His Dangerous Love On Ice Chapter 19: Olive's Pov

Olive’s POV

His mouth was still on mine when I heard it—the sound of the front door opening, voices echoing through the massive house—and instantly, my entire body tensed against his.

Zane pulled back immediately and stared, and I saw something flash in his eyes that I couldn't quite read, something between annoyance and amusement and maybe a hint of something darker.

"Expecting someone?" I whispered, my voice coming out rougher than I intended, my lips still tingling from the kiss.

"No," he said, but he didn't sound particularly worried about it, just mildly inconvenienced, like someone had interrupted his dinner instead of whatever this was between us.

The voices got louder and closer, and I could make out words now, make out the distinct sound of… Hunter's laugh was followed by another voice that made my stomach drop.

Ryan.

Of course, it was fucking Ryan.

"Zane, are you home?" Ryan called out, and I could hear footsteps moving through the house, heading in our direction.

"Kitchen," Zane called back, his eyes still locked on mine, and I wanted to kill him because why would he tell them where we were? why would he—

"What are you doing?" I hissed, trying to push away from him, but his hands on my hips held me firmly in place.

"Relax," he murmured, and there was something in his tone that told me he was enjoying this, enjoying my panic, enjoying having me trapped between him and the approaching footsteps.

"I can't—they can't see me here," I said, and I could hear the desperation in my own voice, could feel my heart racing for entirely different reasons now. "Ryan will know; he'll—"

Zane's expression shifted then, something hardening in his eyes as he'd just remembered something important, and before I could finish my sentence, he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a door I hadn't noticed before, tucked into the corner of the kitchen in a way that made it almost invisible.

He opened it to reveal what looked like a pantry or storage closet, deep and narrow and completely dark except for the light spilling in from the kitchen, and he pulled me inside just as I heard Hunter's voice getting closer.

"Get in," he whispered, and I didn't argue because I could hear them now, could hear them entering the kitchen, and could hear Ryan saying something about needing a drink.

I stepped into the closet and Zane followed, pulling the door closed behind us until we were plunged into almost complete darkness, the only light coming from the thin crack under the door.

The space was tiny, barely big enough for one person, let alone two, and I found myself pressed against shelves full of what felt like dry goods and kitchen supplies, with Zane's body pressed against mine from chest to thigh in a way that made it impossible to think about anything else.

"This is insane," I breathed, barely making any sound at all, and I felt more than saw him lean closer.

"You're the one who didn't want them to see you," he whispered directly into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "I'm just helping."

"By trapping us in a closet?" I shot back, trying to ignore the way my body was responding to having him this close, to feeling every hard plane of him pressed against me.

"You have a better idea?" His voice was amused, and I wanted to hit him, except there was no room to move, no space to do anything except stand here and try not to think about how good he smelled or how his hands had moved to my waist to steady us both.

Outside the closet, I could hear Hunter and Ryan moving around the kitchen, their voices clear enough that I could make out most of what they were saying.

"So where's Zane?" Hunter asked, and I could hear the sound of the refrigerator opening.

"I don't know; he said kitchen, but I don't see him," Ryan replied, and I heard cabinets opening and closing. "Maybe he went upstairs? This is his house after all."

"His car's here, though," Hunter said, and there was something in his tone that made my skin crawl even through the door. "Hey, do you think he's got a girl here? I never wanted to be here in the first place."

My entire body went rigid, and I felt Zane's hands tighten on my waist and felt him shift slightly so that even more of his weight was pressed against me.

"Zane doesn't bring girls here," Ryan said, sounding completely certain. "This is like his private space; he never—"

"There's a glass on the counter," Hunter interrupted, and I could hear him moving closer and could imagine him picking up the glass I'd been drinking from. "Two glasses, actually. Lipstick on one of them."

Fuck.

"Huh," Ryan said, and I could hear the confusion in his voice. "That's weird."

"You think he's hiding from us?" Hunter asked, and Ryan burst into laughter, and it was the kind of laugh that made my skin crawl. "That would be hilarious, the great Zane Mercer hiding in his own house."

Even though I don’t like him, he might be in some trouble, so let's check upstairs," Hunter suggested, and I heard their footsteps start to move away from the kitchen, voices fading as they headed in the opposite direction.

We stood there in silence for what felt like forever, listening as their voices got quieter and quieter until finally there was nothing but the sound of our own breathing in the dark space.

"They're gone," I whispered, starting to move toward the door, but Zane's hands held me in place.

"Not yet," he said, his voice low and rough in a way that made something tighten low in my stomach. "Give them a minute to actually get upstairs."

"Zane—" I started, but the words died in my throat when I felt his fingers trace along my jaw, tilting my face up toward his, even though we could barely see each other in the darkness.

"You know what I'm realizing?" he murmured, and I could feel his lips brush against my ear as he spoke. "We're alone now, you already agreed to be mine, and we have at least a few minutes before they come back looking."

"That's not—we can't—" I tried to protest, but my voice came out weak and unconvincing even to my own ears.

"Can't what?" His other hand slid from my waist to my hip, his thumb brushing against the strip of skin where my sweater had ridden up. "Can't finish what we started? Can't do what we both want to do?"

"They could come back any second," I managed to say, but even as the words left my mouth, I was leaning into his touch instead of pulling away.

"Then I guess we'd better be quiet," he whispered, and then his mouth was on mine again, kissing me harder than before, more demanding, like the interruption had only made him more determined to claim what was his.

I kissed him back because not kissing him wasn't an option, because my body had apparently decided to completely ignore my brain's weak protests, because being pressed against him in this tiny dark space was doing things to me that I didn't want to think about too closely.

His hands moved to my thighs, gripping them and lifting me slightly so that I was trapped between his body and the shelves behind me, and I had to wrap my arms around his neck to keep my balance, which only served to press us even closer together.

I could feel everything—every hard muscle, every sharp breath, every sign that he was just as affected by this as I was—and it made my head spin in a way that had nothing to do with the lack of air in this closet.

"Zane," I breathed against his mouth, not sure if I was protesting or encouraging, not sure of anything except that I was way over my head and sinking fast.

"Say you're mine," he demanded, pulling back just enough to look at me even though we could barely see each other in the darkness. "Say it."

"I'm yours," I whispered, and the words felt like more than just an agreement to his deal; they felt like something bigger and more dangerous that I wasn't ready to examine.

"Good," he said, and his mouth moved to my neck, kissing and biting in a way that made me bite down on my own lip to keep from making noise. "Now let me show you what that means."

His hands moved to the hem of my sweater, fingers brushing against bare skin, and I knew we were crossing a line that we probably shouldn't cross, knew that this was insane and reckless and exactly the kind of thing I'd sworn I wouldn't do.

But his mouth was on my throat and his hands were under my sweater, and we were hidden in the darkness where no one could see, and for once I didn't want to be careful or smart or think about consequences.

I just wanted to feel.

And apparently, Zane Mercer was very good at making me feel.