your last name is Wood.”
He stared at her blankly. “And?”
“Your name is Olly Wood. Like Hollywood.” She cracked herself up at her silly joke and sing-songed “Hooray for Olly Wood” and burst into laughter.
He watched her with amusement. “Okay. It’s not that funny.”
“I know it’s not, but I can’t stop laughing.” Her eyes watered.
He shook his head, but was soon infected by her contagious laughter.
“You should move to California. You’d fit right in with a name like that.” She snorted.
His eyebrows shot up. “I’m not sure this is really snort-worthy.”
“Apparently, it is.” Their laughter died down, and she let out a happy sigh.
“It’s nice to know you’re so easily amused at my expense, Addy.”
He caught sight of a little smile on her lips at the nickname he’d just given her, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she went back to salad prep in silence, and he finished up the burgers and went to fire up the grill.
A strong wind whipped across the surface of Lake Michigan, howling and whistling around the lake house. Oliver lay wide awake in bed, unable to sleep, thinking about the amazing woman in the room across the hall. They had shared casual conversation and plenty of laughter throughout dinner and after. She was easy to get along with and was nothing like he expected the daughter of famous Hollywood billionaires to be.
The creak of floorboards had him bolting upright. He listened intently, wondering if it was just the wind and his mind playing tricks, but then he heard it again. He quietly climbed out of bed, grabbed his gun belt, and slowly turned the handle on his door until it gave and opened. Trying to step lightly, he made his way down the hallway toward the kitchen and was surprised to see Adelia moving toward the window, dragging a blanket behind her.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked softly as he set the gun belt on a side table and moved toward her.
She didn’t reply, only stopped by the window, eyes fixed on the blackness beyond the glass, and he couldn’t make out whatever unrecognizable words she was mumbling.
He moved closer. “Adelia?”
She continued to stare, then suddenly turned and walked right past him with a blank stare on her face. He watched in fascination as her footsteps took her to the dining room table, where she tossed the blanket on its surface before plopping down in the closest chair and laying her head on top of the blanket.
“That can’t be comfortable,” he whispered, realizing she wasn’t actually hearing him. One thing he knew for sure: Never wake a sleepwalker. He didn’t want her to get hurt or lash out and punch him in the face or something.
He took a seat across the table and waited until her breathing evened out to be sure she was asleep. Then he moved around the table, carefully lifted one of her arms around his neck, slid one arm around behind her and the other under her legs, and picked her up.
As he turned to grab her blanket, she shifted in his arms, curling herself against him, burrowing her face into his neck. His pulse spiked at the heat of her breath there, and he took his time walking to her room, soaking in this feeling of holding her, warm and soft, against him.
He carefully laid her on her bed, moved her legs under the sheets, and spread the blanket she’d dragged along with her back over the bed. He leaned down to tuck it around her, and she reached up in her slumberous state and gently caressed his face. Her thumb brushed across his bottom lip, and her eyes cracked open for an instant before she rolled over and snuggled into her pillow. He stood by her bedside, completely drawn to this woman, wanting nothing more than to be close to her and keep her safe.
Her breathing was steady as she slept deeply, and he quietly snuck from her room. There was no way he was sleeping after that.