I scowl at her, fiercely. A practiced look that makes my enemies cower like frightened lambs.
“I’m a biologist, not a psychologist, but it’s clear that whatever happened to you causes you to push people away. It’s a defense mechanism. Just like you’re trying to do now . . . with that glare of yours.” My girl’s no frightened lamb. No, my girl is out for the goddamn slaughter.
My girl. Fuck.
“You spend a lot of time by yourself, don’t you?”
Everyone’s got a breaking point. I learned that during my first TORC Hell Camp, when I was green and wet behind the ears. I’d brought a stray pup back to the Ranch, Hayden’s compound just outside of Shelby. Don’t know why I did it. Found the cocker spaniel–poodle mix wandering the street leading out of town. Picked him up, took him to the Ranch, fattened him up a bit. Before that bastard Hayden found out and took the pup off into the woods. To teach me a lesson: there’s no room in my life for love.
An easy lesson learned. That pup was the only thing I came close to loving.
“I’m sorry. Forget what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was simply trying to understand you better but I can see I’ve dragged up some sad memories . . .”
My girl’s going straight for the kill.
Problem is—she’s dealing with a professional killer.
I grab the hem of my T-shirt and practically rip the shirt off my body. I kick off my shoes, then unbutton my pants.
And Madelyn stands as still as a statue, clutching the red nightgown in her hand as her eyes widen with awareness.
Good girl or not, my girl has a thing for my body. A fact made crystal fucking clear back at the rest-stop shower.
“You wanna hear about my relationships?” I ask.
I see her swallow hard. Nervously. Which is why she floors me, when I hear her whispered “Yes.”
Damn it.
“I fuck women. Like an animal fucks, with them bent over the bed and moaning into the mattress while I ride them hard. I fuck women and they beg me for more. I fuck them hard, mercilessly, so they can barely walk me out as I leave. But I always leave, never stay. No sweet whispers from me. No fake promises, not my style.”
Madelyn mouth’s dropped open, her pretty lips parted.
Shocked.
And goddamn it, slightly aroused—yeah, I see it in her eyes, her picturing what I described.
My pulse begins to thunder. My cock so hard, it hurts.
Hit the shower. End this right now.
“That what you want?” I ask.
“Um . . . I don’t know,” she whispers back. “I never—”
“—go into the bathroom and get ready for bed,” I cut her off harshly, “before I change my mind.” Unzipping my jeans, I step out of them, my thick erection springing free. I hear her gasp, her catching sight of my raging hard-on. The breathless sound making me harder than shit.
The brain is the most powerful muscle in your body. Yet mine sucks balls right now. Because I’ve lost my mind. Probably lost the damn thing four months ago back inside her trailer.
Fuck. I don’t have time for this bullshit.
“I don’t think I’m ready for . . . animal . . .”
I blink. “What?”
“Us. Fucking like animals.”
Holy mother-loving hell. Is she serious . . . ? “You’re not.”
I’m not.
She tosses the nightgown over her shoulder, then moves across the room to stand before me. Blocking my path to the bathroom. Making my decision for me.
“Madelyn . . .”
“I like you,” she says softly, drawing up close.
“ . . . don’t fuck with me.”
“Why shut people out? What are you afraid of?”
“You’re asking for trouble . . .”
She touches my arm with one hand and places the other palm first over my heart. “You’re warm.”
I feel like pushing her hand off my chest and downward, onto my throbbing erection. In a second, she’s going to learn exactly the kind of man she’s fucking with.
“It takes more courage opening up to someone than telling them to go to hell.”
“Yeah, how many people have you told to go to hell?”
She opens then closes her mouth.
“Just as I thought.” I stare at her. So sweet, not a bad bone in her. So beautiful, with her blond hair hanging loose around her shoulders and that shy yet encouraging smile on her lips. She doesn’t have a clue as to the trouble she’s stirring up. Who she’s dealing with. I’m not her hero. I’m the asshole using her to get a job done. “Tell me,” I demand. “‘Go to hell, you bastard.’”
“What? No.”
“Do it.”
Her spine stiffens and she raises her chin, her eyes flashing. “No.”
I step away, fast. Breaking contact as I brush by her, making a beeline for the bathroom.
“Declan,” she softly calls after me.
In my line of work, poor judgment gets you a bullet in the heart. Your throat slashed. You gasping your last breath thinking how badly you just screwed up. Good judgment is me stepping inside and slamming the bathroom door shut.
For once in my life, I try to do the right thing. Except bad fucking judgment has me stopping and turning back her way.
To find the nightgown on the floor.
Her stepping free of the pants around her ankles.
The paleness of her skin, her thighs accentuated by silky red underwear, and—fuck me now—a matching red silk bra.
And my finely threaded control snaps. Kicked to the carpet and sent rolling in a shit-for-brains ball across the floor to land up snug against the nightgown at her feet.
15
Madelyn
As long as I live, I’ll never forget the moment Declan changed his mind. It’s like witnessing a windshield crack, starting out with the smallest of nicks, leading to a small hairline crack and then longer, deeper ones, until the windshield is unrecognizable mere seconds before it shatters.
Luciana and I giggled over the sexy red lingerie she stuffed into my duffle bag. The perfect gonna-get-your-sexy-on attire for a woman on a mission to get her V card stamped. She promised it’d do the trick.
Little did I know it’d be like waving a red flag in a bull’s face.
I brace myself as Declan charges across the small room. I carried the memory of him around in my head for months. Vividly imagined what this would be like, gotten off to it. But what sealed the deal for me?
That damn word. No.
He didn’t exactly say it.
But I felt it, him freezing me out. All that talk about him being trouble, warning me away. Him never having a girlfriend.
Even I—the virgin queen—had Brendan.
Yeah, and I walked away with my crown still intact.
Not for long . . .
My heart skips a beat as he closes in, hoisting me in the air by the waist, turning and tossing me onto the bed. My breasts are still swaying from the impact when he climbs onto the mattress and straddles my thighs.
Glaring down at me, like I’m asking for trouble.
Guess I am.
“Tell me to go to hell and we’ll end this right now.”
I should be nervous. Terrified, even. He’s . . . big. And fierce . . . practically spitting mad. But I know what fear is, how to overcome it, push it back into the recesses of my mind and allow myself to live. I’m not afraid of him. Because deep down inside him, there’s a broken heart I connect with.