I still couldn’t believe that had happened. No wonder I’d been hiding the past two weeks. I was around a lot more—Bruce was already off at college for pre-season football so I was officially single—but mostly I stayed in the house. I was hiding and I knew it was ridiculous on my own family’s ranch, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what Declan had seen. And what I’d done on his bed.
I’d been restless that night, as I had been so often with Declan on the ranch. I couldn’t sleep. In the heat, the sticky sheets, the air that wouldn’t move, I’d lain on my bed throbbing and aching. Then, in the middle of the night, I’d been drawn down to Declan’s cabin like a sleepwalker, in a trance, pulled irresistibly down to where he lived.
I had a key to his cabin. We had keys to every building on the ranch. I knew it was wrong. I knew I shouldn’t be going in. But he was out of town, or supposed to be. I told myself he’d never know.
I’d never felt more mortified, never been more panicked then when I’d heard Declan’s voice in the doorway. After I’d come on my own fingers in his bed while calling out his name. He’d caught me. There was no going back. Now, without any shadow of a doubt, he knew exactly how I felt about him, how much I longed for him. And he knew what a nasty girl I really was.
Since then, I’d literally hid in the house. I’d managed to avoid him almost completely. Except one time for about the longest 30 seconds on record in human history. I’d made the mistake of heading down to the barn and then he’d walked in, no shirt, sweaty with his jeans low on his hips. He’d stood there like a caveman, a big piece of lumber tossed over his broad shoulder. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me. All of the air left the barn. I stood, trembling, unable to look away from his heated gaze, scared and nervous and desperate to touch him. Then Bill had come in, thank God. I’d fled as fast as I could.
Now, again at the door of Declan’s cabin, I paused a moment so I could catch my breath. It wouldn’t do to show up panting and sweaty, especially if he were feeling just fine. But Daddy said he had a nasty flu. What if he wasn’t OK?
I knocked. No answer. Knocked again, then tried the doorknob. It was open, so I let myself in.
The room was dark and dank, shades drawn and no lights on. It felt like no one had let air into it in a couple of days. “Declan?” I called out. No answer.
Movement on the bed about made my heart stop. Declan lay there, eyes closed.
“Declan? Are you OK?” I rushed to his side. He didn’t open his eyes. Even in the dark room, I could see he looked sweaty and flushed. I brought my hand to his forehead. He was burning up.
Swearing under my breath, I headed to his bathroom. Did a pig-headed man like Declan have any medicine or did he just plan on walking it off all the time? Opening his medicine cabinet, I found a First Aid kit and then, on the bottom shelf, an old bottle of Aspirin. That would have to do. Shaking, I shook a few pills into my palm. In his kitchenette, I found a glass in a pile of dirty dishes in his sink. That would have to do as well.
Back at his side, I tried to coax him awake. “Declan?” I brought a hand to his hot forehead. His black hair lay plastered to him. I smoothed it back. “Declan, you need to sit up. You have a fever. You need to take some medicine.”
Suddenly, his hand grabbed my wrist and pinned it down to the pillow. He looked at me, wild-eyed and crazed with fever. “Don’t you dare!” he spat out.
“Declan, it’s Kara.” Frightened, I brought a hand to his unshaven cheek. “You’re sick.”
Panting, he sank back down, exhausted, eyes on me still. I grabbed the Aspirin and water from his bedside table and brought it to his mouth, half-expecting him to bash it away against the wall. Instead, watching me, wary and guarded like a wounded animal, he parted his lips. I placed the Aspirin in his mouth and brought the glass to his lips. He drank a sip and swallowed, then drank more, finishing the whole glass. Then his eyes shut again and his hand fell off of my wrist. His body slumped, passed out.
“Declan?” I tried, knowing it was probably useless. His lips looked so cracked and dry. “You should drink some more. You look dehydrated.” My hand still shaking, I brought my palm to his burning forehead. He didn’t move.
I hadn’t seen a thermometer in his bathroom. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d have anyway. Thermometers were for worried moms taking their kids’ temperatures. I was surprised Declan even had Aspirin.
Nothing to do now but wait and see if his fever would come down from the medicine. I busied myself cleaning up, opening the windows to let in some fresh air, washing the dishes in the sink. I found a large water bottle and filled it with cold water. I filled his empty ice cube tray and set it in the freezer.
Back at his bedside, Declan lay looking more peaceful in a deep sleep. Tentatively, I brought my hand to his forehead. It felt cooler. My entire body sighed in relief. If the fever could be controlled with medicine, he’d be all right. Probably. He just needed someone to make sure he took it.
I wondered how long he’d been down there sick by himself. Had he spent all day yesterday passed out, no water, alone in his suffering? I’d been around yesterday, I could have cared for him. I felt sick I hadn’t known that he needed me.
I grabbed a towel and filled a bowl with cold water. At his bedside again, I brought the cool, wet cloth to his forehead. He stirred slightly under the sensation, but didn’t wake. I had to guess it felt good, he must have been so uncomfortable, sweaty and dehydrated and alone. I wet the towel again, then brought it to his face. His cheekbones stood out more prominently, his stubble longer than I’d ever seen it. Even gaunt and sick, this man looked like the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
The sheet lay bunched down by his stomach. He didn’t wear a shirt. It was a testament to how sick he was that I hadn’t fully noticed that fact until now. Unsure yet driven on, I dipped the cloth back into the cool water, then brought it to his chest. He lay there, unmoving. Slowly, I drew the cloth along his pecs, so defined, bare for me to study. I’d watched him so many times, seen him from a distance without his shirt, but now here he was, at my touch.
Tattoos played across his muscles, tribal swirls along one shoulder, a band around his bicep. I traced them with the damp cloth, using that as my excuse to touch where I’d wanted to for so long. I might have been cooling him down, but I was heating up.
The cut of his pecs, the ridges of his abdomen, I drew the cloth slowly along every inch. This man was pure, packed muscle. Down at his side, I noticed the white, tough skin of a scar. Tracing my fingers along it lightly, I wondered what had happened. It had faded so much I hadn’t noticed it before. It had to be old, something he’d gotten years ago, but it had to have been painful, several inches along his stomach. There was so much I didn’t know about him, but I wanted to know it all, every untold story, every secret.
I didn’t know who he had close to him, but something told me he didn’t have many. Maybe no one. I wanted to kiss that scar, take the pain of it away, care for him better than anyone ever had. Softly, slowly, I drew the cloth along his skin, caressing every inch.
My hand rested on his sheet. A glimpse of his hip lay exposed. Bare. I realized that he probably had nothing on at all underneath that sheet. My breath caught in my throat.
I remembered the last time I’d been in his cabin, that night he’d caught me. So naughty, I’d turned the key in the lock, opened up his door and walked right in. I hadn’t made a conscious decision to get into his bed, it just happened. I’d lain on his bed, between his sheets still rumpled from where he’d last slept. Enveloped in the darkness surrounded by his scent, I couldn’t help it. So desperate for his touch, my carnal craving dominated all of my senses. I’d driven my fingers down into my soaking wet sex, working myself and coming so hard against my own hand.
I remembered the sound of his voice from the doorway when he’d said my name. The feel of his hands, rough down on my wrists after he’d come to me on the bed, pinning my hands above my head. He’d shocked me, touching my fin
gers and asking me if he’d smell my sweet pussy on them. I’d never heard anyone talk like that, never thought of anyone doing such a thing. But instantly I could see it, him sucking on my fingers, licking my own juices off of him. I nearly came again right there pressed underneath the hot, solid length of his body.
And now he lay before me, stripped naked. No washcloth now, I trailed my hand along his chest, up along his tattoos and hard, honed muscles. Down I swept my fingers along the ridges of his abdomen.
“Kara,” he whispered, hoarse, filled with longing.
I pulled away, sitting up straight, guilty as charged. His eyes remained closed. He didn’t move a muscle. Had he said my name, or had I made that up?
Tentative, I couldn’t help but bring my hand to him again. My full palm to his hot skin, I ran my fingers along his perfect chest.
“Kara,” he groaned again, yearning for me. No, I hadn’t made it up. He was calling my name, eyes still closed. Maybe he was half-awake, maybe still asleep and dreaming. He wanted me.
My eyes traveled down again to the sheet and then widened, because now I could see a huge bulge, outlined, thick and long against his thigh. I’d touched him and he’d gotten hard. He looked enormous.
I stood up quick in alarm. What was I doing? Molesting a feverish man while he lay passed out in his sick bed? Had I truly lost my mind?
Declan was going to be fine. His fever was coming down. My father was probably about to walk in here any minute to see what was taking me so long. I had to get back up to the house and tell him everything was all right.
But everything wasn’t all right. I stood shaking by Declan’s bed for another second before turning to go. Everything had changed. And whatever was happening, I knew it would give me no rest.
Now
In a bright, whitewashed store with ABC letters hanging in the window, I took my time looking through gift options. There was a newborn baby boy in Bozeman who needed to be spoiled. Everything looked so sweet, cloth books a little one could gnaw on, stuffed giraffes to snuggle with, keepsake baby books for all of the firsts. They had the softest blue baby blanket I’d ever felt plus a fuzzy zip-up hoodie with bear ears up top. I could just picture a chubby little baby face in it.
“Are you shopping for a gift for someone? Or…” A salesperson came over, glancing at my flat stomach.
“A gift,” I acknowledged. Though I had to admit, a store like this pulled at my heartstrings. One day I hoped I’d be buying a zip-up hoodie with bear ears for my own baby. Or two, or three. I did want a family some day. And wow was it easy to start dreaming about that with Declan.
I needed to stop that slide and fast. This morning, the way he’d taken me, so savage with need, claiming me as his own, my whole world had exploded. We’d lain there panting and I’d wanted to stay like that in his arms forever.
Not him. He’d leapt up, showered and gotten to work.
This week together was nothing more than a transaction. I had to remember that, keep it front and center in my brain. Maybe I should make myself an index card. THIS IS A BARGAIN NOTHING MORE. I could flash it in front of my face when I started gazing at him with little dancing hearts in my eyes.
I might feel like I still knew him, all those old emotions so raw and ready to clamor to the surface, but Declan lived in a different world now. He’d ascended into a life of wealth and power, while I remained a simple rancher with dirt under my fingernails. And I couldn’t afford to let my heart get broken again.
My cell phone blipped. I pulled it out and read a new text message.
Do you have an answer for me yet? My offer won’t stand much longer.
Lymon Culpepper, aka the toad man who wanted to buy my family’s ranch. I shuddered. Something in the way he looked at me with those black, beady eyes, I didn’t know what it was but I did know that man wasn’t right. I wanted nothing to do with him—and it was more than just not wanting to sell my family’s ranch. That man gave me the creeps.
My fingers hovered over the screen. Words sprang to mind that I’d love to text to him right now real fast. But I didn’t tell him to fuck off or get lost or any other choice retorts. I had enough realism in me to recall that his was the only certain offer I had on the table right now. Sure, Declan had promised, but did I really know how this week was going to go down? No, I sure as hell did not.
I’ll let you know next weekend.
I sent the text, another cold shiver running down my spine. I took a deep breath. Sometimes when too much was going on all at once, I’d learned it worked to focus simply on the task at hand. Right now, I had a baby blanket and zip-up hoodie in my hands. I’d buy them. And then I’d keep putting one foot in front of the other and somehow everything would work out. I didn’t know how, but I told myself it would.
§
First I popped into a florist. After all, fairy godmothers in consignment stores deserved huge thank you bouquets. That woman with the ostrich feather had saved me on Friday. Plus Declan’s penthouse could use a bit of color. Then I forced myself back into the fancy boutiques. The saleswoman had been aloof at first. After all, I was still wearing my same old t-shirt and jeans. But then I’d explained that I needed a whole bunch of outfits for a week with a man in New York City. Suddenly she became my best friend and partner in crime.
Standing in a spacious changing room in the boutique, I checked myself out in the mirror. Apparently, there were white button-down shirts and then there were white button-down shirts. The one I had on was nothing like my father’s faded Sunday best, more cream than white after years of use and laundry lines. It was neither prissy nor fussy nor boring nor any of the other things one might associate with something that sounded so run-of-the-mill.
First of all, this white shirt had stretch to it. It was subtle, though, not molded to me so much as brilliant in clinging and draping just so. Somehow it accentuated both curves in the top half of my hourglass, making my breasts look full and lush and my waist look tiny. All while still looking like a million bucks. Give me some tortoise shell glasses and I’d morph into an A-list lawyer gunning down the opposing side’s star witness. The shirt had class. It might even have an Ivy League degree. Who knew that they made shirts like that? For $150, I guessed they did.
“Sizzling secretary,” the salesgirl had called the look.
I paired the shirt with her suggestions, a narrow charcoal gray pencil skirt and some Christian Louboutin patent-leather 4-inch pumps, all glossy black except for a flash of flirty red underneath. Looking at myself in the mirror, I felt as if I’d been sent to the principal’s office. If the principal was me.
I tilted my head and turned my body so I could check out my ass. I filled out every inch of the tight skirt. I felt nervous and excited, imagining showing it to Declan. He’d told me he’d want me to model it all for him tonight. Why did it arouse me to think of doing that? I could picture him sitting and watching me with his dark, hot gaze as I strutted around in front of him. I turned front and center again, checking out the way the shirt clung to my breasts. The thought of pleasing him turned me on so much my nipples started to harden. I could see them pushing against the soft cloth.
The salesperson knocked on my changing room, this time handing me a heap of dresses plus a bunch of jeans and shirts. I had to try on every single one of them. I loved the dresses and they loved me, caressing my curves and showcasing all my assets. Trisha would have been proud. Thinking of her, I grabbed a black skirt. I’d send it to her as a replacement, compliments of Declan. After all, he was the one who’d torn it in half.
The jeans and t-shirts were just like my old ones—if they spent a year in Paris as an exchange student, had a torrid love affair with an older man and then hit the lottery. The fabrics kissed my skin, silks and whisper-soft cottons. The jeans were clearly magic, making my legs look a mile long and my ass defy gravity.
I pouted in the mirror, striking a pose in a clingy silk dress. It was a dress for New York, for going out on the town. A dress Declan would
enjoy taking off of me once we got back to the hotel. I shivered at the thought. We still had one last night together in Billings in his penthouse. What would he want to do to me tonight? And what would he have me wanting to do for him? Those handcuffs had felt so good, stretching my arms up overhead, displaying me for Declan’s pleasure. Why had I loved that feeling so much? Thinking about it made me want it again.
The blindfold had been better than I’d ever imagined, and I had imagined it in the past. One too many long nights with nothing but a sexy book on my Kindle and, sure, I’d thought about how it would feel to lie there blindfolded, Declan tormenting me with his fingers, his mouth. I’d felt ready to explode from the second he’d tied the silk around my eyes, so sensitive when I couldn’t see. I loved not knowing what he’d do next, the electrifying charge of submitting to his control. I didn’t know what he had in store for me, but my pulse raced to find out.
I made my selections, an embarrassing pile of clothes I couldn’t believe I was actually going to purchase. With Declan’s money. While the salesperson rang everything up, I avoided my eyes. I knew Declan had told me to spend a lot, but really this was ridiculous.
Funny thing was, when you looked away in a candy shop, there was nowhere to turn without spotting something else delicious. A pair of Jimmy Choos. Oh, the siren song of metallic gold platform sandals, all straps and shine and heels. I could see myself modeling those for Declan. Maybe not wearing anything else.
“You have to.” The salesperson grabbed the sandals for me and the entire transaction was over in a New York minute. Signed, sealed and arranged to be delivered to the penthouse.
Out on the sidewalk, a bit shocked at what I’d just done, I started walking my way back to The Stanyon. I’d just spent more than I guessed I ever had on myself. But not long after, a welcoming storefront stopped me in my tracks. Home and Hearth. I loved absolutely everything in the window. An antique bench draped with a star-pattern quilt. A rustic wooden cart, here with several potted plants but I could picture it positively overflowing with wildflowers.
Unleashed: Volume 2 (Unleashed #2) Page 7
