The short drive feels as though it takes an hour as Declan babbles away, saying who knows what, before leaning so heavily against my side that I am forced into Joey’s side. Then Declan lifts the seatbelt over his chest, well over his head, and once free of the restraint, he lies his head down on my lap. It’s sort of sweet in a lapdog kind of way as he snuggles into my legs, his eyes closed and a content look over his face.
I automatically rest one of my hands over his head, moving my hand through his mop of hair.
Part of me wishes things could be different with Declan. In all my years of knowing him, I have never seen him in a state like this. Sure, when we were younger, I saw him drunk plenty of times, but not so bad that he allowed me to get close to him. It’s sad that this is the closest physically we have been to each other. Given how much time has passed since he took the spiked shot, it’s also the longest time we have been in each other’s company without having an argument or one of us snapping something at the other.
And for this to happen, one of us had to be drugged!
Joey doesn’t comment about me caressing Declan’s hair. At the moment, I would be liable to punch him if he did.
I have no idea what he was going on about before, but this current peace between Declan and me won’t last.
Long minutes later, we stop outside the villa, and then Joey helps me with Declan. And by help, I mean he basically carries Declan while I keep hold of an arm.
I spot Bowen eyeing us carefully as we pass the dining area, which is now empty of everyone except for Bowen and his security team. He’s sitting just outside the restaurant, a cigarette in his mouth and a blank look on his face.
I might not exactly trust Declan’s instincts, but my own are now starting to wake up to the fact that Bowen might not be right.
Someone definitely tried to drug me tonight. Was it one of Bowen’s men? Was it on his orders? Or is it just some weird coincidence?
“Reach into his pocket to grab his key,” Joey orders.
At first, I think he is requesting this of Kay, but then I realize his eyes are on me.
“You want me to go through his pockets?” I gasp, cursing myself at how childish that sounds, and because it might have passed for not being weird before, but now I have just made it incredibly awkward.
With Kay pointlessly standing by without offering to help, I reach out and try both Declan’s front pockets, him squirming and not making it any easier, before finding the key in his back pocket.
After a shaky start, I manage to get his key in the slot, and then we enter his room.
I doubt the guests who are staying here with my parents even bother to lock the doors usually, but get a bunch of private investigators, police officials, and lawyers staying here, and suddenly locks and security is a top priority.
The room is simple with an elegant personal bathroom in a side room. The main room has a king-sized bed, two nightstands on either side, a small desk and chair, a wall TV that is bigger than the one I have at home, a full-length mirror, a tall dresser, and wide windows that sit floor to ceiling, overlooking the gardens and showing off a small balcony with two deck chairs. The same set up as my room, and the other thirty-three rooms this villa boasts.
I close up the curtains, noting that the windows are locked, and watch as Joey drops Declan onto the bed, bouncing a little before he settles and, still passed out, snuggles into the bed covers.
“He’s all yours,” Joey tells me, a laugh in his voice.
“Wait, aren’t you going to at least undress him?”
Joey smirks at me.
My response of glaring does nothing to stop his next words.
“Nope. I’m sure you can manage.” He begins to close the door, and I rush over to it, halting their retreat.
“Wait, are you sure you guys can’t help—”
“Good night, Sasha.” Joey is still smirking, and before I can get another word of protest out, he grabs Kay’s hand and they skip off down the hallway toward their own bedroom.
I immediately pull my phone out, sending him a text and calling him an asshole. Then I glance back at Declan, who hasn’t moved, and look down at his long legs that are hanging over the edge of the bed, shoes still on.
It’s not that weird to undress him, right?
Still half-standing outside the room, I see the back of Bowen as he makes his way to his own room. I step back so I’m only just peeking out the door and watch as he scarily enters a room close to my mine.
Close, as in, the next freaking room!
Now that my instincts have come back online, or at least, Declan has forced some paranoia inside me to wake up, I can’t help feeling uncomfortable knowing how close he is.
I shut the door, locking it for safety, and then look over at Declan again.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you view it, Bowen sharing a wall with me isn’t something I need to worry about tonight.
Without thinking about my actions too much, I drop my phone on the nightstand, crouch down, and begin to take off Declan’s shoes.
His mumbling brings my attention back to him, and I find his eyes on me. They are slightly glazed over, but definitely watching me.
“Did you say something?” I ask, removing one shoe and sock, ignoring the foot smell right in my face, before moving on to the next one.
“You’re Sasha,” he unnecessarily tells me.
“Sure am.”
“What …? You are on your knees,” he dumbly mutters.
“Well, yes.” I pop off the final shoe, quickly pulling off the sock and throwing it over my shoulder to prevent the smell lingering over me.
“Are we …? Is this finally happening?” he asks, moving his hands over his face to rub his eyes before he moves them upward to muss up his hair.
I have to admit that seeing him sprawled out over the bed, his clothes ruffled, his hair disheveled, and his expression looking slightly drowsy makes for an appealing picture.
Imagine waking up to this man every day? It would be a fantasy come true, until he opens his mouth and ruins it.
“If, by this, you mean me undressing you so you can sleep, then yes,” I return, which seems to be too many words for him.
“You’re Sasha,” he tells me again, hitting his head against the bed again.
I don’t reply, glancing at his jeans and belt.
Do I just remove the belt and leave the jeans? Or do I take the jeans off and hope to hell Declan doesn’t go commando?
Where is the line in this scenario? And when do I know if I’m about to cross it?
“I can’t with you because …” he mumbles now. Part of me wishes what he just said was clearer. He can’t with me, why? Because he doesn’t like me that way? Because he finds me annoying? Because I’m so awesome he’s intimidated by that?
I crawl onto the bed, removing my own shoes to make myself comfortable. Once I’m hip level, I unbuckle his belt and pull on one end to unlink it through and release it.
Just as the last part clears the final loop, Declan reaches out and wraps his fingers around my wrist. “I dreamt about this,” he admits, sounding clear for once.
“You did?” I’m shocked, and more than a little interested. I should likely take what he says with a grain of salt while he is in this state, or at least offer him privacy since he wouldn’t normally say anything like this. However, I lean in closer to make sure I can hear him clearly.
“Last night. After you hit … what you were wearing … you looked so fucking … I know you’re hot, and I’ve …” He trails off, and I just about growl in annoyance before he becomes decipherable again. “… night I dreamt we fucked,” he finally admits.
“Any good?” I squeak out, not knowing what to say to that, as I undo his top button to find material underneath. He’s wearing boxers.
“The fucking best,” he moans, and I realize speaking about this might not be the best, purely because I am seeing the results of this talk in the form of the erection growi
ng right before my eyes.
Right, jeans stay on!
I sit away from him, dropping the belt to the floor. “Move up, Dec,” I tell him, crawling farther up the bed.
It takes him a minute to process my question, or perhaps get himself away from whatever thoughts are running through his head. Then he shuffles himself up so his legs are no longer dangling, maneuvering until his head is on the pillow.
I sit up, my back against the wall, and look down at him. “How are you feeling?”
“Weird,” he says honestly. I think maybe his eyes look a little clearer.
“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” I tell him quietly.
His eyes haze over again as he reaches over and wraps his arm around my thighs.
“Uh, Dec, I don’t think—”
He shushes me, turning his body so his face rests against my outer thigh as he hugs me tighter, getting himself comfortable before his body relaxes and I know he’s fallen asleep. His breath is a constant caress against my leg, so I will know if he stops breathing.
I brush my hands through his hair and gaze down at him again, wondering how long this peace will last. I’m guessing until he wakes up, hungover and super grouchy. Then he will snap at me, and I will undoubtedly snap back. This peace will be over, and then we will be back to hating each other.
It’s a shame how much energy we spend annoyed at each other, but if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not sure any other way between us would work.
Take away his surly mood, quick-to-judge attitude, and misconceptions in almost all the ways he sees me, Declan is a nice guy. He’s almost the perfect guy. Attractive, sweet, funny, protective, hygienic. Since one of my exes thought showering more than once a week was excessive, that’s important. Not only all this, but he has a good job, solid friends, and an easygoing personality. He’s quite the catch.
But, for whatever reason, we have always clashed and that has always helped me to keep a distance from him. If he started to act welcoming and sweet to me now, I might be in serious trouble. And since we work together and have a messy history, I don’t need that complication.
As it turns out, knocking him out might have knocked loose a few feelings for us both.
If only I could have changed the track that we now appear to be stuck on, things might not have needed to get more muddied between us.
Apparently, though, we were doomed from the moment we got here, or maybe from the moment I knocked him out and gave him ideas. Now I can’t help wondering what he will be dreaming about tonight as he sleeps against me. Will it be the same as last night? And will tomorrow bring a change between us?
Little did I know, we have already passed the point of no return.
Chapter 4
“Another round!” Ava shouts, making me wince since she is directly next to my ear.
“You heard the woman!” Cynthia snaps at the too slow bartender, and within seconds, there are nine shots in front of us.
There are only three of us here.
After last night’s debacle, we take over the bar at the villa. The boys have been given strict instructions to leave us alone. All we have to do now is stumble back to our rooms. It also helps that my parents and all their friends, Bowen included, left hours ago for some fancy restaurant far enough away that they used several trips in the helicopter to take them all.
Since it is hard to miss the sound of a helicopter engine, I will have a clear warning for when they come back.
Although it’s barely ten, Ava is already completely wasted. And with three more shots in front of us, I imagine this night will be over very soon.
“To regular sex from the same person for the rest of your life!” I cheer, shooting back a shot.
“Who said it will be regular?” Cynthia asks, her eyebrows rising in a way an evil villain might look, knowing what she just set in motion.
“It totally isn’t regular. It’s amazing and mind-blowing, and last night, he went down on me, and he slipped his finger—”
“No!” I shout, shoving a shot in her hand and pushing it toward her lips. “Shoot it back and forget what I said. And most definitely forget what you were saying. I know I’ll try to.”
Ava shoots back the shot, and Cynthia, the evil bitch, follows suit.
She knows how much I hate hearing any sort of sex talk from Ava. At first, I thought it would be great to get a little inside knowledge, but it is definitely a case of be careful what you wish for.
The oversharing started when Ava and Zander decided to have office sex. They thought they were being coy and secretive. Instead, the entire office could hear them.
Sure, I have heard them having sex before. They weren’t exactly quiet when they decided to bang against a door at a hideout I was also trapped in after our previous offices were destroyed. But every single day for weeks on end? Yeah, that got old quick.
It was enough to put a girl off her afternoon coffee.
Add in actual details and suddenly my dinner is spoiled as Ava enthusiastically tells me everything.
She used to be shy about these things; now she blurts them out like she’s revealing lottery numbers.
“Okay, my turn,” Cynthia interrupts my musings. “Here is to new adventures, whether they be marriage”—she tips her drink to Ava—“or to new office romances.” She again gives me the evil eye.
My hand is frozen in midair.
“What? What office romance?” Ava can’t contain her confusion. She grabs my wrist and shakes me, causing the drink to exit my shot glass and end up all over my dress.
“Why do you assume I have any idea what Cynthia is talking about?” I retort, shoving the glass back down on the bar and glaring at Cynthia and her big mouth.
She happened to see that I left with Dec, Joey, and Kay last night, which isn’t really much to go on, but seeing me sneaking out of his room this morning? Yeah, that caused a little more excitement.
“Maybe because I’m talking about you and Declan?” Cynthia blabs, even though I assured her nothing happened between us.
“You and Declan!” Ava screams, again in my ear, and now her drink has sloshed over her own dress.
“There is no me and Declan. His drink was spiked last night, and Joey’s stupid nurse girlfriend told me I had to make sure he didn’t stop breathing. He was passed out the entire time, and I found out he snores like a freight train and is a fucking fan of cuddling.” The last part I don’t mean to let slip out, because of course that just gets the girls more riled up.
“You guys spooned all night!” Ava gasps, her body swerving a little as her balance goes wonky before she settles her side against the bar.
“We didn’t spoon,” I rush to assure her. “He hugged my legs like a kid hugging his comfort teddy. It was no big deal. He didn’t die, and I left him once he woke up.”
“I bet that was an awkward morning,” Cynthia mutters, finally taking her own shot and slamming it on the bar.
It surprisingly wasn’t. It might have to do with him feeling like shit and only murmuring a few words before he decided hugging my legs wasn’t as much fun as hugging the toilet bowl. I left him with a glass of water, some aspirin, and a quick goodbye before one of us ruined our streak of not arguing. We are going on almost twenty-four hours as of right now. Of course, we have either not seen each other, or he’s been passed out for most of that, but still, progress!
“You know, I always thought you and Declan had something. He’s so …” Ava taps her hands over the bar, her eyes glazing over before she looks back at us, her thought clearly lost. “We should have another shot!” She hands us over more shots, one for each hand. For a moment, she is able to stand without swaying even a little.
“You girls are my sisters, my best friends, and I am so lucky to have you both with me. If I was into women, and if Zander didn’t give me the best orgasms, and if I didn’t love him and our baby so damn much, you guys would be who I would be getting married to. My soulmates who share my shoe size, clothes siz
e, and have better fashion sense than I ever could.” She lifts both drinks up and drowns them one after the other, her eyes watering as her body begins to sway again.
“That’s so sweet,” Cynthia mutters, reaching out to Ava and giving her a hug, her two shots apparently forgotten as she drops them, spilling them all over my legs and shoes.
“I love you guys,” she wails, and then I’m pulled into the huddle for a group hug, my two shots falling down my dress, drenching me and the others. Since Ava is wearing a white sundress, I decide this might be the push we need to end this night. Besides, everyone knows that once a drunk person begins crying, there is almost no turning back.
“I think it might be time to call it a night, guys,” I say as I try to break apart from them.
“No way. We aren’t even drunk!” Cynthia whines as she steps back from Ava, who then collapses onto her butt, her tears still steadily falling. “Oh, right, Ava is wasted. Good point,” Cynthia mutters, helping me get Ava back to her feet.
“I don’t want to leave. I want more to drink!” she wails as we begin the slow trek back to her room.
“If you have more to drink, you’re going to have to be treated for alcohol poisoning. And I don’t want Zander to kill me before I get to be your maid of honor,” I tell her.
Her frown immediately turns dreamy. “I love Zander.”
“I know you do.”
“No, like, I really love him,” she says, dragging out the word “really” so it goes on longer than the rest of what she said.
“Well, that’s great, since you’re marrying him in about forty hours,” Cynthia says through a laugh, rolling her eyes when she looks over at me.
“Like, I think I want to have twenty-seven more babies with him. I want us to have a bazillion grandbabies, and I want to still be horny for him when we’re a hundred,” she babbles.
“Wow, what a picture you just shoved into our brains,” I mutter as we thankfully near her door. “I hope you wrote less creepy vows than that.” I kick the door when Ava’s weight shifts even heavier down over us.
I Knocked Him Out (Love at First Crime Book 2) Page 5
