CHAPTER 14 Declan #2
I reach out, my hands settling heavily on her waist.
Maeve gasps, a soft, involuntary sound, her hands automatically coming up to rest flat against my chest. The physical contact is a shock to the sterile environment of the penthouse. Her body is warm, soft, and completely rigid with tension.
"I control the variables," I say, my voice dropping to a rough whisper. My thumbs press lightly into the soft cotton of her shirt, right above her hip bones. "And right now, you are a variable that is threatening to burn out before the mission even starts."
"I'm fine," she lies, her pulse hammering against my palms.
"You are shaking."
"The air conditioning is too high."
I don't argue with the lie. I slide my hands around to the small of her back, pulling her a fraction of an inch closer. The space between us vanishes. Her thighs brush against mine, the friction sending a violent, possessive jolt straight down my spine.
She doesn't pull away. She leans into the contact, her hands sliding up my chest to grip the lapels of my blazer.
"What are you doing?" she whispers, her eyes wide, searching my face.
"I am giving you a distraction."
I lower my head, my mouth hovering a millimeter above hers. I don't kiss her immediately. I let the anticipation build, letting the heat of my breath mix with hers, feeling the exact moment her chaotic energy shifts from panic to pure, concentrated desire.
"Declan," she breathes, the word a desperate plea.
I close the distance.
The kiss is nothing like the frantic, adrenaline-fueled collision in the car. It is slow. Deliberate. Devastating. I press my mouth against hers, tasting the faint trace of peppermint tea and the salt of her skin.
She opens her mouth for me with a soft, yielding sigh, her fingers tangling in the fabric of my shirt. I deepen the kiss, my tongue sweeping over hers, claiming the space with a slow, agonizing thoroughness.
I walk her backward.
She stumbles slightly, her socks slipping on the smooth marble, but I hold her steady, absorbing her weight against my chest. I back her up until her spine hits the massive, floor-to-ceiling window.
The cold glass presses against her back, but the heat between us is absolute.
I pin her there, my body pressing flush against hers, trapping her between the glass and my chest. I slide one hand up her spine, tangling my fingers in the messy knot of her hair, tilting her head to expose the long, bruised column of her throat.
I don't kiss the bruises. I press my mouth to the soft, unblemished skin just below her jawline, my teeth scraping lightly against her pulse.
Maeve lets out a shattered, breathless sound, her hands gripping my shoulders tightly.
"You want control," I murmur against her skin, my voice a dark vibration. "Take it."
She doesn't hesitate.
She pulls my head back up, her hands framing my face, and kisses me with a fierce, demanding hunger that completely strips away the last of my professional discipline.
She bites my lower lip, a sharp, stinging pain that I welcome, her tongue sliding against mine in a chaotic, beautiful war for dominance.
I let her win.
I let her push me backward, reversing our positions until my back hits the edge of the heavy marble dining table. She crowds into my space, her hands sliding under the lapels of my blazer, pushing the heavy fabric off my shoulders.
The jacket hits the floor with a soft thud.
She reaches for the hem of my t-shirt, her fingers brushing the bare skin of my stomach. The touch is electric, sending a violent shudder through my core.
But as she pulls the shirt up, her knuckles brush against the thick, taped bandage on my left shoulder.
I wince—a sharp, involuntary intake of breath as the torn muscle protests the sudden movement.
Maeve freezes instantly.
She drops the hem of the shirt, stepping back as if she just touched a live wire. The heavy, intoxicating fog of desire shatters, replaced by the stark reality of the room.
"I hurt you," she says, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with sudden guilt.
"No." I reach for her, ignoring the throbbing pain in my shoulder. "It's fine. Maeve, come here."
"You're bleeding again."
She points to the bandage. A small, fresh spot of dark red is blooming through the white medical tape. The physical exertion of the kiss tore the scab open.
She takes another step back, wrapping her arms around her waist, the defensive walls slamming back into place with terrifying speed.
"I can't do this," she whispers, shaking her head. "I'm just... I'm ruining everything. I ruined your mission. I ruined your shoulder. If we do this, I'm going to get you killed tomorrow night."
"That is a completely irrational calculation," I say, keeping my voice steady, trying to anchor her before she spirals completely.
"It's the truth!" she fires back, her voice cracking. "I am a liability, Declan. You said it yourself. I am a chaotic, messy liability, and the closer I get to you, the more dangerous it is for both of us."
She turns away from me, walking quickly toward the hallway leading to the guest bedrooms.
"Maeve."
She doesn't stop. She doesn't look back.
"I'm going to sleep," she says, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I'll be ready at 2:00 AM tomorrow."
The heavy wooden door of the bedroom clicks shut, leaving me standing alone in the massive, sterile living room.
I look down at the fresh blood seeping through my bandage.
She is right. She is a liability. She is chaotic, unpredictable, and entirely dangerous to my survival.
And as I stand in the dark, staring at the closed door, I know with absolute certainty that I will gladly let her destroy me.