Page 39 of Billion Dollar Vow (The Lincoln Brothers #4)

Karley

“Where do you think you’re going?” Oliver rumbles through the quiet of the room.

I pause mid-step, caught in the act of sneaking away to the bathroom.

As I glance over my shoulder, my breath hitches at the sight of him.

The soft morning sunlight filters through the half-drawn curtains, spilling golden light across the bed.

It illuminates the toned lines of his relaxed, naked body, the disheveled mess of his dark hair, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw.

He looks incredibly sexy, like something out of a dream.

His eyes soften as they meet mine, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Come back here,” he murmurs, his outstretched hand inviting me closer.

“Give me two minutes. I’ll be right back.”

When I return, he’s still lying there, waiting, the sheets low across his hips. I crawl back into bed and let his arms wrap around me, holding me in a way that feels both safe and dangerous all at once.

“That’s better,” he says against my hair.

I nestle into him, inhaling his woodsy scent. The soft tickle of his chest hair brushes against my cheek, and I sigh in contentment, momentarily forgetting the outside world.

“What are your plans today?” I ask.

He hums, the vibrations rolling deep through his chest. “I have one idea,” he replies before he flips me onto my back, pinning me beneath him.

My pulse quickens, every nerve in my body sparking to life under his heated gaze. His proximity is intoxicating, and I find myself lost in his eyes.

“Oliver,” I begin, attempting to steer the conversation, even as a smile plays on my lips.

“Are you turning me down?” he teases, his tone mock-wounded, but his grin entirely wicked.

“No,” I say with an exaggerated roll of my eyes. “But I was hoping you’d come with me to check out the house I bought.”

His expression shifts, his eyes widening slightly. “Of course, I’ll come.”

“We need to get ready soon.”

“I just need a minute with you.” Then, without any warning, he closes the space between us, silencing my thoughts with a kiss.

I hang up from the New York State Office of Children and Family Services as we pull up in front of the house. My dream of creating a family visitation center is slowly becoming real.

Climbing out of the car, I turn to him, my heart pounding. This moment feels monumental, and yet I’m terrified of sharing too much. In only a few weeks, it’s mine.

We stand side by side on the sidewalk. I peer up at him, trying to read his face. His expression thoughtful, eyebrows slightly drawn together as he takes in the property.

“Well?” I ask, breaking the silence. “What do you think?”

He studies the house, his eyes looking over every detail before his lips curl into a teasing smirk. “It's charming,” he finally says. “And big.”

Nudging him playfully, I roll my eyes. “You’re the one to talk about big houses.”

He chuckles. “Fair point. But it’s been nice sharing mine lately.”

“Sharing it with who?” I tease.

His arms slip around my waist from behind, pulling me close. “You. Only you,” he whispers, his lips brushing the curve of my neck.

Warmth blooms in my chest as I place my hands over his, chasing away my earlier nerves.

“Tell me your plans for this place.” He rests his chin on my shoulder. “What do you want to change?”

I hesitate, the weight of my plans suddenly feeling heavier. But with his arms around me, I find the courage to share. “This house isn’t for me,” I begin. “It’s for foster kids. A place where they can spend time with their biological families, somewhere safe.”

He stays silent, encouraging me to continue.

“Growing up, not being able to see Declan often was… hard. Harder on him, though.”

“I think he’s just more vocal about it.” His words hit me with force.

I’m surprised that he saw what I’ve spent years denying, but also relieved that someone finally understands.

Declan always wore his hurt on the outside, the anger and frustration visible.

I buried mine, to seem like I was coping. But Oliver sees through that.

Oliver turns me to face him, his gaze searching mine. I’m unable to hide now, and I’m sure it’s written on, not only my face, but in my eyes how much that rings true. “You don’t have to be tough with me,” he says. “You can trust me.”

“Trust doesn’t come easily for me,” I admit quietly.

“How can I earn it?” The sincerity in his eyes makes words fall from my lips.

“Share something real with me,” I say. “Something that makes me feel like I’m not the only one letting my guard down.”

He exhales slowly, staring at his hands.

“Everyone sees this successful guy who has it all figured out.

The truth is... I still feel like that kid who was given the galleries from his mom.

Every meeting, every deal, there's this voice in my head, saying they'll figure out I don't belong.

That I'm not good enough. So I keep people at arm's length…

It's easier than letting someone close enough to confirm what I'm afraid of.”

“But my brother said—” I begin, my eyebrows lifting in surprise at the contradiction between the Oliver I thought I knew and the one being revealed to me now.

He cuts me off with a sad smile. “The playboy thing? It's a convenient mask. Keep it light, keep it casual, never stay long enough for anyone to see past the facade.”

This sounds too good to be true. I ignore the way my heart swells and wait for clarification. I’m not special. Just your average girl wanting security and, lately, because of him… love and affection.

“Why haven’t you been in a serious relationship?”

“Because who'd want the real me when the fake version is so much more impressive?” He runs a hand through his hair. “Plus, in my experience, money attracts the wrong kind of attention.”

His words land like a stone in my chest, and I feel a sudden chill. “But this arrangement was for a business deal.”

He shakes his head. “A house that you’ll use for struggling kids isn't the same. You’re not asking for fancy dinners, shopping sprees…”

I peer down at my rings, knowing they are the only lavish gifts I own. “I’d rather paint or be at home.”

His hand lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’re different. What you’re doing here, with this house, proves that.”

I shake my head as fear of being abandoned again threatens to overtake me. “I’m scared,” I whisper.

“Then let’s continue to take it slow,” he says softly. He turns me so he’s holding me again. We stay like this, staring at the house for a while longer.

A few hours later, the warm scent of herbs and roasting chicken fills the kitchen.

It’s quiet except for the chopping of vegetables.

Oliver stands beside me at the counter, sleeves rolled up, slicing carrots with precision.

I brush past him to grab garlic, and my hand grazes his.

A fleeting touch that sends a thrill up my spine.

My cheeks flush, and I quickly turn back to my cutting board, pretending to be focused on mincing the clove. But I can feel his eyes on me.

“You’ve been quiet. Are you okay?”

“I’m focused,” I reply without looking up, though my pulse quickens as he steps nearer.

“Focused?” he teases. “You’ve chopped that garlic into dust.”

Heat floods my face as I realize he’s right. I laugh as I sweep the tiny pieces into a bowl. “Just trying to make sure it’s perfect.”

His phone chimes with a notification of someone at the door, so he moves away with a soft chuckle. I can’t tell if it’s at my expense or because he finds this endearing.

Evelyn enters behind Oliver, her eyes lighting up when she sees me.

“Karley!” she squeals, moving to give me a big hug.

As she pulls back, her sharp eyes immediately take in the scene.

She arches an eyebrow but says nothing, heading for the fridge to cool the bottle of white wine she’s brought with her.

My stomach twists with the urge to tell her everything about last night, the way Oliver completely unraveled me.

But the timing hasn’t been right, and besides, Oliver has barely left my side since the moment we woke up.

Not that I’m complaining.

“How can I help?” Evelyn offers as she watches Oliver return to the kitchen.

The door chimes again. “Could you grab that?” Oliver asks.

She smiles and heads to open the door.

He shifts closer to me, reaching over to pluck the tray from the counter. His arm brushes mine, lingering just enough to make me catch my breath.

“You okay?” he asks.

I glance up at him, momentarily lost in the soft intensity of his piercing gaze. His question feels like he’s asking more than he’s letting on.

“Yeah,” I reply, steadier than I expected. “Just... preoccupied.”

His smirk returns, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in his expression. “Good,” he says softly. “Stay that way. It makes this easier.”

I don’t have time to unpack what he means, because the sound of heavy footsteps announces the arrival of the family. The room fills with laughter and voices, breaking the sexual tension around us.

Their familiar faces brighten the room, and I move in for a quick hug. “Hi,” I greet Wren and Amber when they step into the kitchen.

“Hey,” they chime back, both smiling warmly. Amber’s sharp eyes flick briefly to Oliver, and I can tell she’s assessing him in her own way.

Oliver, ever the charmer, steps forward with his hand extended.

“Hi. Nice to meet you both,” he says, firmly shaking first Amber's hand, then Wren's with a warm smile.

His eyes drift to the bundle of white fluff nestled in Wren's arms. “And who's this guy?” Oliver asks, leaning down slightly to get a better look at the dog.

“This is Rufus,” Wren replies, his voice full of affection.

I reach out to pat Rufus’s soft fur, cooing at him. Oliver follows suit, his larger hand brushing the top of Rufus’s head. The dog seems content, at least for a moment, before wiggling excitedly out of Wren’s grasp.