Chapter 8 #2
Cedarwood, soap, and the faintest whisper of something spicy.
Pure trouble.
I froze. I needed to get out of here if I was thinking of descriptors for how Declan smelled.
I turned to put my spoon in the dishwasher and nearly ran straight into him. Or, more accurately, straight into his bare, golden, gloriously broad and built, still dotted with droplets of water from his shower chest.
My tongue felt too large as I tried to swallow, attempting to impart some moisture into my bone-dry mouth. And since I couldn’t just lean forward and lick up one of those rogue water drops, this was going to have to do.
For some dumb reason, my sanity left me entirely, and I lowered my gaze even farther.
Cataloging the silver barbell through his left nipple and the line of script tattooed on his right side.
Over the ripples of his abdomen and down to the towel slung so low on his hips, I could see that incredibly sculpted V and the dark hair that led straight to his—
Good god.
I blinked. Shook my head a little. Blinked again.
And…yep. The beast barely contained behind that thin piece of white terry cloth actually was that large. And what the hell was that tiny ball protruding at the bottom of the massive bulge?
Before I could mentally calculate the odds of his being a grower instead of a shower, I jerked my eyes up, only to find his gaze already locked on me. Studying me with that smug little smirk like he’d caught me mid-crime.
Which…okay, fair.
Because, yes, I was staring. And I definitely had counted each one of those muscles packed on his abdomen—for the record, there were eight.
And though I’d jerked my eyes up before mentally calculating the odds of his junk growing even larger, I’d already decided it didn’t matter—either would surely kill a girl.
Now was the time for me to break what had become an incredibly awkward silence. I needed to say something. Anything at all. But my brain flatlined, and the only sound I could muster was an undignified squeak.
“You’re looking a little flushed, rebel. Something wrong?” He stood so close to me that I could feel his minty-fresh breath ghosting over my lips, but I had nowhere to retreat in our too-small kitchen.
“No,” I said. “Actually, yes. Your towel is loose.”
He raised a brow. “That why you keep staring at it so hard?”
“I’m not—” I huffed out a frustrated breath. “Why are you even walking around like that?”
“Like what? Clean?”
“You know exactly like what. Like you’re auditioning for a strip club.”
He braced his ass against the counter opposite from me and crossed his arms over his chest. Like he wasn’t at all concerned about the perilously hanging towel falling or his being bare for all—read: me—to see if it did.
“I don’t know what you want me to do here, Penelope.
You’re the one who continues to turn up the heat.
I’m just adapting and trying to keep the peace. ”
“Oh, is that what this is?” I waved a hand to encompass his body. “A humanitarian strip show?”
He lifted a single shoulder. “Pretty sure you like whatever show I’m giving.”
“Pretty sure you’ve got brain damage from breathing in all that Axe body spray.”
“Never used the stuff, and women tell me I smell just fine.” He dropped his voice, his tone coaxing. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re trying to annoy me.”
“You’re welcome to file a complaint, but you’d have to stop staring first.”
This time, I did stare. Directly at his neck while thinking about wrapping my fingers around it and squeezing…squeezing.
“What’re you thinking about, rebel?” he asked, his voice an octave lower than usual.
I wet my lips and met his eyes, my words coming out breathier than intended. “Choking you with my bare hands.”
He darted his gaze over my face, studying me in a way that made me feel naked. Then he leaned close until our noses were just inches apart. “Maybe next time. If you’re a good girl.”
That little bastard.
I couldn’t remain in his presence for another second. My face was flaming, my brain was mush, and my body… Well, my body was a horny little traitor.
With a glare, I tossed the spoon into the sink and grabbed my mug off the counter. Then, with as much dignity as a person wearing fuzzy socks and an oversized Muppet costume could muster, I marched down the hall toward my bedroom.
I shut my door behind me and stood there, breathing hard. Like I’d just fled a predator and not a nearly naked man with inexplicably perfect hip bones and a barbell through his nipple.
After setting my mug on the nightstand, I began pacing back and forth while Darcy looked on in disinterest.
The absolute nerve of that man. He knew exactly which buttons of mine to push, and he reveled in doing so. Like my reactions were amusing to him. And then he’d just stood there, half naked, looking like…like…
God, it was hot in here.
That damn thermostat again, no doubt. Declan probably turned it up just to mess with me to get another reaction. Well, tough luck. I wasn’t going to give him one.
Instead, I tore off my Muppet hoodie and flung it on the bed, desperate for something to take my mind off my new roommate.
I grabbed my laptop, settled against the pillows on my bed, and navigated to my Tax Prep folder. I might as well use all this…emotion…for something productive and tackle the still-blank page.