A Little Bit Crazy

by B. Cranford

  Wondering who she was talking to—did she know he was in the bathroom? He’d tried to move on silent feet past where she’d been sleeping soundly just a moment ago, not wanting to disturb her much needed rest—he finished up, and let himself into her room.

  Her moaning intensified, her body writhed on the bed, and Declan stepped closer, wondering what she was doing.

  He got his answer when she moaned his name twice. “Declan, Declan.” The heat in her voice, the way her entire being shifted across the sheets clued Declan in—she was dreaming.

  And she was dreaming about him.

  Fuck yes. Is she dreaming about the closet . . . or something new?

  Still, she’d been so sick over the last couple of days, he didn’t want to chance anything. Heading back into the bathroom, he grabbed the thermometer and the medications that Sebastian’s mom had recommended, determined to make sure her dream was a wet one, not a fever one.

  Please, God, let it be a wet dream.

  “That’s it, that’s it, babe. You’re doing great. I just need to take your temperature, okay?” he whispered, not wanting to scare her when she awoke, but needing to make sure she was okay. “Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes.”

  With a little more encouragement, Jade’s eyes opened. She blinked up at him, adorably mumbling, “‘S’goin’ on?” and he couldn’t help but tease her a little.

  He leaned in close to her ear, making sure she could see the look on his face that said he wanted to do wicked, wicked things to her. “Some dream you were having there, Freckles. Was it about me?”

  The hitch in her body when he asked the question confirmed what he already knew. But that didn’t stop her from trying to weasel her way out of admitting it. “N-no,” she stuttered. “I don’t even remember what I was dreaming, but if I w-was, it definitely wouldn’t be about you.”

  “Then why were you calling my name, huh? Sounding so turned on, so needy?”

  “I didn’t, I mean, I wasn’t.” Her flushed cheeks colored even more, if that was possible, and she attempted to roll over and away from where Declan had perched himself on the edge of the mattress. “Go away, it’s too early for your shit, Jackass.”

  “Hey, now. I was coming in to check on you; is that any way to treat your nurse?”

  “Oh, my apologies, Florence Nightingale. Did I hurt your pwecious feewings?” Though still rusted and croaky, Jade did a good impression of baby voice, and a laugh escaped Declan.

  He couldn’t help but laugh around her. Even when she was cussing at him, calling him names, questioning his manhood, he liked the way she made him feel.

  Light. Amused.

  And turned way the fuck on.

  “Of course not. And don’t think calling me that is going to offend me. Ms. Nightingale was a pioneer. A kickass woman like yourself.” He smiled broadly at her, trying to win her over with the charm that seemed to work on every woman except her.

  Except that one day . . .

  He’d been thinking an awful lot about their tryst in the Figures Accounting office. About the way they verbally sparred, about the name-calling and the angry flirting.

  About the kiss that rocked Declan’s world and confirmed what he already suspected.

  Jade Miller has the ability to bring me to my knees.

  And that was true in more ways than one, because that day he’d knelt behind her after shoving up her shirt, ripping off her skirt, and yanking down her panties, and thrust his tongue into her warm, wet pussy.

  She’d wanted him and he’d wanted her, so they’d taken each other in a way that had fueled a year’s worth of fantasies.

  Goddamn, I want her again.

  No, I need her again.

  “Where’d you go, Jackass? Mentally standing me up this time?”

  Declan’s temperature soared. Not because he was getting sick, the way Jade had—though he fully expected to fall ill, given how much time he’d been spending with her—but with frustration. It boiled over, and before he could stop himself, he rose to standing, towering over her and said what had been building for months.

  “For fuck’s sake, Jade. I made a fucking mistake, and I apologized. Repeatedly. I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry I missed our date—more than you realize. But Jesus, woman, how long are you going to hold it against me?” He took a deep breath, and forced his shaking body to calm. Not that she scared easily, but he didn’t want to give her reason to be afraid of him, or to keep pushing him away. “Sebastian stood Brighton up, and she had all the reason in the world to kick him to the curb, but she didn’t. She gave him another chance, because she understood that mistakes happen.”

  He watched as Jade pushed her probably still weary body into a seated position, drawing the covers around her like armor. But it didn’t stop him. “All I want is for you to give me another chance, another date. You know we are good together—I think we proved that among the staples and folders that day, right? So, what? What the fuck else do you want from me?”

  Declan braced himself for her answer. With his hands on his hips, his heart both in his throat and in her hands, he waited.

  And waited.

  He watched as she slid from the bed and moved closer to him, beautiful despite the fact she’d been ravaged by flu for days on end.

  He hoped she was coming to step into his arms, but instead, she rose to the tips of her toes and said in a low voice, “Nothing. I want absolutely nothing from you,” before turning away, moving to the bathroom, most likely to get away from him.

  Fuck.

  “Freckles,” he called after her. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know if he was apologizing for standing her up—again—or for yelling at her. Both, really. But dammit, he couldn’t help but wonder, after all this time and so many chances for her to just . . . give into it, whether it was time to throw in the towel.

  He placed the thermometer and medicine that he still held carefully on the table beside the bed and listened for a moment to see if Jade was coming back into the room.

  But he heard nothing.

  She wasn’t coming back and she wasn’t accepting his apology, which meant it was time for him to leave.

  Jade remained in the bathroom long after she heard Declan’s feet move across the floor and the door to the bedroom close.

  She couldn’t stop seeing his anger, his confusion over the fact that, after all this time, she hadn’t forgiven him for standing her up.

  Why can’t I forgive him? The fact that she was asking herself that question was telling. She didn’t even know, and that was . . . unsurprising, when she considered it. For all her bluster and sass, Jade knew that deep down, she wasn’t always the confident girl she showed to the world. She was simply a woman who’d been hurt before, who had been subjected to teasing throughout her school years and who hated to feel like a second thought.

  “Why couldn’t he have at least remembered to call?” Whispering to herself, Jade looked in mirror, her pink hair standing nearly upright; it was such a mess. “Why does he have to be so fucking nice?”

  That—that was what tripped her up. When she’d first met Declan, he’d been confident and cocky, so sure of himself. And why wouldn’t he be? He was built like any red-blooded woman’s fantasy. Tall, but not so tall as to get those “how’s the weather up there?” questions. Blond, a little bit dirty in color, which naturally brought dirty thoughts to mind—like gripping it tightly as he used his tongue to work a woman to orgasm.

  He is good at it, she admitted silently, memories of his tongue on her sending an electric tingle over her skin.

  And those eyes. Goddammit, those eyes were . . . Ugh, they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and if that was the case, then Declan’s soul was made up of kind protectiveness and debauched sexuality.

  In the time that she’d known him, Declan had looked at her with both—and she couldn’t decide which one she was attracted to more.

  “I don’t need to be protected,” she admonished her reflection, straigh
tening her shoulders, trying to bring forth some of the inner strength she prided herself on. She might be like any other woman, occasionally second-guessing herself, needing a supportive hand or a loving word, but she had her mom, her sisters and Brighton for that.

  She did not need a man to care for her.

  But there were times when she wanted one.

  “Not one, Freckles. Me.” Declan’s voice was inside her mind and making her crazy, but she couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, imaginary Declan was right.

  “Dammit.” She yelled the words so loudly that they reverberated around the bathroom, and it was then she realized that though Declan had left the room, she’d just assumed he’d left the house. “Shit. I’d better go check.”

  Racing through a quick clean-up, Jade washed her face, tamed her hair and swiped on some deodorant. She’d need a full shower later, but time was of the essence. She needed to get back out there and at least . . .

  At least what? Her annoying inner voice was questioning her, making her second guess herself. “At least,” she began to respond aloud, “I can thank him for looking after me.” She nodded, deciding that was a good plan.

  She didn’t need to admit she wanted him, and hell, she was within her rights to continue not forgiving him if she wanted to, but she’d be a bitch if she didn’t say thank you.

  After dressing in long, pink sweatpants—the color almost the exact same shade as her hair—and an oversized gray hoodie she’d swiped from an ex years ago, Jade made her way to the living room where, she assumed, Declan had been sleeping these past few days.

  What day is today? She’d been tucked up in bed since Saturday night, and now it had to be Wednesday? Thursday? She didn’t honestly know, but she did know that in order for Declan to have been there for her all week, he must have been off work—or working from Seb and Bright’s place, which surely wasn’t convenient.

  Just another reason to express your gratitude, Jade.

  “Oh, shut up.” It wasn’t until Lowe and Storm came tripping to a halt in front of her that she realized she was still talking to herself. Storm sat stoically, but Lowe, tail up and waggling, tilted his little head like he understood her and wondered why she was acting crazy. “Sorry, babies, I think I’m losing my mind.” She crouched down in front of them, reaching out to scratch Lowe under the chin, while Storm turned and wandered away, tail in the air.

  “Where’s Declan, huh?” Jade was slightly horrified to realize that she’d done that ridiculous baby voice when asking the dog—who didn’t answer as well as she answered herself—whether Declan was still around. With no response, Jade stood and, when Lowe headed off after Storm, began a tour of the house, checking every room in her hunt for Declan.

  He’s gone.

  She knew he would be, but that didn’t stop her from hoping he was still there somewhere. Her search brought her in front of the one room she hadn’t looked in yet—the closed door across the hall from her room, which were attached by the shared bathroom.

  Knowing that Sebastian and Brighton wouldn’t have shut the door unless they wanted to keep people out, Jade hesitated before laying a hand on the doorknob. At first, she couldn’t quite bring herself to test the door—if they’d wanted her in there, the door would be open, as it always was. And if she knew them well enough to know that, then Declan would also.

  Still, it didn’t stop her from wondering . . . What are they hiding in there?

  She had no idea. And that gave her an idea, a reason to contact Declan without having to talk about this morning and his ire over her lack of forgiveness.

  She didn’t know what she would say to him about it. Sorry I can’t forgive you but after being abandoned by my dad, dumped by my ex because, “Sorry, Jay, but work’s more important right now,” and teased about my freckles making me ugly in school, I just don’t have it in me to forgive someone who thinks I’m forgettable.

  Yeah, that would go down well.

  The lightest pressure on the doorknob telling her what she needed to know, Jade walked back into her own room and flopped her tired body onto the bed. She’d noted when she’d toured the house that Declan had taken care of the animals’ needs and, though she felt much better, her body reminded her that it had been sick for several days, that her sleep had been interrupted by a wet dream—by Declan, the walking wet dream—and began to shut down.

  Just a short nap, then I’ll call him was the last thought that flittered across her mind before she drifted off to sleep.

  Declan was working in his spacious home office when his phone alerted him to a new text message. While it could be work related, something told him it wasn’t.

  His body was raging with need, with anger directed at both himself and Jade, and with frustration. At war with himself, he looked around the room, hoping to find an answer to the question that had been rattling around in his head for months.

  Why can’t she just forgive me?

  He didn’t know and, though he wanted to find out, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to put the time in anymore. Yes, she was the most radiant girl he’d ever seen, and he’d seen plenty, especially in his line of work. There were always gorgeous women around his male clients, at drafts and award nights, at their houses or, in the case of his wayward golfer, at hotels and mistress-apartments.

  Jade was something else entirely. Beautiful, yes. Pretty, absolutely. Inside and out. But there was something about her no-fucks-given attitude that made her shine, enough that he was calling her radiant, which . . . had he ever used that word in his life?

  No, but then he’d never met anyone like Jade, and damn if it didn’t fit her to a T.

  Caving with the need to see if his instinct was right, that the message received was personal and not business, he stood from behind the sleek glass desk and crossed the blonde wood floor to the shelf where he’d left his phone while looking at some books earlier.

  His office doubled as a library, three of the four walls covered floor to ceiling with bookshelves, filled with all manner of books. Most were sports biographies and autobiographies, but classics, too. An entire signed set of Brighton’s Patrick the Panda books, which she’d given him for his last birthday after he’d told her he loved reading them to his nephew, James, took up a whole shelf alone. Another shelf held business-related textbooks that he’d forked out for in college and kept, wondering if one day they might come in handy.

  It was one of those textbooks he’d been looking at when he’d put his phone down. He’d replaced the text and made his way to his desk, leaving the phone behind, telling himself that he’d forgotten it. But the thing about lying to yourself was that no one believed you—there was no one to believe you.

  You left it there so you wouldn’t be tempted to contact her.

  “Oh, shut up,” he told himself, speaking so loudly in the quiet room that his voice sounded like a blast, an explosion of self-loathing.

  Grabbing the phone off the shelf, he watched as the movement made the screen come alive. A little preview box, a small taste of the messages that had been sent by the woman he could not get out of his mind to save himself.

  Freckles: The room across the hall is locked. Both doors.

  Freckles: What do you think they’ve got hidden in there?

  Declan swiped across the screen, wondering why she was texting him about the closed room at Brighton and Sebastian’s place. She hadn’t mentioned their pseudo fight from earlier in the day, nor had she mentioned whether she was feeling better. To answer, or not to answer?

  She didn’t give him a chance.

  Freckles: I’d like to think it’s a Red Room, you know.

  Freckles: Because my girl deserves to be getting it good. But I’m more inclined to think . . . Zen Garden? Game Room?

  He wanted to answer her. Joke with her about Red Rooms—and yes, he knew what she was referring to, not that he himself had read the books or watched the movies. His mother, on the other hand, had read them, and the day she described them to
him . . . well, he shuddered to think of it. He wanted to tell Jade he suspected the room was more related to Brighton’s type of books than something found in the Romance section and that when their friends returned from the tour that they’d probably have news for them.

  But instead, he closed the messages.

  Walked back to his desk.

  Thought about what it meant that she was contacting him not only as though they were friends but also as if nothing had happened between them this morning.

  Like you hadn’t yelled at her like the jackass she calls you.

  He didn’t fucking reply.

  Jade was fuming. Feeling better, back in the office and staring at her phone like it owed her money. She’d offered an olive branch to Declan, and instead of a response she got silence.

  Which she should have expected, given his track record when it came to lack of communication. *Cough* stood you up *cough*, her traitor of a brain reminded her.

  Like she needed the reminder.

  Anger piqued, whether justified or not—which maybe it wasn’t, given she’d told him she wanted nothing from him—she decided to let him know it.

  Freckles: You know what I like in a man, Declan?

  Freckles: The ability to communicate.

  She wouldn’t admit it to anyone should they ask, but the moment she hit send, Jade regretted the messages. One, it told him that he was under her skin. Again. Still? And two, it was kind of childish.

  He spent all that time caring for you and you haven’t thanked him, argued one side of her brain.

  He worked most of the time he was there, so it wasn’t that big of a sacrifice, the other side retorted.

  What do you expect, Freckles? You were sick, and you’ve given him no reason to abandon his work.

  I was sick, so he should have . . .

  Should have what? Sat beside you and watched you sweat?

  I don’t know. Something.

  He did something. He neglected his office for days, in case you needed him at home.