by Cox, Chloe
Yeah, pretend that’s all about the book, Ward.
“No, I didn’t,” he said, and she could hear him smiling. Like he’d won something. “I used to bag all of them. Decided to stop about six months ago. That’s a big question, though, Mol. You ready to give me a big answer in return?”
Molly swallowed. In the span of less than twenty-four hours, she had been convinced she was going to die, she’d been saved by the one man who could make her feel…well, the way she felt right now, in his arms, she’d been kissed, she’d partied with a rock star, and now she was facing some difficult truths about herself and what she wanted.
“Maybe we’ll save that for your first interview,” she said. “But what Brian did tonight, even not knowing… Do you think you’ve ever done that?”
Declan was quiet. He squeezed Molly a little tighter, and she felt his chin on the top of her head. When he spoke, he sounded different. Pensive. Humbled.
“I must have,” he said. “Back when I still… Yeah. But I don’t think it’s that different from normal people, you know? Maybe just with the volume turned up. People come in and out of each other’s lives all the time and have no idea of the damage they do, whether they mean it or not.”
Molly turned in his arms, needing to see his face, to confirm the gut feeling she got about what he’d just said. And even more, to see whether not Declan Donovan, the guy who kept secrets, would let her see what he was feeling.
He did. He didn’t tell her more, but he let her see that, whatever it was, it hurt him. The light was bad out there in the parking lot, but he didn’t shy away, and she could see the pain in his eyes. That there was some wound there, something that wouldn’t heal, something that he carried with him. Was it Bethany? Was that what had happened six months ago in Philly?
But Ian had said that Declan hadn’t cared when Bethany started to date Soren. There had to be something more. Something deeper…
“Declan…”
“The bus is here,” he said gently. How had she not noticed a freaking tour bus drive into the parking lot? Molly swore. She could actually lose time with Declan. “You can interview me tomorrow. Tonight let’s just watch This is Spinal Tap and go to sleep.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You have your own bunk,” he said, tightening his arms around her with a smile. “You come near my bed, and you won’t be doing any sleeping.”
A few things happened after that. After coming aboard to find Brian shame-faced and sorry, and everyone so welcoming that it felt like a family already, after all they’d all been through together, Molly noticed when Declan suddenly stressed out and reached for his phone. The lines didn’t leave his face until he’d checked it and evidently saw what he needed to see, and she realized that this was why he’d noticed her stress about getting in touch with her sister. There was someone Declan worried about, too.
And then while watching the movie, Molly fell fast asleep on Declan’s chest, waking only when he kissed her forehead, picked her up, and carried her to her bunk.
chapter 12
Molly dreamed of Declan.
She was backstage, waiting for him, wondering when he would be done with the show, if he would be with someone else. So sure he would rather be with his fans, with all those other women, that nothing she felt with him could be real; he wouldn’t ever choose her. But then he surprised her. She didn’t know how, but she knew it was him suddenly standing behind her.
It was his hand on the small of her back.
His hand that went farther now, no longer gentle, groping her ass, pushing between her legs…
His hand that held her still, his hand that reached around, found her breast…
She moaned, and then they were back in the office at Volare, and she turned to face him and her clothes were gone. Just…gone. She didn’t know how, but he had done it. He’d taken them. She heard that growl, and then he clasped his hands around her wrists, forcing them down to her sides, baring her to him, naked. Powerless. His.
She had that thought, that exact thought: He can do whatever he wants with me. And it spread through her body like wildfire, and she suddenly wished he would…
And then he spun her around and he was bending her roughly over that desk, telling her, “You’re mine,” her whole body thrilling to the words, her breasts pushed into the desk where she’d signed his contract, his hand thrust between her legs, spreading them, his hand on the back of her neck, holding her there…
When he entered her, she came so hard that she woke herself up, panting, covered in sweat.
And totally disoriented.
She had actually come in a dream. Just from freaking dreaming about him. She was still…oh God, still with the aftershocks.
What the hell was that?
Molly lay there, wide-eyed, tangled up in sheets, wishing to God she had a real room with a real door, and wondering what the hell all of that meant. She’d always had a thing for rough sex, for being…well, controlled. Dominated, ravaged, whatever. She’d always had fantasies, tons of fantasies, my God, fantasies so much kinkier than that dream, but never about anyone she actually knew. Never something potentially real. But that? That was definitely Declan. In fact, it hadn’t even been a particularly kinky dream; it was the fact that it was Declan that made it so hot.
The idea of Declan owning her. Having total control over her body. Taking her? Oh God, yes please.
She knew she had to stop thinking about it, or she’d need another orgasm, and she had never found it easy to be quiet once she got going. But not thinking about it was practically impossible. This, right here, in this little afterglow, thinking about Declan dominating her, this was the only relief Molly got. She hadn’t even realized how much she needed a break until right now. Outside her little cocoon of a bunk, wrapped up in dreams of Declan, there was the real world, with all those real responsibilities, with all the pressure of getting it right or having everything collapse around her. Her plans for the future, getting out of Pleasant Valley Park, getting Lydia out. But in here, she could give it all up to Declan. Dream Declan, anyway.
Molly groaned. It was clearly time to start being responsible again. And she was clearly screwing herself over with these kinds of thoughts.
And she had very nearly had gotten a hold of herself by the time she knocked on Declan’s door, hoping to use his shower—until he answered the door in nothing but boxer briefs.
“First interview in ten?” He yawned, leaning against the narrow doorframe and rubbing his face. He was so big he filled the entire doorway, to the point where it looked like a miniature door for hobbits or something. The effect was just a wall of tanned, tatted muscle, moving slightly under his skin as he stretched, reminding her of a wild animal, something that was about to pounce.
Molly gulped.
“Yeah, sounds good,” she said. “Mind if I use your shower again?” She hated using the guys’ shower.
Declan ran a hand over his head and looked at her, wide-awake now. He looked at all of her.
“Be my guest,” he said slowly.
She could feel his voice on her body. Oh, God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Molly took a very, very cold shower. By the time she was cooled off—at least momentarily—the bus had stopped for a minute and someone had gone and gotten breakfast sandwiches. She smelled them as soon as she stepped out of Declan’s room, and was hit with hunger pangs. She was ravenous. Sex dreams were kind of a workout.
Molly smiled a little bit to herself as she made her way to the booth at the front of the bus. There was something kind of fun about knowing she’d gotten off, however unintentionally, while everybody else slept. Like she’d gotten away with something.
Except that maybe she hadn’t.
Gage seemed on the verge of laughing. Brian looked at her with something like open awe and jumped up to get her a breakfast sandwich from the communal bag in the middle of the table, which was suspiciously unnecessary. Erik was red-faced and silent,
chewing furiously on his bacon, egg, and cheese.
And Declan…no one should be able to smolder this early in the day. Or look at her like…what, was he mad? No, that was ridiculous. But there was something going on. That tiny muscle on his jaw bulged out and his eyes were glaring at her, burning holes in her shirt. If he kept doing that, she was going to be in trouble all over again. She’d had more time to think about the previous day now, the kiss, the way he’d carried her, the way he’d looked out for Ian. One by one, her reasons for resisting Declan’s advances were crumbling, and it scared the shit out of her. And now they were all acting as though they’d…
Molly was afraid to ask. She’d never had quiet orgasms, but who knew if that extended to dreams? There were some things it was better not to know. She’d just grab her breakfast and then go hide in the baggage area for the rest of the tour, no problem.
But Declan snapped first.
He jumped up, grabbing the breakfast bag with one hand and Molly’s arm with the other.
“We’ll eat during the interview,” he said gruffly. “Come on.”
And he hauled her off to his bedroom.
***
They’d wolfed down their food in silence, Declan staring at her as she ate, Molly trying to get herself into a professional headspace. This was difficult to do while sitting cross-legged and barefoot on Declan’s bed. The man had very expensive sheets. Sheets that felt very, very good against her bare legs. Sheets she knew he’d been in, not too long ago, possibly while naked.
Not like he was wearing much now. Just jeans. Was the man allergic to shirts? The air conditioning on the bus wasn’t great, but in Molly’s opinion that should be balanced against the threat of a shirtless Declan. She could only retaliate with cutoffs.
Molly cleared her throat and flipped through her notebook one more time. She was never going to be more ready then she was now.
“You ready?” she asked, trying not to sound nervous.
Declan got up from the lone chair and started to pace. “It’s your show, sweetheart. Shoot.”
Molly took a deep breath. She’d had to be very careful when selecting the topics for this. For the first interview she didn’t want to press too hard, too fast. He was too ready for that, too guarded. She had to come at him indirectly, kind of sneaky, and eventually win him over. She should be entirely focused on wearing down his defenses. Instead she’d found herself wondering what questions she’d need answered to feel like she could trust him, what answers he could give that would get her to break her own rules. By the time she was done crafting questions, she wasn’t entirely sure what the purpose of this interview was.
“This is already personal,” she said, and when she heard the words out loud, she knew how true they were.
“No shit,” Declan said.
“Why is that?” she asked, glad to drop the pretense.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just like you, that’s all. We click. But that’s not a bad thing, Molly. I can like you and want to fuck you at the same time and not have it turn into some crazy drama neither of us can get away from. You should know I don’t do that kind of thing, in case the whole contract thing didn’t make that clear.”
“I should, huh?”
“You know you should.”
Declan gave her one of those stares, and she broke. She looked down. Licked her lips.
She said, “What kind of thing is it, exactly, that you don’t do?”
“Relationships, commitment, obligations—whatever you want to call it,” Declan said. “Because I’m bad at it, and because guys like me can’t have that without some kind of drama. Write that down.”
It had been in the contract she’d signed—something about sexual contact not implying any commitments and a non-disclosure agreement for both signatories—but she hadn’t really connected the dots. It had seemed like an abstraction, a formality. But he was telling her it applied to her, personally, directly.
Maybe another girl would have been offended. But Molly was terrified of getting involved with Declan, of losing control of her emotions, her life—again. He was telling her that wasn’t going to happen for either of them.
He cocked his head and said, “I’ve never told a reporter that before.”
“I’m not a reporter.”
“You’re still writing it down.”
Declan started to prowl around the bed, back and forth, making Molly feel like she was being cornered. Herded. Hunted. It was making her feel decidedly other than professional. Was that what she’d wanted to hear? Did promises of not getting involved actually mean anything?
“So what kinds of things do you do?” she asked.
He looked at her. “Arrangements. Contracts. Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it,” he said, growing impatient. “What’s your first question?”
Was he nervous? Jumpy? He seemed on edge, jittery, his muscles flexing as he walked, his arms pumping, his shoulders rolling. He looked as worked up as Molly had felt after her dream, as she was starting to feel now, just watching him.
“Did they all hear me?” Molly asked.
Declan stopped short, took a breath, his abs contracting in a long, sexy wave. “Yes,” he said huskily. “Is that your first question? Because then I know what I’m gonna ask you first.”
“No,” she said in a small voice, shrinking into a tiny little ball. “That didn’t count.”
“This room is soundproofed. I’m disappointed I didn’t get to hear you,” Declan said, planting both hands on the edge of the bed and leaning toward her. “To see you. What were you thinking about when you came?”
“That didn’t count!” she said, scrambling back on the bed, as if she could get away from his presence. From how much she wanted him. From how incredibly embarrassed she was; did he know that she’d dreamed about him? It was impossible, but he always seemed to know these things, like she was just too easy to read. Desperately, she looked at her notebook. “Here, this is my first question: Was Soren there when…”
She trailed off. She couldn’t read that. Damn it. This was hard, too hard. She shouldn’t have led with that, especially not because she was running from her own embarrassment, because she was flustered. Another dick move on her part.
But more than that, she didn’t want to ask him about his mom’s death because she cared about him. About what affect that might have on him. And on what he thought of her.
Already, even without sleeping with him, she was screwing up because she liked him. Because he was a good guy. But there was so little information out there about Declan’s life when he was kid, so little that it was kind of suspicious. About all anyone knew was that his mom had died when he was young and he’d moved in with his best friend’s family—Soren’s family—before his Uncle James took him in. And that was when Soren and Declan had started playing music together.
She had all these questions she needed to ask, all these things she needed to find out, and yet she hated the idea of being the one to bring up something painful for him.
“Oh my God, I suck at this,” she murmured, running her hand through her hair. “I am actually, legitimately terrible.”
“What are you talking about? You’re amazing,” he said. Declan studied her, the muscles on his arms standing out as he supported himself on the bed. He hadn’t gotten up from that about-to-pounce position, something Molly was very much aware of. He said, “What are you afraid to ask me?”
“Not afraid,” she said grudgingly. “I just don’t like the idea of hurting you.”
Whatever Molly expected, it definitely wasn’t deep, rumbling laughter. But Declan, for some reason, thought that was hysterical.
“Baby, you can’t hurt me by asking me questions,” he said. “You’re sweet, but you can’t. What’s hurt me is already past. Talking about it doesn’t make it any worse.”
Molly frowned, feeling more like an idiot than he could possibly guess. She’d made that assumption because, for her, talking about the things that ha
d hurt her definitely did make it worse. Molly didn’t pretend her past didn’t exist, but there was a time and a place for dealing with it. She’d gotten so good at repressing all that stuff when she needed to, just to be able to function—which was basically all the time—that she assumed that that was how everyone dealt with painful things, and that forcing them to the forefront of his mind would mess with him. Well, fine. Declan didn’t have that problem. Declan was invulnerable. She went down her list, took a deep breath, and said it: “How did your mom die?”
Declan didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink. He said, “She killed herself.”
Molly felt her heart break just a little bit. Maybe more than a little bit. Slowly. Along one deep, guilt ridden fault line, one that promised to become a painful scar, the kind of thing she’d think about later when she already felt bad. She’d never wished she could take something back so much.
“Declan, I’m so sorry.”
His eyes were soft, and his voice gentle. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s just something that’s a part of me now. I told you because I wanted to.”
“Soren was there?”
All the gentleness left his face. Declan’s lips pressed together, and his jaw tightened. He nodded. “Yeah. Soren was there. Soren’s the only one who knows about all of it.”
“And he still was able to do something so bad in Philadelphia that you lost control and hit him? And then kicked him out of the band?”
Silence.
Declan drew his brows together and frowned. Then he climbed up on the bed, moving toward her until she was backed up against the headboard, and he kneeled in front of her.
“That is the only time I have ever lost control,” he said, very quietly. “Soren was the only person who could’ve gotten that reaction out of me, and only with what he did. It will never, ever happen again.”
Molly’s breath came fast and shallow, her whole body on alert. He was so close, and he had brought it up, he was talking about what happened six months ago. She didn’t know which thing excited her more, but she was tense, taut, pulled tight. Wanting more. More of Declan, inside and out.
