Chapter 22
Elsie
I manage to avoid Declan for two whole days.
Every time he came around, I had something urgent to keep me busy.
Cleaning the coffee maker, taking Lucy outside for a potty break, returning Mrs. Holloway’s call to tell her I’d love to make an arrangement for her booth at the Summer Sendoff, the festival that serves as the library’s biggest fundraiser each year.
It’s also the festival where we’ll find out the winner of the Best New Business competition.
That call wasn’t my best idea, admittedly. Mrs. Halloway is hard of hearing and I’d had to yell for her to hear me properly, all while Declan was just on the other side of the break room door.
I’m watering my geraniums on Thursday evening when I hear a low, “There you are” from behind me. I jump, nearly dropping the watering can. Some of its contents slosh out onto my shoes.
“Shoot,” I mutter. I’d thought I was safe out here.
Over the last few weeks, my greenhouse has become my safe space.
My solace. My little slice of heaven where things are calm and quiet, and I can pretend the outside world doesn’t exist. I’ve found a deep comfort in coming out here at the end of each day, checking on the plants and watering the ones that need it.
Noah has offered to help, but he finally stopped asking after the first week or so.
He knows now that it’s how I unwind at the end of a busy day.
Although I love working with Noah, the peace and quiet helps soothe the noise inside my mind that never seems to turn off otherwise.
Right now, the silence feels heavy. Oppressive. Combined with the high temperature and humidity of the greenhouse, I’m suddenly finding it difficult to catch my breath.
Or maybe it’s because suddenly, I can feel the heat radiating from Declan behind me.
I didn’t hear him move closer, but I can feel him there.
Close enough that if I wanted, I could take a step back and be flush against his chest, a thought that sends my pulse spiking before I’ve given it permission to.
Sucking in a deep breath for courage, I move onto the next plant and continue watering, careful to move in a way that I don’t accidentally brush against him.
“What’s up?” I ask over my shoulder, feigning nonchalance. My heart is trying to sprint out of my chest and I have to actively stop myself from rubbing at the spot in an effort to calm it down.
Declan is silent for a few seconds, but I feel the weight of his gaze on my back. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“No, I haven’t.” I force out a laugh, like the notion is ridiculous. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”
“Right.”
My hand rests on the edge of the large planter box in front of me, and when a hand settles on top of mine, I gasp. With his other hand, Declan reaches around me to take the watering can and sets it on the ground.
“What are you doing?” I ask on a shaky exhale.
Declan ignores me, tugging gently on the end of my braid.
My heart nearly stops when I feel the backs of his fingers trail lightly down my spine, before his hand settles on my hip.
He squeezes gently and I can’t help myself; I take that step backward, and the delicious heat of his body against mine is almost too much.
“Don’t hide from me,” Declan says, his voice a low rumble that makes my toes want to curl in my shoes.
I’m tempted to turn and look at him, to see the hunger I know I’ll find in his dark irises, but fear keeps me rooted in place.
Not a fear of Declan – nothing about him scares me.
It’s what he does to me, the effect he’s had on me since our very first meeting, that has my pulse racing and goosebumps rising on my arms.
“I’m not hiding,” I lie.
“You are. Tell me why.”
I feel the press of warm lips against my bare shoulder and I shiver. Though we’ve only kissed once, nothing about this – his hands on my body, his lips against my skin – feels wrong. It sends my pulse skyrocketing and lodges my heart firmly in my throat, but it’s far from wrong.
Being with Declan like this feels predestined, like a collision course we were always going to hurtle down, no matter how hard we tried to avoid it. There’s a deep sense of rightness about it all. About us.
Maybe that’s what scares me most of all.
Declan pulls his hand from mine and slides the narrow strap of my dress to the side. When he kisses the spot where it had been, I gasp.
“The kiss,” I force out. “I didn’t know what you thought. What you wanted.”
I can feel his smile against my skin.
“You,” he says matter-of-factly. The simple, one-word answer nearly takes me out at the knees. “I want you, Elsie. In any way I can have you.”
And that’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it?
It doesn’t matter that I hardly know Declan.
It doesn’t matter that when we first met, he got under my skin in a way nobody else has, pushing all of my buttons and driving me crazy – while also making me wonder what his strong, tattooed hands would feel like on my body.
It doesn’t matter that it’s scary and unexpected. Because he wants me, and oh, how I want him.
I’m tired of pretending I don’t. Tired of fighting it.
I finally turn around and he shifts, settling his hands on the low shelf that runs along the length of the planter box, effectively caging me in. “Then take me,” I tell him, my voice strong and sure. Because for once, I am sure. About this. About him.
I watch as the meaning of my words registers, his eyes flashing with the promise of sinful things to come.
When he steps closer and leans down, I rise on my tiptoes to meet him halfway, our mouths crashing together in a searing kiss.
The sense of rightness that settles over me like a warm blanket when his lips meet mine should be studied.
Declan keeps one hand on the shelf next to my right hip and settles the other against my lower back, pressing me closer until our lower bodies are flush, deepening the kiss in a way that makes heat swirl low in my belly.
His tongue caresses mine and suddenly, the need to touch him is strong.
I grip his biceps and squeeze for a second before running my palms up over his shoulders and across his hard pecs.
I itch to feel the heat of his skin beneath my hands instead of the soft cotton of his T-shirt.
As if able to read my thoughts, Declan lets go of me and grabs the bottom hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head.
He drops it on the grass beside us and immediately slides his arm back around me, tucking my body in tight against his.
I settle my hands back on his chest and my mouth nearly waters at the canvas in front of me.
He’s a work of art, his muscled torso covered in an array of black designs and a smattering of dark hair.
And is that – oh. Sean wasn’t lying to me.
One of Declan’s nipples is pierced with a small metal barbell.
I don’t have time to appreciate it, though, because suddenly Declan’s mouth is on my neck, his lips and tongue against my skin making every thought in my brain scatter.
When I grip his shoulder, my nails biting into his skin, Declan groans against my throat and presses closer. There’s no mistaking the hard length of him between us, but with our height difference, it’s not quite where I need him.
A frustrated little whimper escapes me and Declan chuckles against my skin before pulling back. His eyes meet mine and they ping-pong back and forth a few times, searching for something.
“You’re sure about this?”
I take a few seconds to consider the question, but if I’m being honest, there’s not much to think about. Sure, it’s only been forty-eight hours since our first kiss. But when you consider all the months prior that I’ve spent pining after him, and trying to pretend otherwise – it’s long overdue.
So, yeah. I’m sure.
I’m just a girl, standing in front of a guy, asking him to fuck her in a greenhouse, or whatever it was Julia Roberts said.
“Positive,” I tell Declan, and that’s all he needs to hear. He grips my hips and lifts me, setting me on the shelf he’s had me pressed against. It’s just deep enough that I can perch comfortably without fear of falling off.
This time, when Declan steps closer and my legs slide around his hips, locking him in, his hard length presses into me exactly where I need him.
I tug his mouth to mine, my fingers tangling in his hair, and he grinds against my clit in a slow, torturous circle that sends shockwaves up my spine. “Yes,” I breathe against his lips.
Without breaking our kiss, Declan reaches down and tugs at the bottom of my dress, bunching it up around my hips. When his hand dips between my legs and he feels the silky material of my panties, already soaking wet for him, he groans into my mouth.
“Fuck,” he mutters, his fingers stroking me through the material. I arch against him and spread my legs wider, my head falling back on a gasp when his thumb finds my clit.
“God, yes. Right there.” He presses his thumb against me and circles it once, twice, before tugging my panties to the side for better access.
When he presses down again, the sensation of his skin against me there almost makes me come on the spot.
I grind against his hand shamelessly, chasing the orgasm that’s hurtling toward me at breakneck speed.
“Are you going to come for me?” His voice is low and delicious, a deep rumble in his chest. I’ve never been one for dirty talk – it was actually a turn off with my ex – but something about hearing Declan’s low voice in my ear while he touches me is really doing it for me.