Now that’s a depressing thought.
When Declan opens the door, I want to run in the opposite direction. My heart rate goes from steady to rapid at the sight of Declan’s muscular, naked chest on full display.
I choke on my next inhale of breath.
Water droplets trickle down inches of pale muscle before disappearing into a white towel wrapped around his narrow waist. He has V-cut abdominal muscles that point like an arrow to an area I sure as hell should not be thinking about right now. An area that only proves Declan is well-endowed even when not aroused.
Warmth pools deep in my belly. My eyes give him another once-over, and my hands itch to reach out and trace the slab of muscle also known as his stomach.
This can’t be happening to me. My eyes snap up toward his face, hoping he missed my temporary lapse of sanity.
He raises a brow at me in silent anticipation.
Oh my God. He knows that you like what you see.
I try to think up a response, but my throat feels dry suddenly.
“You wanted my help?” He stops in front of me.
His help! Right!
“I can’t reach the buttons.” My voice is far breathier than I’m proud of. Given our argument in the car, I could at least pretend to be disgruntled in his presence.
Declan circles around me like a predator. His muscles shift with each step, and I’m surprised my tongue doesn’t roll out of my mouth like a dog as I pant after him.
He drags my wild hair over my shoulder, and goosebumps spread across my skin.
That should not be happening.
Anyone with eyes would be attracted to a set of abs. It’s evolution beckoning us to choose a mate who can provide for us.
Provide what? Endless stamina and orgasms? I reply.
“There have to be a hundred of them.” He tugs me out of my thoughts, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
A laugh escapes me before I have a chance to stop it. “Hundred and twenty according to Nana.”
He grunts. “Come inside so I can see them better in the light.”
The invitation is innocent, but my body doesn’t seem to get the memo as Declan ushers me into his room and toward the light on his nightstand.
“Let me go put some clothes on.”
Please don’t.
Whatever expression I have on my face makes the corners of his lips lift.
“I’ll be back in a second.” He walks toward his closet, only to look over his shoulder at the last second.
My cheeks burn from being caught ogling him.
He raises a brow. “It’s rude to stare.”
“Then don’t walk around naked to begin with. Problem solved.” Atta girl.
He shakes his head and enters his closet without sparing me another glance.
I take a moment to observe the personal objects on his nightstand. A worn copy of The Great Gatsby has five different sticky notes protruding from the yellowed pages, neatly lined up next to a remote control for his TV. My eyes widen at the small cactus I bought him two years ago as a Christmas gift.
“Oh my God. It’s still alive?” I reach out and grab the tiny don’t be a prick pot.
“I can manage to take care of a cactus.”
I startle at the sound of his voice. “But it’s been two years!” And he keeps it on his nightstand. I don’t have the nerve to ask him why that is, although the urge rides me hard.
He shuts me up by tracing a finger down the base of my spine, right beside the hundred ivory buttons. The pot in my hand trembles as his hot breath hits the back of my neck. My skin prickles in response, and I place the pot down in order to hide the way my hands shake from his proximity.
He starts with the top button, only to fumble. His frustrated grunt makes me laugh.
“You think this is funny?”
I giggle again as he slips again.
“My hands are too big.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course they are.”
“I’m not joking.”
I shoot him a glare over my shoulder. “Well, we need to figure it out because I can’t sleep in this.”
“What if I cut you out of it?”
“No!” The gown cost fifty-thousand dollars. I can’t imagine ruining it just because Declan and his hulk-like hands can’t manage some measly buttons.
He sighs as he tries one last time and fails. “Scissors or a knife?”
“You’re joking.”
“Would you prefer I rip it apart?”
“Absolutely not!” I push back, forcing him to give me some room. “I’ll be back.”
I head to my bedroom, open a box labeled gardening supplies, and pull out a pair of shears. They still have a little bit of dirt on them, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’ll be wearing this dress ever again, although the option to donate it is not completely off the table.
“Stupid Declan and his massive paws for hands,” I grumble under my breath as I walk back into his room.
“Here.” I shove the shears against his chest.
He looks down at them. “This is not how I expected tonight would go.”
“Disappointed?”
“Amused.”
Our eyes lock, and something passes between us. One look sends sparks across my skin and my heart into cardiac arrest. It’s as if our outburst in the garage never happened. While I want to be annoyed at myself, I can’t help it when it comes to him. He might be an asshole, but I knew what I was signing up for when I married him.
“Get on with it.” I turn again and hold on to my hair before he has a chance to move it for me. The less contact we have, the better. I’m already feeling weak tonight as it is.
He grips onto the lace collar of my dress. “Don’t move an inch.” The cold brush of metal against the base of my neck has me sucking in a breath.
I wouldn’t dare. Not with the way my legs are threatening to give out at any moment.
The sound of shears cutting through lace sends another round of goosebumps across my arms. Chilly air hits the skin at the top of my spine, and I press the front of my dress against my chest to prevent it from falling at my feet.
Declan cuts through the fabric slower than necessary, and the blunt side of the shears brushes my back with each snip.
“Almost done.” His voice is far huskier than usual.
With a few last cuts, my entire back is on display for him. He chucks the shears on the bed once the job is done. Neither one of us moves, and my anxiety grows with each second that passes. I look over my shoulder to find him staring at my bare back like a puzzle he can’t solve.
“Thanks.” I attempt to take a step away from him, only to stop when his hand reaches out and skates across my spine. My heart pounds against my chest, threatening to jump out as he stops right above my lacy thong. Lust slams into me like a fist to the face. I can’t help choking on my gasp as he traces the edge of my underwear. His fingers brush across my goosebumps, and I suck in a deep breath.
He tugs, and a white long string snaps. “This was bothering me.”
I watch with horror as the thread falls by his bare feet. Of course while I was lusting after his touch, he was thinking about a fucking string. It’s horrifying to think I wanted him to be attracted to me.
Tonight is the final wakeup call I needed. No matter how my body might react to his touch, it’s only that. A reaction of chemicals responding to pheromones. Nothing but natural selection doing its thing, pushing me to mate with the worst partner on the planet, solely because he’s hot and available.