Down and Out(40)

His hand wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I instinctively press my hand to his chest. The cotton of his shirt is soft beneath my fingers, but he feels warm and hard under that. A steady beat thumps against my palm—so unlike my erratic, flighty heartbeat. How is he so in control when I feel like a bomb about to go off?
“You want to know my favorite sound in the whole world?” His lips brush my jaw in agonizingly slow kisses. “It’s the way you say my name when you come, all breathy and needy. Hottest f*cking thing I’ve ever heard.”
My eyes squeeze shut, his declaration making my walls clench tight with lust right as his teeth nip my neck. Damn it, he baited me with that question and I walked right into it. If I were in the right state of mind, I’d be a little embarrassed, both by his answer and my body’s wanton response. A few words from this man and I turn into a damn slip-n-slide below the belt.
Fighting for control of my brain cells, I push him back, my chest rising and falling too rapidly for the desired aloofness I’ve spent years perfecting. “That only happened once,” I say, trying to control my breathing. “Last time I checked, I don’t say your name every time I come.”
Just the last few, but who’s keeping count?
Declan takes my chin in his callused hand, making sure my eyes are on his. “I have every intention of changing that, Kitten, make no mistake.” There’s no smile on his face or hint of playfulness in his voice, just flat-out determination as he stares me down before pressing a soft, almost reverent kiss to my forehead.
Before I do something stupid, like melt into him and wrap my arms around him, I climb off the bed, nearly tripping in my haste to put distance between us. “I, uh . . . have to go to the bathroom.”
I’m across the hall and locked in the bathroom before Declan can reply. Sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, I cradle my head in my hands as I stare at the tiled floor.
I still feel him pressed against me, warm and hard, yet soft. My eyes close as I remember his breath on my skin. Even now, it gives me chills.
My heart flutters in my chest like a moth in a jar, trapped and confused. Why am I so drawn to him? What is this?
I know I should back off. This thing with Declan, whatever it is, won’t end well. I know that, and yet part of me just wants to sit back and enjoy the ride down until its inevitable, fiery crash landing. Because that ride—oh, God, that ride will be so sweet and almost worth the pain.
Almost.
My fingers run through my hair, close to the scalp, as I groan and tug on the roots. I stand and start ripping my clothes off as I turn on the shower, not bothering to wait until the water’s warm to get in. I need to get rid of this feeling before it seeps in and becomes permanent.
Declan’s not permanent. No one is. I can’t let myself forget that.
I gasp at the ice cold water splashing over me and start scrubbing his memory away. Twenty minutes later, I turn off the water and pull the curtain aside, reaching for the empty towel rack.
Shit. I forgot I washed all the towels last night while Blake was tending to Declan. I’d needed something to do besides making myself sick with worry, and I’d totally spaced on taking the towels out of the dryer.
I wring out my wet hair and try to shake some of the excess water off before carefully stepping out of the tub and making my way over to the door. Of course, I still drip water everywhere.
Cracking the bathroom door open, I feel cool air from the hall slip in and prick my skin. I shiver and angle myself behind the door. “Declan?”
A second later, I hear his feet shuffling on the hardwood floor, then his voice on the other side of the door. “Yeah?”
“Can you get me a towel? They’re in the dryer.”
I can hear the grin in his voice as he says, “So you’re naked right now?”
“Just get me a towel!” I squeal, though I’m smiling too. “I’m frickin’ freezing.”
Declan laughs. “You need some clothes, too?”
He probably thinks I’m an idiot. Running away from him to get in the shower without remembering something as simple as a towel and a change of clothes. I wince, glad that he can’t see me, and mumble, “Maybe.”
“Maybe? Well shit, Kitten, if clothes are optional—”
“Yes, I need clothes! God.” I hang my head, hearing him laugh as he walks away. How is it possible to blush and shiver at the same time?
Declan returns a couple minutes later and passes a white towel through the crack in the door. “Oh, thank you,” I say, gratefully grabbing the fluffy towel from him and wrapping it around my trembling body.
He holds out a folded up top and some bottoms and I take those from him too. I don’t see any underwear and I’m actually kinda glad, because the thought of him rifling through my panties is too much to—
His tattooed wrist appears back in the doorway, and dangling off his pointer finger is the black lace thong I’d teased him about holding my first night here. My teeth scrape my lip as I grin and take them from him. “What is it with you and these panties?”
“What can I say, they’ve made an impression.”
“And what about a bra?” I ask, holding my hand through the crack expectantly. Hell, him picking out a bra is nothing compared to him picking out a thong, so he might as well just hand it over.
“You don’t need a bra,” Declan says, taking my hand in his and kissing my palm.
Is he kidding? “You seriously didn’t get me one?” I peek out the crack in the door and see him walking back into his room, shaking with the force of his laughter.