You're driving on the coast up to Oliver's latest acquisition, a newly restored 120 year old lighthouse. You exit your car and head to the front door carrying a bag of groceries. You thought you'd surprise him by cooking dinner for a change. You try the handle and find it unlocked. 'I wish he'd stop doing that,' you think, 'it always creeps me out.'

You take your first good look at the place, stepping onto its blanched hardwood floor as you shut the door behind you. The walls are sparingly decorated with stormy seascape paintings and even one or two pictures of the two of you together, an infrequently sentimental gesture you learned long ago not to encourage but just be surprised by.

You sit the grocery bag and your purse on the kitchenette counter and round the corner to an alcove. You groan and slap a hand to your forehead at the sight before you. A hammock. Did that man never learn? The last time the two of you were near a hammock, you wound up with a concussion, Oliver wound up with stitches and then resorted to bribing the nurse for time alone with you in your hospital room because he was still feeling "frisky".

A noise from above stirs you from this memory. "Oliver," you call. There is no answer. You make your way to the stairwell and call up, "Oliver?" Again, there is no reply. A chill begins to creep up your spine. You move to the counter and begin to dig through your purse.

"Looking for this?" A tall swarthy man stands before you, holding your sig sauer in his hand. Clearly, you are less than thrilled as you raise your hands in the air. "Up the stairs, Little Missy. Your boyfriend will be overjoyed that the last face he sees will be yours and not mine."

'Little Missy? Okay, he's going to have to die on general principle now.' He prods you in the small of the back with the barrel and herds you up the stairs. You wind round and round and eventually you see sky. You climb the last few steps and see Oliver's face.

The wind plays through his hair and sways his hoop earring. He is wearing his best wise-ass smirk, the one he puts on when he's in huge trouble and has no clue how he's getting out of it. Now, you begin to worry.

Oliver spots you and a warm smile washes over his face. You bite your bottom lip and roll your eyes. Oliver's expression falls. You appear on the outer deck, only a brass railing separating you from a dizzying drop to the jagged rocks and ocean below.

The swarthy man who'd brought you, joins his compatriot who's been holding a gun on Oliver. You grip the railing, white-knucklingly tight. Oliver moves to your side, slipping an arm around your waist.

"Are you all right?" he whispers. You nod your head, not really looking at him. "Liar," he chuckles softly. You smile and look into his eyes. Oliver sighs, "I love you, you know."

"I know," you whisper back. Oliver nods almost imperceptibly. Recognizing your cue, you take a deep breath and gently push him away.

"Get your hands off me! You jerk! Some romantic weekend you had planned here. I show up figuring, what the hell, it won't kill me to make him dinner. Looks like I was wrong!"

"Well if you must know, I only asked you here to break up with you."

"How very considerate! Do me a favor, next time do it over the phone!" You throw a wide jab at his jaw. It misses by a mile. He grabs both your wrists in one hand and draws you against him hard. He kisses you forcefully as his other hand attaches to your back and pushes your body tighter against him. You make a show of squirming and struggling. Personally, you think you deserve an Oscar.

"Okay that's enough. Break it up you two." The swarthy man pushes against Oliver's chest and pulls back on your shoulder. When he tugs his hardest, you push off against Oliver's chest and Oliver releases you. You slam into the swarthy man and you both go flying backwards.

"Doug," the other man calls. Oliver kicks the gun from his hand and lands a left cross on his chin. The man makes a grapple for Oliver, who ducks. The man stumbles over him and topples over the railing to his death.

The swarthy man is a bit stronger than he had appeared to be and instead of dealing with him yourself as you had hoped to, you've opted for slamming his hand on the top stair, sending the gun clattering down the steps and trying to keep him pinned as best you can till Oliver can help you out.

You hear a scream as someone plummets to the rocks. 'It wasn't Oliver,' you repeat to yourself over and over. You hear footsteps approaching from behind. You glance over your shoulder to make sure it really is Oliver. The swarthy man takes advantage and kicks you off him. You sail backwards for the edge. You back hits the railing with enough force to knock the air out of you. The ache settles into your back and you force your view away from the rocks below. The swarthy man is rushing at you. You grip the railing, anticipating the collision.

Oliver intercepts him, spinning the swarthy man to face him. The man swings twice at Oliver who backs out of the way both times and then deliver a hard shove to his chest. The man crashes into the railing above your head and tips back over it. You reach up and lift his legs, sending him completely over. Oliver grabs your outstretched hand and pulls you up to him.

Oliver holds you against him, clamping his hands over your ears so you don't hear the swarthy man's departing yell. He tilts your head to face him, his hands moving to your cheeks. "Are you all right?

"No. I want to go inside and my back is *way* sore." Oliver gives you his arm and accompanies you down into his living room. The first thing you do is lock the door. He smiles as you walk back to him. As you near, he begins to unbutton your blouse.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I want to see your back."

"Oh Okay." You finish the buttons, slip it from your shoulders and toss it onto the chair, turning your back to him.

Oliver's dry fingers touch your back feather light. He draws them from your shoulder to the middle of your back. You feel him unfasten your bra. "Uh Oliver, that is *not* where the railing hit."

"I know. I can see where the railing hit."

"Oh."

Oliver lays his palm flat on your back and rubs. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you breathe, leaning against him and lifting your head to face him, "but you're not getting me anywhere near that hammock."

"How did you..." your smile stops him. He grins and glides a hand across your bare stomach. "No, I do have a bedroom, with an actual bed."

"Good." You slide a hand into his soft hair and pull him to you for a kiss...

Have a Wonderful Monday!

GylzGirl :-)