His Dangerous Love On Ice (Olivia and Zane) novel Chapter 208

Olive’s POV

Not gently or carefully but wildly, desperately, like he was trying to prove something or claim something or make absolutely sure I understood that whatever was happening between us, whatever complications my mother was worried about, or my worries about Elena, none of it mattered compared to this.

His other hand found my waist and pulled me flush against him and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except kiss him back while my mother watched and my face burned and something in my chest cracked open.

When he finally pulled back his forehead rested against mine for just a second and he said quietly, “Take care of yourself,” then pressed a softer kiss to my cheek before turning and leaving.

The door closed behind him with a soft click and I stood there in my living room with my face red and eyes wide and heart racing, completely unable to process what had just happened.

My mother stared at me and started, “How DARE he-”

“He saved Grayson’s company,” I interrupted, and my voice came out flat and exhausted because I was done with having this argument. “He exposed his own father’s corruption. Stopped Williams from buying Hopkins out from under you. Grayson still has his company because of what Zane did. So maybe you could cut him some slack.”

Diane’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, and finally she just scoffed and said, “Okay, fine, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him kissing my daughter in front of me like some kind of ”

“I’m going to bed,” I said.

“Olive” she started, then her tone shifted back to concerned mother. “Are you okay? Really okay? Because if you need to talk about what happened—”

“I just need sleep,” I said. “We can talk in the morning.”

She nodded slowly and said, “Okay, baby, get some rest, I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

I went to my bedroom and closed the door and locked it even though there was no reason to lock it except that I needed the illusion of security, of privacy, of a space where nobody could reach me, and then I collapsed onto my bed fully clothed and stared at the ceiling.

My phone was in my purse, still off from earlier, and I should leave it off, should try to sleep like I’d told my mother, should let myself rest and process and deal with everything in the morning when my brain wasn’t running on adrenaline and fear.

But I couldn’t.

Because there were too many questions screaming in my head, too many things that didn’t make sense, too many connections I didn’t understand and needed answers to before I could even think about sleeping.

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