6. Astrid
ASTRID
We’ve never kissed before.
Not even at our wedding.
And this isn’t at all how I imagined it happening.
Yes, I’ve imagined it. I shouldn’t have. I had intended not to kiss this man. Ever. But I’ve imagined it, wrapped in his shirt that I stole, in the dark, alone, when I’m having pain or working on my therapy and need to…fantasize. He’s my fantasy. I can’t help it.
And now I’m kissing him. Spontaneously. In the park. While he’s saving me from otters.
That’s so stupidly hot and unexpected, and I love it.
So, I’m kissing him.
His lips are firm and surprisingly soft, but I don’t take a full taste.
Not like I want to. A part of me is desperate to know how this man tastes.
How he kisses. What he would do if I opened my mouth and stroked my tongue along his lower lip.
I feel a tightening in my lower body, even imagining a low growl or really any kind of reaction that would show he was affected.
But another part, possibly a self-preservation instinct, tells me I do not want that.
A true, deep, hot kiss from Declan O’Grady is not something I will probably ever get over.
And considering it can’t go anywhere, why even start?
Even this right now is a bad idea. I already want more.
I pull back.
He looks completely stunned, and I do take a moment to enjoy that.
I think stunning Declan O’Grady is a difficult thing to do. He’s perfect. He does everything right all the time. At least he thinks he does.
“You can’t disparage the otters,” I explain. “Not around here. They’re basically everyone’s pets. If anyone hears you, they’ll run you out of town…” I trail off.
His mouth—his very kissable mouth, which I now focus on because it’s right there and my lips are still tingling from being pressed against it—curves up.
And damn. I’m in a lot of trouble.
“So you don’t want me run out of town? Rethinking your plan to divorce me already?”
He’s right. I should have let him cuss and hate on the otters and really get the town riled up. Him not being good to me got them upset, but him not treating the otters right might have gotten him banned from the city. It would have definitely made it onto the website.
“I…didn’t think that through,” I admit.
“I like that your instinct was to kiss me.”
His voice has always had that weird effect on my body, but that’s nothing compared to when I can feel it.
I’m very aware that I’m in his arms. He’s literally holding me.
His big hands are under my ass, his biceps bulging inside his fitted suit jacket, holding me up against him.
Sure, I’m hanging on. I don’t think I could unwrap my thighs from around him for even the promise of my own pet otter.
And that all means that when he talks, his voice rumbles through me, making all the previous effects ten times more powerful.
I clear my throat. “For the otters,” I say weakly.
His knowing gaze meets mine. “Do it again.”
My skin prickles, and I’m too aware of the way my shorts feel against my inner thighs and that I don’t want them there.
I want to take them off.
Just because he’s talking to me.
Good God.
“Do…what…” I swallow. “Again?”
“Kiss me.”
Yeah, I knew that’s what he meant. And my very loose, comfortable shorts feel really tight and need to come off.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He looks over my shoulder at something. “Well, I think this is going to make it on the website.”
Ah, he’s looking at someone.
“Dammit,” he mutters just then, looking down.
I glance down, too. There are now six otters where there were four before.
One is tugging on his pant leg.
“Are they dangerous?” he asks.
I laugh and look over at my purse. The others have it open and are digging inside. And I realize why we had otters specifically gathering around us.
“Uh, no. I think it’s my fault we were…”
“Accosted?”
I shrug. “Followed.”
He frowns at where they’re pulling items from my purse. “They’re mugging us?”
“I um…had shrimp in there. They must have smelled it.”
“You had shrimp? In your purse?”
I nod. Then a thought hits me, and I slap a hand over my mouth. “Oh my God,” I mumble from behind my hand.
“What?”
I start to wiggle so he’ll put me down.
That, of course, rubs my body against his, and I freeze for a second. His fingers curl into my butt.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I keep my hand over my mouth. “I just kissed you with shrimp breath.”
I’ve been eating shrimp all night. Spicy shrimp.
Ewww…
I wiggle again, needing to get down.
Our first kiss. And I have shrimp breath.
Oh my God.
But I guess that will keep him from kissing me again, which can only be a good thing. We can’t keep kissing. No matter how much I want to.
I feel his fingers curl into my ass again, and I stop wiggling. Our gazes collide.
“I’m going to let you down,” he says. “If that’s what you want. But it’s not because of your breath. I don’t care what you’ve been eating or drinking. You can always kiss me.”
Then he loosens his grip and lets me slide to the ground.
How is all of that even hotter than the kiss? Or at least hotter than it would have been if he would’ve kissed me again, or kept holding me?
My thoughts and worries are interrupted by the fact that the moment my feet touch the ground, I have an otter weaving between them.
Declan blows out a breath. “You’re telling me that having them dig through your purse isn’t odd?”
“There is actually an otter club that meets and brings tote bags full of items specifically for them to go through,” I say, watching the animals pick through the remaining items in my purse, which they have now scattered across the grass.
They have found and eaten all of the shrimp, the cayenne pepper clearly not bothering them. They are Louisiana otters after all.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
I turn my gaze back to his. “I’m not kidding when I say that these otters are practically royalty here.” Then I giggle.
His eyes widen with surprise and another emotion I’m not quite sure how to name. He looks almost…delighted.
“Sorry, even though I grew up with all of you, it sometimes hits me as amusing that you’re actually a prince.”
He tucks his hands into his pockets. “And you’re now a princess.”
I open my mouth to protest but then close it again.
He’s right. Because I’m married to him. Hell, we’re probably supposed to be going back home and attending festivals and ribbon cuttings, and hosting parties and stuff.
My sister is the king’s advisor, and she hasn’t said anything about having us attend dinners with VIPs or helping celebrate national holidays, but she also knows our marriage is in name only, so she’s probably trying to protect me.
Ugh. One more pile of expectations that I’m messing up.
The squeaking pulls my attention back to the animals at our feet.
“They’re pickpockets. They’ll go through any bag they find on the ground.
And zippers, snaps, and buttons are no barrier.
The otter club is designed to train them to only go through specific bags.
The totes the club uses are bright yellow, and people fill them with trinkets and treats that are fine for the otters to have.
The hope is that will help them leave other bags alone. ”
Declan lifts a brow and gives the otters a pointed look. “Unless, of course, they have shrimp in them.”
I lift a shoulder. “I guess that was just too much for them to resist.”
“Why do you have shrimp in your purse?”
“I couldn’t eat it all, but I couldn’t let Bruce know that. But I also didn’t expect to be lingering in the park with my bag of contraband.”
Declan just gives a noncommittal grunt.
“Thanks for trying to save me, though,” I say. It occurs to me that this is now the second time he’s swooped in to save me since he got back to town.
“Of course.” He says it as if it’s a given that he would do that.
“German Shepherd,” I say softly.
His gaze warms, and the corner of his mouth curls, and I realize that he likes that.
Which means I should probably stop saying it.
But I don’t want to.
Do people compliment Declan? I don’t mean on business deals. I can easily picture a conference room full of men in suits slapping him on the back and saying, “Damn good deal, O’Grady.”
But I can also easily picture even a roomful of other rich, powerful men being completely intimidated by Declan and saying nothing but, “Yes,” “Of course,” and “Great idea” to him.
Do people make him feel good? About the things he does? About himself?
Well…fuck.
One little flicker of warmth in his eyes, and I suddenly want to be sure he feels supported and encouraged and appreciated?
Dammit. I really need to get him gone. ASAP.
Declan bends and starts to gather all of my belongings into my purse. One of the otters quickly grabs a reusable straw and scampers away.
Declan takes a step in that direction, but I laugh. “Let her have it. It’s fine.” Though watching Declan chase an otter through the park would have been entertaining.
He huffs out a breath. “I’ll get you a new one.”
Right. I’ve known this man long enough to know that this is how he takes care of people: with money. From afar.
But the idea of him taking care of me up close and personal is far too appealing.
Like by sweeping me up into his arms and away from things that are hurting me or threatening me.
Dammit.
He was protective of me tonight. And it seemed instinctual rather than something he thought through.
Wouldn’t it be nice if he could help out with the real pain and things hurting you?
I can’t help those thoughts. He’s the reason I’m back in formal PT after all.
I force a smile. “I have several other straws.”
He looks frustrated by that. Probably because that means he can’t fix this.
That’s good. He needs to be frustrated. He needs to not want to be here in Rebel and with me.
Which means I am going to have to continue to push down the urges to make him feel better and make him happy.
He hands me my purse with everything inside, sans the reusable straw and shrimp.