“Declan,” she murmurs, barely audible. “Declan?” The repeat of my name is tense, higher-pitched, albeit muffled with sleep.
Her body trembles slightly as her grip on my fingers tightens. I turn myself to wrap around her, holding her from behind.
“Beauty,” I whisper into her ear. “It’s okay, baby.”
Nora exhales a tiny moan, her cheek rubbing into its spot on my arm. Her body shudders, shaking off slumber like a cat as she stretches out and relaxes into me.
“You awake?” I ask quietly.
“Mmm.”
“Were you having a nightmare?”
She’s silent for a beat too long before she twists over her shoulder to throw a question at me with her eyebrow. “What? No.”
Maybe she’s still half asleep, because that wasn’t even a remotely convincing lie. “You said my name in your sleep.”
“I said Doc?” she asks, turning back and resting her head.
I kiss her shoulder and rest my chin there. “You said Declan. Twice.”
She makes a chuffing sound, sounding like an amused tiger. “Clearly I was having a sex dream. Good onya, mate.”
I groan. “Your Aussie accent is worse than my Irish impression.”
She giggles. “At least you admit your weaknesses.”
I’m almost drawn into the mindlessly enjoyable banter we have, but I remember the way her body shook.
“What was the dream really?” I ask her. “You were trembling. When you said my name the second time, you sounded afraid.”
She reaches up to rub her eyes, moving immediately to run fingers through her long, black hair. That inky silk draws my hand to stroke it. Then she speaks, and the spell breaks.
“Ugh, I don’t know. Honestly, Doc, I don’t even remember. I think we were in a haunted house or something.”
I release a forceful exhale. “Love, I know bullshit when I smell it. But if you’re that determined to keep it a secret, I won’t beg you.”
I fall onto my back, pull the sheet up my chest and maneuver my arm out from under her head. As a result, she’s forced to roll onto her stomach, where she flips her hair out of her face and glares at me.
“Doc, I don’t remember,” she says, but I don’t buy it. “I’m not keeping… secrets.”
The way she says this is odd, but I’m not playing into it. “Okay.”
Silently, I struggle with the astonishment over how drastically and hastily the mood between us can shift. When she arrived early this morning, everything felt somehow perfect. Waking up to her warm skin on mine was just what I wanted—the feeling, the warmth… all that shit. Then one question and a lie shove me into war mode.
I don’t realize how tense my muscles have gone until she places her hand on my chest, nails scratching lightly through my chest hair. Then I manually relax every muscle I can feel before pulling my gaze away from the ceiling and resettling it on Nora’s face.
“I can’t possibly believe you’re going to be pissed at me because I can’t remember a dream,” she says, matter-of-factly and—if my aggravation isn’t coloring the tone I’m hearing—condescendingly.
When I launch out of bed, pushing off her hands and pitiful contempt, it feels more like an explosion. “If you think that’s it, Bennett,” I say, tempering my anger as best I can, “you’re not paying attention.”
She sighs, but it’s not one of resignation. It’s a signal that she’s pissed and going to match me hit for hit.
“Ya know what, Wellesley?” she asks. “I have Christmas shopping and a bunch of errands to run today, so maybe I should just go get my shit done.”
I pull on my jeans and laugh bitterly. “You just can’t do it, can you?”
“What?” she yells. I turn to see her wide-eyed and rigid, sitting up on the bed.
“Let me in.” I feel like I’ve pled guilty to something heinous—admitted to murder or something.
She stills. I keep thinking I’ll take whatever she offers as it comes, but Nora Bennett is more than an addiction. There is no fix that would leave me completely sated. I’m only more eager and anxious for the next one—at least that’s what’s been happening the past month or so. I’ve been trying to calm the fuck down, but it’s proving impossible.
I step toward her, hissing, “You think I give a shit if you can’t remember a dream?”
Nora looks taken aback, like I had the balls the call her out on a lie. Her eyes track side to side. “Yes?” she squeaks.
I laugh at the silly-ass sound her response produced, but it’s more of a release of my frustration. My hands grip sections of my hair and my eyes pinch shut as I let out a groan that sounds somewhere between injured seal and excited donkey. I laugh more and feel the fight drain out of me. My body slumps and crumbles toward the bed. I land face down, on my stomach. I can’t really breathe, but I don’t care.
Then I feel her hand, hot on my lower back.
“Declan?” Her voice is soft and pleading. It kills me. “I’m sorry.”
I turn my face to her and find her expression childlike, scared. I push up to my knees to be chest to chest with her. She takes my hands and lifts them to her face. With her cheeks in my palms, I can feel her breath on my face, filtering through my beard to my skin. I am a freak, a junkie—I absorb her, all of her that I can reach, touch, feel…
“I don’t care about the dream,” I tell her. “I don’t. I just can’t stand the idea that you would hide something so stupid from me. It felt like you were lying,” I say, suddenly tired after the meteoric up and down of this brief and strange fit.
Nora’s hands slide from their spot at my sides up to the middle of my back, pulling her flush against me. My senses sink into a stupor as our skin heats between us.
“It was a stupid nightmare, okay?” she whispers. “Someone was trying to hurt me, kidnap me or something, and I was trying to find you. That’s it.”
Her eyes shut halfway through her confession, which make it—in my mind—an invitation to kiss her. So I do. Hard. Insistent. Hungry for her as I always am.
“I’m sorry,” I say with only breath. My fuse is short, and I hate it. “I…”
“I’m sorry,” she says against my lips. She rests her forehead against mine to continue. “I-I don’t like needing to be saved or protected. I didn’t like how the dream made me feel. I save myself.”
“There’s nothing wrong with needing someone, baby.”
I see her eyes, wide and ashamed, and I don’t understand it. I try to pull her closer to me, but we’re already skin to skin. When she exhales next, her patience goes with it. I’m overwhelmed by her lips, her fingertips digging into my back. An exciting push-and-pull ensues, dragging us in different directions as we try to get the other on their back. It’s like an arm-wrestling match, but with our whole selves battling to get closer.
Eventually she grips my jeans and rids me of them. I land backwards on the bed, which is her invitation to crawl over me and smile wickedly.
“I’m taking you this time.”
Her voice is thick with need, and God, do I need her right now.
“God, yes.”
Finally, she straddles me to slowly take me inside. Our voices warp and blend as we vocalize the pleasure of connecting. She writhes above me, lifting, twisting, grinding, feeling me. Our rhythm syncs, and I let my hands roam, exploring her, claiming her. I find myself watching her face as she moves, mesmerized by her changing expressions.
“Declan,” she says, strong and low, panting as her head falls back. “Oh, Declan, yes.”
I growl, following her as she leans away. I suck a nipple into my mouth as her back arches, pushing her breasts out toward me. The new angle gives me leverage to pull her to me, on me. My teeth scrape her nipple as I release it to speed up the pace, my own need frantic for her. Somehow, it’s just not enough. I’m chasing more, but she’s right there with me.
The physical conversation is the resolution of the argument. Each move, each moan is an apology and a d
eeper connection than I’ve ever felt to her.
When Nora hurls herself toward me, curling around my shoulders as she comes, shivering and moaning, I am floored. What and who I see is disjointed and raw, and quite possibly the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever witnessed.
The only thing I can utter as I follow her is, “Beauty.”
Several minutes, a few breathless kisses, and a dual collapse later, I ask, “So you’re staying?”
Her ear-to-ear grin is her only response before her lips are on mine.
16
THE THIRD DATE
NORA
WHEN I GET HOME later that afternoon, Cam opens the apartment door before I can. She’s grinning like the proverbial cat, post-canary dinner.
“What?” I ask, already laughing at her.
“You have a delivery.”
I am at once nervous and confounded. I just left Doc, winding my way home through the streets, giving me time to think. This morning was intense, our first argument and subsequent makeup sex. He’s really putting in the effort to earn my trust. I’m ashamed that it takes so much, but grateful nonetheless. I’m cautiously optimistic, and that feels entirely out of place. So despite how good I feel, I am also weirded out.
After a strangely awkward pause—mainly because I stood there like a dolt, I follow her to the kitchen, where a gorgeous bouquet of purple roses and white lilacs sits on the counter in a beautifully simple vase.
“Someone delivered these for me?” I sound like an idiot. That’s what she just said. “From who?”
Cam rolls her eyes, basically expressing her exasperation with her entire body. “Take a wild guess, toots.”
Instead of guessing, I pick the card out of the holder and open it.
You bewitch me.
X, Declan
“I’m going to faint,” Cam says, breathily, stumbling to grab the counter behind her.
“Stop it,” I say, and I wave a hand at her to emphasize my point. “It’s… it’s—”
“So fucking romantic, I may spontaneously orgasm.”
I turn to glare at her for finishing my sentence as she did, but she’s fanning herself, and it makes me laugh, and blush.
Who am I?
“Call him right now.”
I do manage to glare at her this time, but she’s right. It was crazy sweet, and I better call him now, before I have to get ready for work tonight.
When he picks up, he’s breathless. “My Beauty.” The warmth and affection in his voice lands in all my right places, but most particularly in the middle of my chest.
“Hi. What are you up to?” I meant to sound teasing, but I sound stupidly giddy. Sweet Jesus, help me.
“Working out.”
Okay, well, that’s hot. I’m unable to repress a sigh, which makes him laugh lowly.
“We’re still on for Thursday, right? Malibu?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say. “But I was actually calling to thank you for the flowers. They’re stunning.”
“Now you know how I feel when I see you,” he says, and I’m so overcome by his reply that I nearly hang up in a panic. But in a good way.
“Oh, come on,” I say, but I’m smiling. Judging by his breathy laughter, he senses it. “And the card, it’s… ridiculous.”
This time he full-out guffaws. “I was going for something like that Mr. Darcy character you’re obsessed with. Too much?”
Everything in my body warms. “I know,” I say, quiet and small. “I loved it.”
***
Doc has some new “minions” to train over the next few days, so getting to Thursday and Malibu seems to take forever. When we do arrive, we decide to walk the pier and beach. There’s a quaint little café at the end of the boardwalk.
We wander down the sand a ways, kicking at the low-lapping waves and splashing each other like idiots. What’s surprising, though I suppose it shouldn’t be, is the conversation. It’s relaxed and easy flowing. I allow myself to see what a genuine and wonderful guy Doc is beneath all the teasing and cockiness, not that I haven’t slowly been coming to that conclusion anyway. The flowers, his thoughtfulness… It’s just taken me a beat longer than it should have to accept that there’s so much more to him than I’ve allowed myself to see before.
“I didn’t plan to go into stunt work,” he says after we turn around, rerouting back toward the pier for lunch. “In fact, I had no interest in working in the movies.”
“Riiiiiiight,” I say. “That’s only why everyone and their mother comes to LA.” He eyeballs me. “Well, except my mother, but that’s a blessing for all of us.”
“From everything I’ve heard, we’re certainly not missing out,” he agrees. “I wish you’d tell me more about your family.”
“But you’re in the middle of your origin story.”
“Nora,” he chides. “I’m not kidding. Tell me something.”
His gentle plea is quite striking, and I feel it all over my body. It makes me want to tell him whatever he wants to know. I mean, I’m not secretive about my family, but the only person I really like is my father (despite his apparently genetic lack of money-smarts). As I’m feeling good about us, I offer Doc a morsel.
“As you know, my da’s Irish, born and bred in Limerick.”
“You’re also born there, yeah?”
“Indeed,” I say and am interrupted by a quick kiss. I feel his fingers thread through mine and squeeze. “Anyway, he traveled all over the world for work—”
“Which was?”
“Hey! Do you want me to tell you this shite or not?”
“Proceed.” His expression is entirely too amused, but properly chastised.
I have a brief flash of tying him up. The thought makes me snort-laugh and shake my head to clear it. Not that I wouldn’t experiment with the idea.
“You okay, Beauty?”
I throw him a nod with a tight-lipped smile, but he picks up.
“What?”
“I just had a vision of you in a particular situation, that’s all,” I say, lifting an eyebrow.
“Pretty sure I need to hear this.”
The tone of his voice is quite tempting, but I like teasing him too much. “You either get that description or the rest of this family information you badgered me for.”
His eyes narrow, but then he rolls them at me. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but family.”
I exhale, offering a bright smile, and shrug. “Suit yourself. It’s much less interesting.”
“Completely different categories,” he says. “You’re going to show me the dirty thing later, right?”
I gasp theatrically. “How dare you!”
He laughs, head thrown back. He really is a gorgeous creature, especially when he’s happy like this. My stomach twists. The sensation shakes me a little. Is it guilt over how I acted our last go-round? The way things are right now make me wonder why I lied.
“Come on, then,” he says, rescuing me from my temporary cloud. “Your da, your mum.”
“Right.” I smile at him, feeling the present wrap around me like Doc’s arms. “Well, Da met my mother on a work trip to South Korea. I’m still unsure how that happened, because my mother was never a particularly romantic or even jovial person. Maybe she was before I was born, but certainly not after. She never really wanted kids.”
I avoid Doc’s gaze, afraid to see pity. I don’t need pity, particularly for having a shitty mom. She wasn’t the worst, but a far cry from the best.
“Anyway, when I met Sophie in college, Margaret—you know, her mom—kind of adopted me in a way. She makes up for a lot, actually.”
“But you didn’t grow up with her,” Doc says. “That’s when having your mum is really important.”
“Yeah,” I answer breezily, ready to move on. “So there. I told you stuff.”
“No, no, hold on,” he says, his grip on my hand tightening as he stops our stroll to stand closer to me.
It makes me nervous. I don’t like talking about my mot
her.
“Do you see your mom?”
I fidget with the edge of a pocket on my dress, focusing on my toes popping out of the sand. “No, and that’s okay.”
I hear the conflict in my voice and know he’s going to—
“Nora.”
Pounce.
“How can that be okay?”
I find his eyes, and they’re not judging. It throws me, because that’s what I was expecting—I’d expect it from anyone who didn’t know her.
Before I can speak, he pulls me closer and into his arms. I swallow with difficulty before I can reply. “The day after my fifth birthday, she told me she’d never wanted me.”
“Honest to God?”
“No, I made that shit up,” I snap, pushing him away. I feel bad, but the fact embarrasses me to this day. Maybe I need to go back to therapy.
“Beauty,” he says, gently calling after me. He snatches my hand and turns me to face him. “That’s not what I meant. I just… I can’t believe she’d say that to you, and I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity.”
The way he says it draws my eyes to his. “I’m sorry. I guess it still hurts.”
“Of course it does, and that’s okay.”
I allow a small smile and reach up to kiss him. “Thank you. Now, back to your Hollywood fairy tale.”
“Bloody Hollywood bullshit,” he says, but then he pauses to kiss me again, lingering. “All right. Truth is, I moved to LA to road trip around the States with Monkhouse and then maybe hit Hawaii for a few weeks. That was my full plan at the time.”
“You followed your boyfriend back to California?” It’s irresistible, these two and their bromance. “You’re too cute.”
“I’m going to ignore that,” he says, but ruins the effect by pinching my ass.
I swat at him, but I ruin it by laughing. I’m thankful to be back in more comfortable conversational waters.
“Anyway, naughty girl, we’d just gotten back from our first round up along the coast when I was stopped in a Starbucks by a casting director. She said I would be a ‘perfect stand-in’ for… Shit, I can’t even remember who it was. No one I’d heard of, but didn’t matter much to me.”
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