Down and Out(56)

Laughter bellows out of him, deepening his dimples, and I have the sudden urge to take his scruffy face in my hands and kiss both of them.
“Kitten, you can f*ck me ten ways to Sunday and I’ll take it with a smile each and every time.” His perfect white teeth gnaw on his bottom lip as he glances at my mouth. He looks like he wants to kiss me, and my heart flutters faintly behind my ribcage. Instead, he leans forward and picks up the envelope from the coffee table, then hands it to me. “This is for you.”
I frown and take the package, pulling open the top tab to peer inside. They’re documents of some kind. My eyes scan the top sheet as I pull them out.
This document hereby certifies Declan Whitmore, hereinafter referred to as Party A, absolves employee Savannah Ryan, hereinafter referred to as Party B, from any repercussions, including but not limited to termination, incurred during or after any sexual contact which may occur…
My brows pull tighter as I scan the rest of the page. Is this . . . is this what I think it is? When I look up at Declan, it’s in total and utter confusion. “What the hell is this?”
“You said to get it in writing.” He says it cautiously, like he’s not sure if this will insult me or please me.
I glance back at the papers, turning to the subsequent pages. Sure enough, there it is, all spelled out in legal mumbo-jumbo—the stipulations of any future sex acts and what can and cannot result from them. Most of them, thankfully, are things that cannot happen. Like me getting the ax if this goes sour.
Declan clears his throat. “There’s more,” he says, turning it to the back pages, to a lease agreement.
My chest tightens as I read the fine print. He scoots over, looking over my shoulder.
“It’s good for a year. Says I can’t kick you out before then—unless I sell the place, but that’s not gonna happen.” His hand reaches across the paper. The white looks stark against the shaded, traditional-style anchor etched onto the back of his hand. “Sink” is written across the knuckles on his fingers, which point to section two, clause A. I know from memory that “swim” is tattooed onto his other hand, under a lifesaver. “Here’s the stipulation that this is a rent-free lease, and there’s nothing I can do to increase it, monetarily or . . . otherwise.”
I swallow and nod once, feeling that unnamed emotion swell in my chest, to the point that it makes my throat ache. “I see that.”
“And here,” he says, pointing a few lines down, “is the stipulation that you can walk away from this lease, free and clear, at any point you see fit.”
He’s thought of everything. Jesus, I’m happy enough when a guy simply remembers to bring a condom, but this . . . this is manning up on a whole different level.
“You filled out paperwork just to sleep with me. You know how creepy that is, right?” The papers waver in my vision and I laugh, quickly wiping my eyes. I’ve known Declan almost two weeks, and already I’ve cried in front of him more than anyone else, ever.
He leans in, and I feel the exhale of his soft chuckle on the curve of my ear. It sends shivers down my spine, making my skin prick and my nipples strain against the cotton cups of my bra. Velvety-soft lips kiss my temple and I close my eyes, soaking in this brief touch that I shouldn’t want as much and as fiercely as I do. This scares me, and just as the familiar, acrid fear starts to creep in, the kiss is over.
His nose brushes my hair as he murmurs, “You should’ve seen the look on the guy’s face when I got it notarized. He called it my ‘sex contract.’”
I bite my lip and giggle. In a way, I guess it is.
“Why’d you do all this?” I ask, gesturing to the stack of papers as I lean back and look at him. “I would’ve slept with you anyway. I might’ve regretted it in the morning, but. . .” I shrug, giving him a self-deprecating smile. “What else is new, right?”
Turning to face me, his long legs graze mine as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the faded denim covering his knees. His rough, callused hands roam up the sides of my bare calves, and I can’t help but remember how they felt someplace else—someplace a little more sensitive and whole lot wetter.
“I don’t want you to regret it. That’s why I did all this.” He stands and holds out his hand. “I’ve got something else to show you.”
My brows knit together as I slip my hand in his. He pulls me up, leading me out of the living room and down the hallway. We stop at the closed door of his home office, on the right and just before the bathroom. My frown deepens as I stare up at him, then back at the door. What’s this all about?
He turns the knob and pushes the door open, while my jaw goes slack. Gone are his desk and computer, and in its place is the comfiest-looking bed I’ve ever seen.
I step into the room, now painted a soft lilac instead of beige, and run my fingers over the cold pewter footboard. Wrought-iron vines and flowers make up the design of the full-sized bed, and the floral comforter matches the walls. A small white dresser sits off to the side, and there’s a white nightstand next to the bed.
Declan clears his throat behind me. “Do you like it? I tried to make it . . . girly.”
Tears obscure my view, making everything shimmery, and that weird, exciting feeling thrums through me, making my chest both tighten and swell. “You did this for me?”
I can’t look at him, not yet. This is too much—the room, my feelings, all of it. I don’t even know how to begin processing it.
“Well, I sure as shit didn’t do it for me.” His body presses into me, his hands dipping into my pockets as his nose skims my jaw. “If I had my way, you’d be in my bed with me, instead of in here. But I wanted you to have this option, if that’s what you want.”