Oliver’s hands migrate from Harper’s back to the hem of her dress, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of her thighs. The sensation makes him pull back just enough to look at her, his breathing heavy and uneven. The reading glasses are now hanging precariously off one ear, but he does not care. “You are going to be the death of me,” he mutters, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. His voice thick, stripped of the professional veneer he wears like armour at work. “I spend all afternoon in meetings thinking about this. About you.” He shifts his grip, one hand moving to cradle the back of her head, his fingers threading through her auburn hair to hold her steady as he kisses the corner of her mouth, then her jawline, working his way down to the sensitive spot just below her ear.
“Tel
