Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Dublin—12 years ago
Declan hadn’t planned on staying at the pub after he left a message for his Uncle Iain. But Brian, who normally handled the door Friday nights, had suddenly bent over in agony and rushed to the toilets at the back of the building. To help his cousin out, Declan offered to fill in. He thought that keeping an eye out for troublemakers, with the chance of maybe knocking some heads together, was a welcome distraction from the anger that had been simmering in him all week. Not to mention it was a nice change from his every-day corporate life.
His mother’s family, the McGraths, had built an entertainment empire across Ireland. They owned several bars and clubs in Dublin, including one in the famous Temple Bar area. The Celtic Crown was slightly off the main, and while it might not be the first stop on a tourist’s pub crawl, it was frequently one of the last, and saw plenty of excitement between the locals and the tourists.
After the last week, Declan had enough anger boiling under his skin that he almost hoped he’d have an excuse to fight. So far, the opportunity hadn’t presented itself. Instead, he watched the striking brunette with pale skin and red lips who had come in with a hen party a couple of hours ago. He appreciated beautiful women. What healthy twenty-five-year-old man didn’t? But there was something about this girl that had his gaze returning to her again and again.
Her outfit didn’t scream look at me in the way some of the other skimpy, tighter dresses around her did. But he wasn’t the only one in the pub who had noticed her short leather skirt, tights and high-necked sleeveless blue top that looked like it was painted on.
Her hair was long and dark, nearly black, a tone so deep that under the twinkle lights decorating the bar, it looked almost blue as it hung in long waves down her back. She turned her head, lips parted in laughter at something the bride said, and he stared.
Declan couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. His gaze followed her graceful neck each time it tilted back to down one of the many shots she and her friends were consuming.
His cousin Colum relieved him for a few minutes, and when Declan returned to his post at the door, he couldn’t find her. Declan stood, his full height allowing him to glance over the heads of most in the pub. No sign of her or her friends. He shoved the pang of disappointment away.
You have bigger things to worry about than some random girl.
The next hour passed quickly as the pub filled with the cheerful sounds of a Friday night. Declan felt his muscles relax, and rolled his shoulders. The simple task of working security at the door of one of his family’s many establishments was more relaxing than his life in New York. When he was in Ireland, he was Siobhan’s boy, not the heir apparent to his father’s billion-dollar media empire.
His cousin worked his way through the crowd, his black T-shirt stretching across his biceps, and pressed a pint into Declan’s hand.
“Thanks,” he said, taking an appreciative sip. Nothing tasted as good as Guinness on tap.
“How are things going with Seamus?” Declan’s mood soured with the mention of his older half-brother. He might sometimes resent being sent to live in the States with his father when he was twelve, but there were drawbacks to Dublin as well. Family ties and loyalties ran deep alongside grudges.
His mother, Siobhan, was the youngest of her siblings and the only girl in the McGrath household. She had been welcomed into the family business when she was ready, but there had never been any question that the vast, powerful business the McGrath family had amassed over the last century, legal and otherwise, would pass to the eldest male heir and his offspring.
Siobhan married Oein Riordan, much to her family’s dismay, when she was young and had Seamus soon after. But when her husband was killed during a robbery, it left Siobhan and Seamus in an odd position.
A McGrath by his mother, but also a Riordan by blood and name, Seamus’s loyalties were even murkier than Declan’s. At least, Declan’s father never got into physical turf wars with his mother’s family the way the Riordans and the McGraths had. When Declan was born, the result of Siobhan’s relationship with the American billionaire David Bloom, the first lines were drawn between him and his brother.
David Bloom claimed his son and raised him to take over his own empire one day, whereas Seamus felt lost in the middle. Close to power on so many fronts, but no chance for his own.
The result was a resentful man who frequently saw his younger brother as a rival. Declan had little in common with his elder brother, and as time passed, he became increasingly impatient with Seamus’s lack of ambition.
Declan offered him a job at Bloom Communications, but his brother had scoffed at him. Seamus would rather spend his afternoons in a pub with his Riordan cousins, talking big and making sketchy deals that would only end up getting him into trouble that Declan had to fix.
It was the reason Declan’s mother summoned him home last week, and the source of yet another argument with his father. David Bloom had been furious, hating what he considered Declan’s misplaced priorities. If the senior Bloom had his way, Declan would cut ties with Seamus instead of flying thousands of miles to bail his brother out of a deal that had gone badly. But what could he do? Seamus was his blood.
“Declan?” His cousin’s words brought him back.
“It’s taken care of.”
Colum’s lips pressed into an angry line. “He needs to stay away from Padraig Riordan.”
Declan grunted and took a long draw of his drink.
“I’m serious. He’s reckless. Cuts corners and pisses off the wrong people.” Brown eyes met Declan’s with a message he wanted to ignore. “Seamus is going to end up in jail or dead. No one will be able to help him then.”
Declan’s neck tightened. His McGrath uncles had made it clear they were done protecting Seamus. His last deal, selling guns to a dubious group, had taken place inside a McGrath establishment. There was a lot their family would forgive, but putting the legal businesses at risk by conducting illegal activities was forbidden.
“He’ll bring you down with him,” David Bloom said, after Declan briefed him on why he needed to go to Ireland for a few weeks.
“I’ll be back when I can.” His violet stare met his father’s. He would not defend his decision.
Red crept up his father’s neck, and he slammed his hands down on his desk. “You are my son and an officer of this company. You can’t gallivant around the world paying off criminals for your brother.”
Blood beat behind Declan’s eyes. “Only for my father, then?”
David Bloom’s eyes narrowed. “Be careful, boy. I’ve given you this position, and I can take it away just as easily.” He snapped his fingers. “You have two brothers behind you, happy to take your place.”
Declan’s spine tingled, even though he knew it was a bluff. “Neither Luke nor James have any interest in working for this company, and you know it. They haven’t even graduated college yet.” He leaned forward, bracing his hands, arms extended on his father’s wide wood desk, and let his father see his resolve.
David Bloom was a bully, and he would pounce if Declan showed the slightest weakness. “I’ve earned my spot in this company, but if you don’t want me here anymore, say the word. I’ve got no problem going somewhere else.”
To his surprise, his father was the first to blink. David Bloom picked up his fountain pen and scribbled a signature across the check in front of him. Declan straightened.
“Two weeks.” His father held up a finger. “I don’t give a fuck what is happening with your degenerate brother, or how angry your mother is with me. Your ass is in your seat in that board room in two weeks.”
Declan controlled his features. Was his father saying what he thought he was saying?
David’s upper lip wrinkled. “You’ve been asking long enough.”
“You’ll name me president.” It wasn’t a question.
“Two weeks.” He returned to his papers. “Send Lucille in on your way out.”
Declan stared at his father’s bent head for a minute, his jaw working. It was the carrot his father had dangled in front of him for years. Everyone knew that, despite his age, Declan was making more and more of the decisions at Bloom Communications, and that this was the path always intended for him.
He didn’t have any illusions that his father was giving up control. David Bloom would still be in charge as CEO, but it was the first step in handing over the reins.
“Tell Siobhan I send my love,” David Bloom called, as Declan reached the door.
That was a week ago. The situation with Seamus had been easier to smooth over than Declan first thought. Once he handed over the cash, it seemed all was forgiven by the Albanians.
“I’ve convinced him to take a position in the States with one...”
Declan trailed off, his attention caught by something over Colum’s shoulder.
She’s still here.
A bizarre feeling of excitement passed through him at the sight of her, swiftly extinguished as he watched her stumble through the bar. Her eyes were owlish and she had a vaguely confused expression on her face. Declan tracked her until she joined a group on the side. He peered across the crowded pub. That didn’t look like the group she came in with. But at that distance he couldn’t be sure.
“He’s leaving Dublin?” Colum’s ginger eyebrows climbed his forehead.
Declan forced his eyes away from the beauty. “For now, at least.”
Colum clapped him on the back. “Hope it works out.” His tone didn’t hold much hope. Declan sighed. He didn’t have much either.
A cold, steady rain began, and Declan lifted the stool he was half-perched on further into the doorway. He stretched his neck, and scanned the thinning crowd.
His blood blazed white hot.
From the back hallway, the brunette was being led—more accurately half-carried—by two drunk idiots. Her head bobbled, and Declan surged to his feet and raised his hand to signal Colum at the end of the bar, but his cousin was busy talking to a customer and didn’t see.
Declan’s fists clenched, his body thrumming with an irrational level of rage. Any woman being taken advantage of would make him angry, but the absolute primal desire to protect this girl was new and slightly alarming.
Declan forced himself to stay where he was. He watched the men hold her up against the bar and felt a moment’s relief when one of Colum’s bartenders took one look at the girl and shook his head with a scowl.
Finally catching his cousin’s eye over the crowd, he lifted his chin toward the trio. Colum frowned and immediately made his way toward the two men. The McGrath’s had very strict policies on behavior in their pubs, and everyone knew it. These morons must be tourists to think they would get away with that shit here.
Denied at the bar, they moved toward the door, their speed slowed by the woman held up between them, who stumbled every few feet. One of the assholes slid his hand under her skirt, and when her face scrunched as she tried to twist away, Declan was off the stool before he realized it. Hauling the man groping her back by his collar, Declan threw him to the side as Colum roared Declan’s name. Probably in a vain attempt to remind Declan to keep his head. Too late.
Fury pulsed through him as he pulled his arm back and slammed his fist into the other asshole’s jaw, throwing him backward into the crowd. Pints and glasses went flying as people turned angrily, launching themselves into the brawl. Shattering glass and screams echoed as the band came to an abrupt halt and customers fled out into the rain.
A blow to the side of his head rocked him to the side, and he tasted blood. Shoving those in his path out of his way, Declan frantically searched the room.
Where had she gone? He needed to make sure she was okay. He didn’t stop to ask why he had such an overwhelming urge, he just accepted that he did. The two men who accosted her were helping each other to the door... But the girl was gone.
“What the fucking hell?” Colum raged at him as he comped the people still in the bar, and shut the door, locking it. “You’re lucky no one called the Gardai, and it was almost closing time. You can’t fight customers.”
“They were going to rape her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. She was wasted. She had no idea what was happening.”
Colum shoved a hand through his short hair and surveyed the damage. “Yeah, well, she’s gone now, and we’re left with a right mess.”
“I’ll clean it up.”
Colum arched a brow. “Prince Valiant is good with a broom and mop?”
“Fuck off.” Declan’s blood was still hot, but what bothered him the most was the feeling that he’d lost something. Which was ridiculous. He’d never even spoken to the girl.
It took him two hours to clean the bar. Colum had stayed for a bit to help, but after they’d cleared the broken chairs and swept up most of the broken glass, Declan insisted his cousin go home.
“I’ve got it, mate,” he said, taking a garbage bag from Colum’s hand. “Go home.”
Declan locked the door behind his cousin and finished cleaning the bar. He was on his way to the back door with the garbage bags when he heard a faint snuffling noise. He froze, listening.
It wasn’t unusual in these old buildings to have mice, but when the noise came again, he realized it was human and coming from the ladies’ bathroom. He sighed. Great, a straggler.
Declan pushed the door open slowly and ducked down to peer under the stall. A pair of black boots was visible, slumped against the opposite wall.
Shit, please don’t be an overdose.
He pulled at the door, but the latch was thrown. The snuffling came again.
Okay, still breathing. That’s a good sign.
“Oi! Pub’s closed. You need to come out.”
Declan’s annoyance grew when the person didn’t answer. He wasn’t in the mood for this shit. He slapped his palm against the door twice, the lock rattling loudly.
He heard a squeak and then a low moan. “Are you okay in there?”
A quiet voice muttered something that sounded like “worst party ever,” before the boots scraped against the floor, followed by the metallic snap of the latch.
It was her. Her eyes, a crazy, deep sapphire-blue were still bleary, but she didn’t seem quite as out of it as she had before. She lurched forward, gaze serious, her entire being focused on walking and staying upright.
“Pub’s closed.” He repeated, extending a hand to help her, but pulled it back when she just stared at it.
“Ow.” She grimaced. A hand rose to the side of her head.
Declan frowned at the angry welt marring her skin. His fingers reached out, and lifted her heavy hair away from her face before he was aware of what he was doing. She reared back, and their eyes met and locked. Her pupils flared wide with alarm.
Declan swallowed a curse and gestured at her injury. “You’ve hit your head.”
Her fingertips gingerly felt around her hairline. “I fell?” Her gaze lifted to his again, and she leaned backward as if she just realized how close they were standing. “I should go.”
“Where are you staying? You’re not in any shape to be wandering the streets of Dublin by yourself.”
Declan was only thinking of the liability for the pub, he assured himself. She’d hurt herself on the premises. He was solely motivated by the need to protect his uncle’s business from being sued, he tried to tell himself. He was absolutely not trying to prolong his time with her. Because that would make zero sense.
Her eyes darted to the door, but the slow tracking of her pupils showed she was still drunk, and it occurred to him she might have a concussion. Declan had his share from playing rugby, and while it didn’t look serious, he didn’t think she should be alone, wandering a strange city in the rain in the middle of the night.
“Here, come into the light.” He caught her hand, ignoring the surge of electricity that traveled up his arm when he took her fingers in his, and gently pulled her forward. “It’s too dark in here,” he explained when she hesitated. “You could have a concussion.”
Her face eased, and a tiny sigh slipped from her lips. His gaze immediately dropped to her mouth and the deep reddish pink color of her lips. Declan had a sudden urge to touch the full curve of her bottom lip to see if the color was natural.
“You stopped those guys earlier.”
Declan looked down at her as he pulled the bathroom door open, but didn’t bother answering.
She tripped in her boots as he guided her past the chairs, and he put his hand on the curve of her waist to keep her upright. Declan thought she would pull away, but when she rested her weight against him, he had to fight the desire to pull her closer.
What the fuck is happening?
While the Celtic Crown would never be accused of being brightly lit, the lights on the side of the bar were enough to see her face clearly. He tipped her chin up with his forefinger so that the light fell across her face.
She was beautiful. Even with her makeup smeared, and the now messy mass of thick dark hair tangled around her face, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“How’d ya know?” Her slightly slurred words brought him back as he moved a finger in front of her face. Not the most scientific of tests, but Declan thought she was okay.
Her pointer finger tapped the tip of his nose, startling him. “Answer the question.”
Declan stared, his own lips twitching when a dreamy smile crossed her face. “How did I know what?”
“How’d ya know I wasn’t with them?”
Declan wasn’t about to admit that he’d remembered when she came in. That he’d been watching her but that he’d somehow missed when she was left behind, and that she was becoming incapacitated.
The finger poked at the corner of his mouth, and he had the inappropriate desire to close his lips over it and suck it in. “Smile, frowny face. We’re in Ireland. I’ve never been to Ireland before.”
Declan removed her hand, but didn’t let go as he lowered it between them. “I don’t think you have a concussion. But you’re going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow.”
“Are you a doctor?” Her brow creased.
“Hmm?” He needed to step back. Let go of her hand. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Are. You. A. Doctor?” She over enunciated the words as if he was the one off his head instead of her.
His lips quirked. Even drunk, she was adorable. “No. But I’ve seen plenty of concussions.”
She placed her free hand on his bicep and squeezed before running her hand over his chest. Declan’s stomach clenched.
“You’re huge and hot. Are you a fighter?”
“Rugby.” He grunted, willing his body to not react.
She doesn’t know what she’s doing, asshole.
“Hmmm.” Slowly, she removed her hand.
Declan let out a heavy sigh. “Let’s get you home.”
She pouted, and the hand was back on his chest. “You could come.”
Declan’s eyes squeezed shut, her words sending his cock a message he knew she wouldn’t mean sober. The invitation in her eyes was crystal clear, and any other time, he wouldn’t hesitate to take her home and lose himself in her body for the rest of the night, but the universe clearly hated him.
He’d done a lot of bad things, but taking advantage of an inebriated woman wasn’t one of them.
“You have no idea how much I want to take you up on that.” Declan didn’t realize he’d said it out loud until she responded.
“Then do it.” Her eyes beamed at him, and for the tiniest moment, he let himself sink into them. They really were phenomenal.
“Where are you staying, lass?”
She snorted with laughter. “Lass. Isn’t that Scottish?”
“Not always,” Declan answered. “Are you here with friends? What’s the name of your hotel?”
She looked worried for a minute, and then her brow cleared. Grabbing the collar of her shirt, she pulled it away from her body and looked back at him with a bright smile that hit him like a bolt to the chest.
“Found it!” she exclaimed happily, as she attempted to bend her arm at an angle to reach inside the tight, high neckline. She scowled. “Stupid top… can’t reach.” Her hands went to the hem, and she began tugging it up. He saw a tantalizing stretch of white skin before he pushed her top back down.
“You don’t want to do that, lass. You aren’t home yet.”
She stared at him like he was an idiot. “I know. My key is in my bra.”
“Oh.” Was that supposed to make sense?
She tugged hard at the neckline, and he heard the distinct sound of threads popping, but it apparently gave her enough room to maneuver, and she pulled out her phone and a plastic hotel room key.
“It’s like Mary Poppin’s purse in there. What’s that on your arm?” Declan caught her wrist and turned her arm over. “You came prepared.” He laughed.
“Huh?” She peered down at the lipstick writing on her arm. “Oh! That’s me.” She pointed with her other hand to a smeared spot followed by the word ‘Rose.’ “And that,” she said triumphantly, pointing to the other words, “is my hotel and room number. That nice red-haired bride helped me.”
“Is that why you smell like roses, because of your name?”
Jesus. Did I really just say that?
“Rose perfume like my Grandma Rose. She didn’t take shit and I don’t take shit!” For some reason, that made her almost double over laughing.
“Okay, Rose. The Blackwater isn’t far from here,” he said, naming the hotel written on her arm. “I’ll walk you back. Sit here while I finish closing up.”
Declan led her to one of the low chairs, and swiftly shut off the lights and locked the doors.
When he pulled her to her feet, she slid an arm around his waist and leaned into his chest. “You smell good.”
And then she nuzzled his chest. Literally nuzzled her cheek against him. “But you’re too hard.”
Blood surged to his groin.
No. Asshole. Drunk.
Before Declan realized what he was doing, he had dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the top of her hair, catching a hint of rose again.
That move alone shocked the hell out of him.
Rose sighed and leaned heavier against him, stumbling as they navigated the cobblestones in her heeled boots.
Declan ended up half-carrying, half-walking her the short distance to the small boutique hotel where she was staying. Swiping her key card on the external pad, he pulled the door open and helped her inside, his arm around her waist.
A young man behind the desk looked up disinterestedly until he caught sight of Rose slumped against Declan.
“Good night, eh?” He gave Declan a knowing leer and then blanched when Declan leveled a blistering glare at him.
His throat bobbed when he swallowed. “Her friends came back earlier. They’re looking for her.”
The young man glanced at Rose. “Need some help? She’s pretty out of it, huh?”
Declan didn’t like the way the man’s eyes lingered on the length of Rose’s legs in the short skirt and shifted her body so that his larger frame partially blocked it. “My girlfriend’s fine.”
With another dark glare at the man for good measure, he jostled Rose a little to get her moving again. “Come on, lass. Let’s get you to bed.”
“About time!” Against his chest, he heard her snort with laughter. She lifted her head and looked up at him with a bright smile. “How’d you know my name was Rose?”
His lips twitched. “It’s on your arm.”
She lifted it and stared at the smeared red writing. “Oh yeah. That was really nice of that bride.”
“ That bride? Was there more than one?” he asked, using his free hand to swipe her card, keeping the other one wrapped around her to keep her upright.
She thought for a moment as though it were a serious question, and then nodded solemnly. “At least two.”
“Hmm.” Declan tried not to laugh, thankful she was at least an accommodating drunk.
Rose stumbled in front of him into the room. He flipped on the overhead light and turned to place her phone and key card on the table when he felt her fingers plucking at the hem of his shirt. His skin burned where her fingertips stroked over him.
“Take this off. I want to see.”
Declan leaned away, but Rose got one hand fully underneath, her palm splayed across his stomach. Then she purred. Actually, fucking purred. A sound from low in her chest and so sultry, he was instantly, painfully hard against his zipper.
“You’re so warm,” she hummed, her fingers tracing over his abs.
Declan felt like a fucking inferno, but there was nothing he could do about it. He needed to stop this before he did something they’d both regret.
I deserve a sainthood, he thought, walking her backward toward the bed, as her hand continued to explore his skin under the shirt.
The back of her knees hit the bed, and she dropped like a rock. “Oof.”
Declan kneeled in front of her and slowly removed her boots. He eyed her stockings, skirt, and top. She’d be more comfortable sleeping without them, but he wasn’t that big of a masochist.
Reaching behind her, he caught the top of the coverlet and pulled it back. “Okay, Rose, under the covers.”
She blew out a breath, her plump lips vibrating in a raspberry. “I have to pee.”
Rose struggled to her feet, dropping back twice before she was able to stand on her own.
“I’ve got it,” Rose said, when he tried to steady her. She stumbled to the door next to the bed and rested her cheek on the door jamb. “Wait here. Don’t move.”
As soon as she was under the covers he’d go, Declan promised himself. He heard water running and then giggles. Was she okay?
“Rose?”
The door swung open suddenly, and Declan’s mouth went dry. Rose had used her time in the bathroom to pull off all of her clothes and now stood completely nude in front of him.
Look at her face, asshole.
Declan swallowed hard just before she launched herself at him, and his arms were suddenly full of soft, warm skin.
His body reacted instinctively, arms wrapping around her. His brain registered silky skin and hard nipples pressed to his chest. Electric shocks sprouted over his body, and urgent raw hunger coiled tight inside him.
No.
He lifted his hands to her shoulders and somehow managed to get her into the bed without touching anything else he shouldn’t.
But… Fuck… She was perfect.
Declan grit his teeth as he pulled the coverlet up to her shoulders. Rose blinked up at him in confusion, like she couldn’t quite figure out what had happened. She wasn’t the only one.
His body strained against his clothing, the caveman in him wanting to rip off his own clothes and press his body against all that soft skin. His muscles tense, Declan retrieved the trashcan from the bathroom and filled a glass with water before placing both next to the bed.
“Thanks,” she whispered, her eyes drifting shut.
He should leave now. The girl was safe in her hotel bed. Declan didn’t belong here. Except everything in him told him to stay. It didn’t make sense. He’d hadn’t even had a coherent conversation with Rose, and yet he felt drawn to her.
His Irish grandmother had been full of stories about Celtic mysticism and fate, that he’d always dismissed as superstitious nonsense. For a split second before his logical brain reengaged, it struck him that the concept didn’t feel so far-fetched anymore.
Declan brushed a heavy lock of hair off her forehead, and Rose let out a contented sigh.
“Goodbye, Rose,” he whispered, and then did something completely out of character. Declan leaned forward and kissed her forehead, allowing his lips to linger for a minute as he inhaled her scent.
Shaking his head at his ridiculousness, Declan picked up her clothes off the bathroom floor and set them on the chair.
Why are you stalling?
A soft snore disturbed the silence, and he smiled. No more excuses. It was time to go. Turning off the bathroom light, his hand was on the door handle when he heard the first whimper. A sound so sad he couldn’t help but look back.
Rose’s eyes were screwed shut, her face scrunched in unhappiness. He hesitated with the exterior door partially open.
It’s just a nightmare. People have nightmares.
A low, mournful sound filled the room. “Don’t. I won’t tell. I promise. Open the door. Please.” Her voice bordered on panic, and she began thrashing under the covers.
Declan shut the door with a quiet snick. “Rose.” He sat on the side of the bed and shook her shoulder. “Rose,” he repeated, leaning closer.
Her eyes flew open, and for a minute she stared up at him, her gaze burning into his. “Don’t leave me alone in the dark.”
Was she awake, or was this a night terror?
Either way, he hurried to turn the bathroom light on, pulling the door so that a thin band fell across the foot of the bed.
“Please. Don’t leave me,” her soft voice begged.
Declan knew she wasn’t fully present in the moment. Most likely she had no idea what she was saying, but his self-control had officially reached its limit.
Toeing off his boots, he pulled the cover back to join her in the bed. Just until she was solidly asleep, he told himself.
But when she rolled toward him, pressing her full breasts against his arm, her nipples peaking, Declan thought he might break. His cock throbbed painfully against the zipper of his jeans, and he adjusted himself while trying to think of anything but the naked woman next to him.
Nope.
He was trying to do the right thing, but Declan was far from a saint. Sitting up abruptly, he pulled his shirt over his head and then forced it over Rose’s head, gently working her arms into the sleeves. Her hair looked like a tousled dark halo around her pale skin, illuminated only by the bathroom light. She pursed her lips and frowned. She was definitely awake now.
“Go to sleep, Rose.”
She flopped back on the pillow and tucked her hands under her cheek. “I know this is a dream, but this is the best one I’ve had in a long time.” She rubbed her toes against his shins. “Those are rough. Take them off.”
“Not a good idea.”
Seriously, he wanted a medal and maybe a fucking parade.
“Yes.” Rose rubbed her feet against him. “I don’t like it. Sexy dream men don’t wear jeans to bed.”
Her hands went to his buckle, and Declan grabbed her hands, trapping them before pulling them away. The second he let go, they were back, a stubborn expression on her face.
“If I take them off, will you roll over and go to sleep?”
“MmmHmm.”
“Seriously?”
“Promise.”
What the fuck are you doing?
This is a terrible fucking idea.
Declan ignored his brain, frantically telling him to stop, as he removed his pants under the covers and tossed them to the floor.
He had lost his mind. It was the only rational explanation for how he was behaving.
Declan huffed a quiet laugh and lay back down, careful to leave at least a foot of space between them. Lying on his side facing her, he watched fascinated as she gave him a sweet smile, before her thick lashes drifted shut again, casting shadows across her cheeks.
Declan watched her sleep for far longer than he should have. They were strangers. This was complete madness. But he couldn’t deny that lying next to her, listening to her breathe, filled him with an odd sense of peace.
He didn’t know what was happening, but as he allowed himself to close his eyes, he accepted that whatever it was… He wasn’t going to walk away.