It takes me a moment to get it. We’re at a hotel. A boutique one, and they seem to know Declan here as we’re led past the concierge and to the elevators by the man whoopened the door. When we reach the third floor, he walks us toward a room, uses a key card to open the door, and he takes my bag in. Two other bags are already there. “The honeymoon suite.”
I wander around, my heart thumping. No trails of petals or heart-shaped bed, just low lights and a king-size bed with an upstairs Jacuzzi and more formal sitting area.
I come back down to the where Declan’s stripping off his suit jacket. He then pours champagne for me and whiskey for himself.
“Where’s the other bed?” I look hopefully at the sitting area down here with its fat couches and an unlit fireplace.
“This one’s big enough. Unless you want to invite a football team?”
“Oh, is that your thing? Orgies?”
He laughs and sips his drink, holding out the bubbly for me. I take it, like I’m not really here, like this is a dream. “No, but you might be my thing.”
“Are you trying to convince me you like me?” My heart beats hard and fast.
“You tried to get me locked up, Molly. There isn’t much to like and less to trust, but…yeah, you still might be my thing.”
I sway the tiniest bit, my panties getting wetter by the second. I want to soak in the Jacuzzi, or at least take a bath to rest my muscles. Almost as much as I want to jump his bones and find out if the fuss is what I think it might be.
He causes magic to happen when he touches me, and when he went down on me…I shiver… If he does that so freaking masterfully, what must the real thing be like?
He sighs, kicks off his shoes and socks, slides off his belt, and pulls off his tie. The shirt he’s wearing is beautiful, and, I realize it isn’t white, it’s the same almost white asmy dress.
But he doesn’t reach for me. He undoes his cufflinks and puts them next to the bottle of booze.
He finishes his drink, then tops it off. When we met, he had thick silver rings on his fingers, Irish-looking symbols and crests, now there’s just the cheap wedding ring which catches the light as he raises his glass to his mouth.
Declan Murphy is, any way you look at it, gorgeous. Tall, charming, with that illusionary touch of accessible. He’s got the gift of the gab with deliciously devious fingers and kisses in a way that could make angels weep.
He could even make the Devil grit his teeth with jealousy over the way he can undo someone.
Not just me.
That’s the thing.
And I saw Amanda’s desire beneath her vitriol.
I’m weak. Pathetic. I’m?—
“Sit the fuck down, Molly. I won’t be doing anything you don’t want to do. You can share the bed with me or sleep on the couch.”
“So,” I snap, everything buzzing inside, “sex or I get a lumpy couch?”
“That sofa looks comfortable. You’re short, I’m not, so sofa it is.” His voice softens. “As I said, I won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
I hate him for making me want him with his get out of jail card. I stalk over to him. “I don’t have anything to sleep in.”
He looks down at me. “Neither do I.”
My clit throbs. Hard. I bite my lip. We’re both ignoring the bags. Ignoring the fact we could sleep in our clothes. There are a million options…and only one I want.
I hand him the glass and shrug off the dress, easing out of my shoes. The dress lands in a pool around my feet.
He doesn’t say a word, but his green gaze is nailed to me, hot and intense.
For a moment, I close my eyes. Virginity’s overrated, and I want it gone. The glasses clink as he puts them aside, and he’s…oh, shit, I’ve had him in my mouth, my hands, and he’s big, thick, and perfect. But while he can fit in my mouth, I don’t know how well he’ll fit anywhere else.
Screw it, I want him.
