Pulling down a corner of the black silk duvet, I crawl under the sheets and snuggle down, getting comfy. After I’m motionless for a few minutes, the automatic lights dim. I drift off to sleep to the sound of my rumbling stomach.
Sometime later, I wake to the sound of breathing beside me.
Without even opening my eyes, I know it’s Declan. The peppermint-spice scent is a dead giveaway, as is the heat he’s generating. The man’s body temperature is set at permanent full blast.
After a moment, he says in a voice thick with fatigue, “The guest rooms are full. So is the sofa. And I can’t sleep sitting up in a chair.”
“I wasn’t going to suggest you should.”
We’re quiet for a while, until he says, “You didn’t eat your food.”
“I didn’t want to get diabetes.”
A rustle on the pillow next to mine makes me open my eyes. He’s lying on his back, but has turned his head and is looking at me.
He’s taken off his suit jacket and shoes, but otherwise is fully clothed. His jaw is dark with scruff. His blue eyes are heavy lidded. He is very, very handsome.
“You’re not worried about waking up next to me in bed?”
I yawn. “You don’t like me. I don’t like you. There’s zero chance of accidental ravishment.”
“Plenty of people have sex who don’t like each other.”
“Don’t sound so put out. I’m not insulting your manhood. I’m sure you could ravish me if you wanted to, but I know you don’t. Plus, you gave me your word you wouldn’t hurt me. So I’m not going to worry about it.”
I’m conveniently ignoring the little interlude in his closet earlier, because who the hell knows what that was about? Not me.
He turns his head and stares at the ceiling. After a while, he says, “You’re not normal.”
“Thank you.”
“Christ. You think every insult is a compliment. Your ego is like Teflon.”
“Teflon? No. Something way tougher than that.”
“Seriously, how can you be so bloody blasé about everything? The only time I got a rise out of you was when I gagged you with my tie. But the minute I took it off, you thanked me and went right back to being…you.”
He’s starting to sound aggravated. What a shocker.
“I make the best use of what’s in my power, and take the rest as it happens.”
There follows a long silence. It’s not really silent, though. It’s quite loud, actually, loud and cavernous, echoing with his disbelief.
“Did you…did you just quote Epictetus?”
“You know the Stoics?”
“You’re fucking kidding me. You did quote Epictetus.”
“It’s a good thing I have that Teflon ego you accused me of, because my feelings would be really hurt right about now, gangster. The size of my intellect doesn’t exist in inverse proportion to the size of my boobs.”
His voice rises. “You almost flunked out of college. You failed English, for fuck’s sake, and it’s your native language!”
“English Comp,” I correct. “And I failed it because it was too easy, like the rest of my classes.”
Another silence. I think I’m going to break his brain.
“That makes no sense. You realize what you just said makes not one bloody bit of sense, right?”
“First, take a deep breath. Your blood pressure will thank you. Second, I’m the kind of person who needs a challenge. I get bored extremely easily.” I pause. “I’d tell you that’s typical of people with genius-level IQs, but it would probably just piss you off. So we’ll pretend I said it’s because I’m a Scorpio and leave it at that. Wait—how did you know I failed English?”
His sigh is heavy and communicates that he’d rather be strapped to a prison’s electric chair with the warden’s finger hovering over the On button than having this conversation.
“I ran a background check on you.”
I’m intrigued. “Really? How fascinating. When? What else did it tell you? Oh—so you already know I have a genius IQ!”
He mutters, “What I wouldn’t give for a massive heart attack right now.”
“You’re just mad because I’m smarter than you.”
When he turns his head to glare at me, he finds me grinning at him. Which, of course, sets him off all over again.
“You are not fucking smarter than me.”
“No? What’s your IQ?”
“Higher than yours.”
“Sure. That’s what all the boys say. Wait, let me guess. 130.”
He says angrily, “I tested above that when I was a wee chiseler.”
“Whatever that is. 140.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
“You keep calling for them, but I don’t think they’re listening. 150.”
When he only lies there, seething, I say smugly, “Ah. Under 150. No wonder you’re angry. I’m way more intelligent than—”
He rolls on top of me, clamps a hand over my mouth, and growls, “Introduce your top lip to your lower one for a change. And. Be. Quiet.”
The first thing that comes to mind is that he’s on top of me again. We’re setting records for the most amount of full-body contact between two people who aren’t having sex.
The next thing that comes to mind is…nothing.
I’m too busy feeling. My brain has become nonoperational. I’m nothing but skin, bone, and tingling nerves.
There’s something delicious about his weight. He’s so solid. I’ve always liked a big man, but Declan is more than simply big. He’s dense. Powerful. Hard.
Everywhere.
We make eye contact. I feel it in my guts.
After a moment, he says roughly, “You’re the most irritating person I’ve ever met.”
I smile. Because his hand is clamped over my mouth, he feels it.
He mutters something in Gaelic. It doesn’t sound like a compliment. “I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth. Will you be quiet?”
I nod, trying to appear serious.
“Do you promise?”
After a beat, I decide to be honest and shake my head.
“Then I won’t move my hand.”
I make big pleading eyes at him, blinking like a coy ingenue.
“No.”
We seem to be at an impasse. So I do the only thing I can think of that might work. I dig my fingers into his ribs and tickle him.
He jerks, curses, and rolls off me, hollering. “What the bloody hell?”
Propping myself up on my elbows, I smile at his fury. “So the king of the jungle has a soft spot. Good to know.”
Sitting on the other side of the bed, he stares at me like he’s trying to will my head to explode.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
“This is karma, isn’t it? I’m being punished for something I did in a former life.”
“You believe in reincarnation? That’s interesting. I’ve always thought—”
He thunders, “It was a figure of speech!”
“You know, I think your diet is having a negative effect on your mood. I’m betting you don’t get enough roughage.”