by Jillian Neal
“Thanks.” She turned to stare him down. That sassy tongue darted over her lips again. Was she trying to kill him? Did she have any bloody idea how hard it was for him to turn down things that wanted to kill him? “Uh. . .I’ll just go change into something. . .looser.” Longing set up in those emerald eyes. Such a rarity to find a brunette with eyes like that. She seemed to be suffering from desire almost as much as he was, but that wasn’t even a remote possibility.
“I’ll wait right here.”
“No. I mean, make yourself at home.” She gestured around the fairly barren apartment. A small pile of unpacked boxes was stacked along the sliding glass doors that led to a diminutive balcony overlooking the dumpsters. There was a well-worn sofa on one wall in front of a particle board entertainment center where a television stood sideways, vomiting its own wires out of the gaping hole in the center.
“Couldn’t fit my DVD player in the truck when I moved in. I’ll get it next time I’m home,” she explained as she noted where he was staring.
He wanted to ask her where exactly home was, but he had no real desire to share anything about London or his life before that moment, so he nodded his understanding instead. An uncomfortable silence extended between them. He hated it. He needed her to be comfortable with him. Always. “Go get changed, love. I want to take care of you.”
That addictive smile spread the width of her face and warmth flooded her cheeks. “Be right back.”
When he heard the bedroom door lock turn, Declan drew a deep breath, desperate to regain a little equilibrium. She’d lived there long enough to perfume the air, however. The scents of spicy orange blossoms coupled with sweetened vanilla and took up residence in his lungs. He swore the essence of her wrapped itself around his cock and squeezed. Adjusting himself quickly, he studied a few framed photographs, stacked on an end table, of his cowgirl flying on horseback across an expansive pasture. There were others of her taking jumps of the sort he’d never hope to make in this lifetime or the next. He’d ridden horses most of his life, but he’d never ridden like that.
Fierce determination broadcast from her body, laid low over the horse’s shoulder and crest, masterfully holding the reins, and braced for wherever the jump might’ve landed her. Graceful and ready, poised to succeed. No fear. The photographs definitely matched Holly, or at least what he knew of her.
Holly gripped her dresser and ordered her heart to stop pounding in her chest. What the actual hell? He’d barely touched her shoulders. They’d had one mind-blowing kiss. How was she suddenly desperate for Declan to strip her out of the dress himself? She wanted those hands all over her fevered skin. She wanted him naked in her bed. She wanted to study all of that intricate tattoo work on his chest and arms. She wanted to know what it might be like to tame a bad boy. And more than anything, she longed for him to fill the emptiness that pervaded both her pussy and her soul.
Remembering his purpose in coming over was to help her with the tattoo, she tried to carefully ease the dress over her head without making the burning sensations worse. He probably thinks you are a huge baby and an airhead for not knowing that the tat would have to be moisturized. Not only that, but she’d been running hot and cold on him ever since he’d taken the seat at her table.
She’d had no idea why she continued to sit there after she realized Trevor had played her for a fool. She’d told herself it was to take out her spiteful temper on all of the assholes that kept hitting on her, but that wasn’t it. She’d felt rooted to that seat like she was there for a higher purpose. Being able to have breakfast and possibly fuck a British bad boy with the body of a god probably didn’t qualify as a higher purpose, but who was she to question the universe?
Working quickly, she located her brother Luke’s old Carhartt sweatshirt and eased it over her shoulders. It was her favorite. Since her big brother was almost a foot taller than her and built like a cowboy it was huge on her petite frame, and best of all it smelled like home. Adding a cute and rather skimpy pair of Nebraska University sweatshorts, she summoned courage and checked herself in the mirror. The sweatshirt almost covered the hem of the shorts. Perfect.
Her cheeks were already flushed pink from the chemical explosion that occurred every time Declan’s hand touched her skin. There was no need to pinch them. She rubbed a little cherry flavored Chapstick across her lips, hoping for another kiss before he left, grabbed the tube of Aquaphor the tattoo artist had given her, and headed back into the living room.
The quick lick of Dylan’s tongue over his bottom lip as he stared at her like he wanted nothing more than to take a bite was highly satisfying, but when their eyes met she lost a little of her bravado. She should hate him for making her feel needy in his presence, but my God, she needed him desperately.
“This shirt is really big, so you should be able to touch all of me. . .uh, I mean. . .all of me. . .no, it. The tattoo. All of the tattoo. With the ointment. I mean. It won’t take you long. Not that if it did that would be a bad thing.” Shut up Holly! She expected him to laugh at her outright, but his eyes darkened seductively and his brow furrowed.
“Sweetheart, has some bastard given you the impression that touching you would be some kind of chore?”
To keep all of the potential stupidity locked up inside of her, she simply shook her head to avoid another verbal suicide mission.
“I think we should wash it first, get any dress fibers off of it so you don’t get an infection. That okay with you?”
“Uh, sure. Thank you.” Holly tried to remember what state she’d left her bathroom in before she led Declan through her bedroom. As soon as she flipped on the light, her eyes landed on her favorite vibrator, a small, neon pink number with a butterfly clit massager, laying on the side of the bathtub. She shoved it in a nearby towel and tried to hide it in the hamper, but she wasn’t quick enough.
Another one of those seductively dark chuckles sounded from Declan. “Very interesting indeed,” was his only comment.
The mirror confirmed that Holly was the precise shade of an overly ripened raspberry. “Sorry.”
“For what?” He looked genuinely confused.
Having no control over her own eyes, her gaze landed back on the hamper. “Uh. . .it’s such a mess in here. I’m not usually a slob. Just haven’t unpacked everything yet.”
“Only the most important things then.” He made no effort to hide his smirk.
“Funny.” Her scowl dampened his laughter.
“This soap good?” He lifted a bottle from the counter.
She nodded as he eased the sweatshirt up her back. His heated breath whispered over her shoulder blades, igniting the nerve endings there. He studied the tattoo before turning on the sink to let the water warm.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. Trust me, the only thoughts running around in my head are those of supreme intrigue and the orders not to beg you to let me watch you use that tonight just before I take it in my hands and allow you to relax while I bring you pleasure.”
Holly’s mouth hung open long enough to dry out her tongue. Holy fucking hell. “Little forward, don’t you think?”
Just then Declan lathered his hands with the soap and gently massaged the largest part of the tattoo in the center of her back. Her entire body shook with hunger. “Was it? I find myself having little to no ability to act properly when I’m looking at your gorgeous body. I’m sorry, dear. I’ll try harder.”
“Well. . .don’t try too hard.”
A low growl sounded in her ear. “So damn tempting. I may not survive this, but can you pull those shorts down just a little so I can get to the ends of the strands?”
Holly eased the shorts down, revealing the hollow at the base of her spine and the top of her ass.
“You are so damn beautiful.” The words seemed to have been wrenched up from his gut. His eyes were dark and craving. She should have been frightened, or at least cautious. No one knew where she was or who she’d brought home, but she could locate no fear in her body, only pu
re, unadulterated lust.
“Since I’ve effectively become your tattoo doctor, do I get to know what it means to you? I take it this isn’t your first. Had to hurt like hell to get it there over your ribs. That was the worst, wasn’t it?”
“It did hurt like hell. I broke my wrist last summer when I got thrown on a horse I was helping broke. I had a few of the pain killers left over so I took that before I went in. They helped.”
Declan’s entire expression darkened dramatically. “That’s a terrible idea. Never do that again. Do you understand me?”
The abject torment residing in the depths of his eyes kept Holly from informing him that she’d do whatever the hell she wanted whenever she wanted to do it. “I do have a few others,” she supplied instead.
She lifted the bottom hem of the shorts to reveal a small garland of roses she’d had tattooed on her right hip.
“Sweet baby Jesus are you trying to kill me?” he panted, but at least he’d loosened back up a little. Grinning at that, she pulled down the front of her shorts and panties just enough to reveal the heart-shaped Latin quote, ‘Libera te, Qui in te unt, Honoremus te,’ positioned between her mound and hipbone.
“I find myself utterly devastated that I didn’t get to tend those as well.” He shook his head as he gently dried the tattoo on her back.
“It means. . . .”
“Free yourself. Be who you are. Honor yourself.”
“You know Latin?” Okay, that was definitely not something she expected from a musician with a brow piercing and a motorcycle. She called herself on being judgmental.
“A little. Had to take it at university.”
“The one on my back is sort of the same thing, actually. It’s a Native American dream catcher. Normally they have webbing in the circle, but I did the moon and the sun there instead, and the feathers and five tendrils represent parts of myself that I want to remember to honor.”
“It’s beautiful. A few days from now when it’s not so red I want to study it closely.”
Before Holly could respond, Declan began tenderly rubbing the ointment over the moon and sun portion.
“What do the moon and sun mean to you?”
“Uh. . . .” Holly lost herself in the heat of his touch. She couldn’t recall the pain she’d been in just moments before. His fingertips held seeds of magic.
“Love?”
Shivering from his tender care, she tried to remember what he’d asked her. “The moon. Right, I kind of always feel like there were two distinctive parts of myself. I guess my cowgirl side and my other side. I can’t ever seem to get them to exist together. I thought the tat might help. I like how they’re right on top of each other like that. That sounds crazy though, right?”
“Most definitely not. Most all of mine mean exactly the same. I’ll show you sometime.”
“That feels really good,” Holly gushed, unable to stop herself.
Declan’s grin said he liked that. “Americans have it all so wrong. Touch was never meant to be a luxury. Never supposed to be forbidden or taboo. It’s not something meant to be regulated or predicated on something else. It’s a validation of life, a necessary human need as long as the contact is wanted.”
Holly managed a nod. She’d written something like that in her thesis. She couldn’t quite recall the title as Declan rubbed the ointment along the top of her ass. She was certain that whatever she’d written about touch, it hadn’t sounded as seductive and discerning as it did coming from Declan’s lips. That accent was going to be her undoing. Liquid heat soaked the crotch of her panties. She longed to beg him to leave the tattoo and tend to her other needs.
When his hands left her back, the unwanted vacancy stung far worse than the tattoo.
A harsh swallow tensed his neck. His Adam’s apple contracted seductively. “Perhaps just leave the shirt off after I go. Let it get some air. Try to sleep on your stomach.”
Too far gone to have ever stopped herself, she whipped off the old sweatshirt and spun to face him. Her breasts swayed from the motion. Her nipples stood in stiff, painful points of desperate need.
“Holly,” he moaned her name. “Darling, you are vastly overestimating my ability to maintain my control.”
“Good.” She traced her fingertips over her collarbone and then spun them around her own nipples.
“Holly.” This time her name was a warning.
“Declan,” she challenged.
She could almost see the moment he lost all hope of denying himself in his voracious eyes.
His hands landed on her hips and jerked her closer. He latched his lips onto her neck like a man possessed.
“Yes,” gasped from her as she ground against the rock hard bulge in his jeans. His right hand tangled in her hair and a low, agonized groan echoed off the bathroom tile. His lips blazed a fiery trail from the hollow of her collarbone to her right breast.
“They hurt, don’t they, love? They ache. I know. So needy for me, aren’t they?” His expert tongue bathed over her right nipple. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, pressing her breast further into the heat of his mouth. He cupped her left breast in the strength of his hand, kneading her flesh until she felt raw.
When he’d sucked until she was certain she was going to come from this alone, he left her aching, brushed a kiss between her breasts, and lifted his head. “I could bring you like this, sweet girl. I know what you crave. Someday I’ll show you, but not tonight.”
“Why?” she whimpered.
“Your back is still healing. We just met. We’ve both been drinking, and I need to get my head straight so I can be the lover you deserve. If I stripped right now, I’m likely to unload all over your sink.”
Fevered embarrassment flooded her cheeks. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Sorry.”
“I’m not sorry at all. Sweetest confection I’ve had in my mouth in far too long. Please don’t think that wasn’t the most difficult thing I’ve ever turned down, and you have no idea just how significant that is.”
What does that mean? She eased back into Luke’s sweatshirt and willed her face to return to its normal shade. “You were gonna show me your tats.” Yes, there, that was better. Not throwing herself at a guy she’d just met in a bar. She started to congratulate herself on her resolve, but then realized she’d just effectively asked him to take his clothes off. Her entire body craved him like a drug. When it came to him, she had zero self-control. Her heart couldn’t locate a steady rhythm, and she was still gasping for breath.
“Later. Tomorrow maybe. I think it best if I remain fully clothed. If you put your hands on me, we’re very likely to do something we might both later regret.”
Burning up with both passion and embarrassment, Holly rolled her eyes. “I can control myself.” That was probably a lie, but she was going with it.
“It’s not you I’m worried about. I desperately want to get to know you better, and we clearly have enough chemistry to see where this might lead. If you still want me to, I’ll pick you up in the morning for breakfast. What time does a cowgirl eat?”
Your cowgirl, she mentally corrected, and then wondered where on earth that had come from. “I like to sleep in when I’m not working the ranch, but whatever time is fine.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a tender kiss along her knuckles. Her body responded like he’d just pressed his tongue between the folds of her pussy. Her stomach clenched and her nipples throbbed anxiously.
“I could name a time or I could tell you that I’ll call when I’m on my way over, which would get me your phone number.”
“Very smooth.” She laughed despite the disappointment whipping through her veins.
“I thought so.”
She couldn’t help but appreciate his humor coupled with the devastation in his eyes. He seemed worried he’d hurt her feelings. That at least made her feel a little better.
Chapter Three
Declan spent several long minutes leaning up against the cold brick wall outs
ide of Holly’s apartment building, desperately seeking some semblance of control. He gulped in the cool Nebraskan evening air, though it did nothing to douse the fire ignited by the addiction of her lips. The image of her teasing her own nipples would be forever emblazoned in his mind. He’d indulged himself in far more goodnight kisses than were really required given the amount of time they’d known one another. They were both playing with fire, but he suspected only he knew it.
God, she was irresistible. She stirred feelings in him he’d pushed away for far too long, throughout the entire debauchery of his marriage, through months of rehab and then university, for what felt like forever. He craved her more than he’d ever craved another hit. Had he not been damming his own demons for the last decade, he wouldn’t have had the strength to walk away that night. Taking another deep breath of non-Holly scented air, he reminded himself that he could indulge in her without fear of killing himself or anyone else.
The way she’d whipped off that sweatshirt. The confidence that resided within the very marrow of her bones coupled seductively with an innocence that said she didn’t have much experience. The succulent heat of her mouth made him overly eager to taste her nectar. He’d been able to feel the wet heat of her crotch when she’d pressed herself against his raging erection. He hated the desperation and frantic desire she summoned from him. Red flags of addiction if ever there were any. The problem was he’d always been dangerously attracted to red flags.
He stared at the door she’d begrudgingly closed when he insisted that it was time for him to go. Every cell in his body longed to demand she open herself for him. Open her door, open her mouth, open her legs, open the drenched lips of her pussy, open her mind, open her heart, open her deepest darkest fantasies, and let him own it all.
She’d been more than willing, but he didn’t want her to have any regrets. He also didn’t want to fuck her senseless against her bathroom counter and then go through the awkward fallout of the inevitable explosions of passion.
