A Little Bit Crazy

by B. Cranford

  Running a hand through his blond hair, Declan swore loudly. His irritation with his golfer had grown throughout the day as more instances of bad behavior became apparent. Drinking. Drugs. Late night parties.

  And the women. Good God, the women.

  He’d spent half the day in damage control mode, having arrived at the office a little after eight in the morning, and now, he was done. The idiot was on his own for the rest of the day.

  It was Sunday, and Declan was tired. He was also distracted by thoughts of a pink-haired woman in purple shoes.

  And purple dress. Yeah, he still had dirty thoughts about the dress she’d worn on the date that never happened.

  His phone was in his hand before he knew what he was doing, her name in his phone—Freckles, of course—staring up at him, taunting him. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to relax until he’d spoken to her, made sure she was okay after a big night, he hit the call button and brought the phone to his ear.

  She answered on the second ring. “‘Lo?” Her voice was sleepy-quiet but rough, making him think she’d lost her voice.

  “You okay, Freckles?” Concerned by her silence at his question—and at his use of her hated nickname—he pressed her for an answer. “Jade, are you okay?”

  “What, yeah, fine. Just a little under the weath—oh, my God!” She went from sleepy to alert in a matter of seconds, and Declan nearly dropped his phone at the sound of her panicked tone.

  “Jade, what’s going on?” He was on his feet, reaching for his keys before she answered. “Jade,” he repeated, putting as much force into his voice as he could.

  “I’m fine, it’s fine,” she finally replied in a much calmer, though slightly disgusted and still somewhat croaky sounding voice.

  “What the hell happened?” Declan took a deep breath, trying to settle his racing heart. His reaction was completely out of proportion, given the fact that he and Jade could barely co-exist in the same room without name-calling and snide words.

  Well, from her, at least. Though last night could maybe, possibly be considered progress. She’d kept her sass level down, for the most part. Of course, she’d also fallen asleep, so . . .

  “Lowe just came into the house covered in . . . is that shit?” Jade’s voice broke through his thoughts, causing Declan to laugh at the horror in her tone, glad it was her and not him dealing with it. “That's, ugh, that's disgusting.”

  Declan tried to rein in his laughter, knowing it would just rile Jade up but it was hard.

  So, so hard.

  Jade was not laughing. And he was right, his laughter did get her going. “Shut up, Jackass. You're not the one dealing with this . . . with this . . . shit.” He heard the snick of a door opening, and Jade telling the dog to get out of the house, before she came back on the line. “It's not enough that I feel like death, now I have to clean up after a stinky, smelly, disgusting dog.”

  The rasp in her voice, which Declan had originally attributed to sleepiness, seemed to get worse with each word.

  Is she sick?

  “Hey, Freckles,” he started, only to be cut off, but a hurling sound from the other end of the line.

  He waited, listening for a clue about what was going on, but two more hurgh noises from Jade put him back on high alert. “Freckles, are you gonna be sick? Because if so, put the phone down first. Let's keep some of the mystery alive.”

  She didn't reply, and the line went dead. Declan didn't know if she'd hung up—a high possibility—or if they’d been cut off, and he wasn’t about to sit around waiting to find out.

  Keys still in hand, Declan shut off the lights in his office before heading down to the underground parking lot he'd left the Mustang in that morning. As he slid onto the leather of the driver’s seat, he glanced over to where Jade had sat the night before.

  Where she'd fallen asleep, trusting him to get her home.

  I can't just leave her to deal with dog shit when she's sick, dammit.

  He sighed. It wasn't in his nature to leave a woman in distress, even one who'd made it clear she had no need of or desire for his help. Ever.

  But he was also controlled and domineering, and those two traits combined with his need to be of assistance had made the decision an easy one. He started the engine and navigated his way out of the parking lot.

  He was going to risk his balls—and the possibility of getting chewed out—to help Jade Miller.

  For the second time in two days.

  Disgusting.

  Gross.

  Foul.

  Nasty.

  The smell permeating the house was all those things and more, and as Jade finished cleaning up the mess Lowe had brought into the house—as well as the mess she’d made when her body reacted negatively to the combination of Lowe’s mess and her apparent illness—she came to a firm conclusion.

  She was never going to own a pet.

  Well, maybe a fish. Or a turtle. But definitely not a dog.

  She threw the towels she'd used to tidy up in the washer, added the ones she'd used when she'd washed the dog and set the machine to an extra, super-duper double wash.

  Or the heavy-duty cycle. Same thing.

  Slinking back to the couch, she'd thought to go back to sleep, but the sound of tires on the gravel drive out front put that to rest.

  Declan.

  She had no doubt it was him, given the way their phone call had ended—he had a way of butting in and trying to rescue her, and to him, this would be a prime opportunity to make sure she knew he was there.

  Like she could ever forget it.

  Wearily, she rose from her seated position and went to the front door, opening it without waiting for him to mount the two steps, before disappearing down the hallway to her bedroom.

  She smelled. Time to remedy that.

  But not for Declan’s sake, she told herself.

  “Freckles?” His voice echoed down the hall, and she decided he could just wait.

  She carefully pulled off her clothes, making a pile on the floor, and turned to walk into the bathroom. But before she could, the bedroom door opened.

  “Don't come in!” she cried, trying to cover herself. Unfortunately, whatever bug was making her voice raspy suddenly upped its game.

  Her words came out barely a whisper, and before she knew it, Declan was staring at her.

  Wide-eyed, slack-jawed staring.

  “Holy freckles, Freckles,” he breathed, his eyes making a journey down her body and back up again.

  Twice.

  “You're fucking exquisite.” He moved forward, as if drawn to her, and instead of replying, she spun around and ran into the safety of the bathroom, slamming the door unapologetically.

  “Go away, Jackass,” she croaked, unsure if he could hear her, but unwilling to risk going back out there naked.

  “Jade.” Declan’s voice was audibly strained, making a shiver race the length of her spine.

  I must have a fever, she thought. Because there's no way that that man was affecting her so.

  Not after their disastrous non-date last year . . . when he’d left her sitting there, alone, embarrassed and determined to never, ever act on her attraction to him.

  The sight of Jade’s naked body sent a jolt through Declan’s system. He couldn’t form any kind of coherent thought, his mind bouncing between every glorious inch of her freckled skin and memories of the night he fucked up.

  It always came back to that. No matter what, every interaction they had circled around until they were talking about it . . . even when they weren’t talking about it.

  He would be the first to admit that their first—and only—date hadn’t gone all that well.

  And by well, of course, he meant not at all.

  It didn’t go at all, because he’d gotten lost in handling a delicate contract negotiation for one of his highest earners—a quarterback who wanted a bigger paycheck than management was willing to commit to—and had forgotten all about it.

  “Hurry up, hurry the fuck
up.” Declan slammed a hand down on the steering wheel of his Mustang, hoping against hope that the traffic in his way would miraculously disappear and get him to where he was supposed to be.

  At dinner. With Jade.

  With another helpless look at the phone beside him—the one that had died mid-conversation as he’d tried to spin the demands of his client into something, anything, that would save the deal he’d been working on for days; the phone that should have been plugged into the charger he couldn’t find any-fucking-where—he kicked himself. For what was probably the tenth time since he’d realized he’d missed their date.

  She’s going to kill me, his first thought.

  She’s going to look magnificent as she does it, his second.

  Finally, the traffic began to move and Declan’s heart, already racing from the adrenaline of fighting for his client, began to pound harder, faster.

  The woman waiting for him had him in knots. She was all sass and sparkle. Though he’d only been in her company less than a handful of times, there was something about her that spoke to him. Her attitude, her fire.

  The way one smile from her could arrest his whole body.

  But there would be no smiles from her tonight, of that he was sure. And as he approached the front doors of the restaurant where she’d been waiting, he saw for himself the slump in her shoulders, the barely-concealed upset she wore on her face as she made her way past the tables and toward him.

  Except, she wasn’t headed toward him at all. She’d given up and was leaving; it was written in every step she took.

  He’d had a chance.

  He’d missed it.

  And, shit, now he had to find a way to make her understand . . .

  Dammit, he’d been an asshole that night, a fact that was driven home only a couple of weeks later when Sebastian had neglected to call Brighton after being out all night, causing her to assume the worst, and he’d watched his bright friend dim under the uncertainty.

  That day, his anger had been directed outwardly at Seb and inwardly at himself, but had cooled when Jade placed a gentle hand on his back, for no other reason than that beneath her tough girl façade, she was a good person.

  He’d felt his big body relax under her palm, and he’d known. He’d known he’d do anything she wanted to get a second first date.

  It was now one year and one day since he’d fucked up his first chance, and he was still barely a step closer to achieving his ultimate goal.

  Thankfully, no one else knew that they’d attempted a date, or how he’d earned the jackass title she’d bestowed on him as she’d brushed past him out of the restaurant and into the night.

  And now he’d just walked in on her naked, which pretty much ensured that he wasn’t losing said nickname any time soon. It was the first time he’d seen her completely bare, and she was perfect.

  Memories flashed through his mind of her panties around her ankles in the dull light of the office closet they’d closed themselves in, which had made it impossible to map out all the little freckles that danced across her skin.

  Make that fucking perfect.

  “I’ll wait in the kitchen,” he called out, forcing himself to leave the room and wait for her to exit the bathroom.

  He hadn’t been sure what it meant that she’d opened the front door to him and then walked away without a greeting—he’d just assumed she wanted him to follow, and he had, happily.

  He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but since that day in the offices of Figures Accounting when she’d calmed him with her touch, Declan suspected he might just follow her anywhere.

  In the kitchen, he could see where Jade had used several cleaning supplies to clean up the mess brought in by the very chagrined-looking wiener dog currently curled up on a big, gray pillow in the corner. “It’s okay, boy,” he spoke gently to the dog, leaning down to rub Lowe’s still damp fur. “You’re a good boy.”

  Waiting for Jade to shower, Declan finished what she’d started in terms of cleaning up. He put the cleaning supplies away, grabbed the trash bag that, while not full, stank to high heaven, and walked it outside. Then, he carefully double checked the yard for any signs that more shit might make its way inside the house. By the time he got back, re-lined the trashcan and checked the water and food levels for both Lowe and Storm, Jade was lowering herself down on the couch.

  She was beautiful, but she looked exhausted, something Declan noted with concern. He flicked the button on Brighton’s shiny red electric kettle and went over to take a seat beside Jade.

  “Sorry about that.” He turned to her and smiled, trying to infuse a harmless, apologetic tone in his voice. He wasn’t that sorry, because fucking hell, clothed or unclothed, she was stunning. “When you opened the door and walked away, I kinda just assumed you wanted me to follow . . .” He trailed off, taking a good look at her flushed face, red-rimmed, watery eyes and running nose. “Jade?”

  She closed her eyes as she heaved a big sigh, her body sagging. “‘S’okay,” he thought she murmured, struggling to hear her voice. “Jackass.” She gave him a sleepy, closed-eyed smile and flopped back on the soft couch, her head tilting back against the cushion, legs laying akimbo in front of her.

  He laughed—of course she’d still call him Jackass. Even without a voice, she was determined to get the last word with him. He half wondered what it meant that her sass, her saltiness was such a turn on, when normally he’d avoid brash women like the plague.

  Soft, he’d always liked them soft. Willing. Pliable.

  Jade was bright colors and hard edges and defensive tactics. And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about her to save himself.

  From the kettle, the boiling sounds of water awakened him from his runaway thoughts of his pink-haired girl, and he walked over to make her a hot drink.

  Opening cupboards to find what he needed, Declan made a lemon and honey tea for Jade, memories of his mother making the same drink for him when he was younger drifting in between new images of Jade’s lips, her perky, pink-tipped breasts, her smooth belly and beyond. He’d only gotten a peek, but damn, what a peek it was.

  Attempting to corral his thoughts—he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about memories of his mom intermixing with visuals of naked-Jade—he made his way back to where she was sprawled on the couch.

  “Freckles, sit up a sec,” he whispered close to her, not wanting to interrupt her moment of peace, but determined to get a warm drink down her throat before hauling her off to bed. “I made you tea.”

  She cracked open an eye, raised an eyebrow. It looked like she was asking him what the hell he was doing, but instead of answering the un-voiced question, he lowered himself beside her and eased the steaming mug into her hands.

  “Thank you,” she croaked at him, taking a small sip. “You didn’t have to.”

  Her eyes drooped again, and it took all his willpower to not raise a hand to brush along her forehead.

  Just to check her temperature, he thought, knowing all the while it was a lie.

  He wanted an excuse to touch her.

  She, on the other hand, probably wanted a reason to punch him, and putting his hands on her in any capacity without express permission would be reason enough.

  “It’s no problem, but maybe don’t talk?” He chuckled at her raised eyebrow, trying to get me to shut up expression and tiny smirk. “You know what I meant, Freckles.”

  Jade rolled her eyes at the nickname that she’d seemed to enjoy at first, but now claimed to hate. He couldn’t stop himself from using it, however. Partly because it suited her, the riot of cute spots making him want to kiss and lick and taste. But also, partly because he knew it riled her up and, like a kid pulling the pigtails of a girl he liked, Declan wanted to force her to look at him and talk to him.

  Any attention from this woman was good attention, as far as he was concerned.

  They sat in silence as she finished the tea, nudging his side when she was done. “Good,” was all she said as she handed him back the
mug and reached for the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch.

  “You should go to bed, baby.” The endearment slipped out and didn’t go unnoticed by a scowling Jade, but he plowed on nonetheless. “You’re practically asleep already. Here”—he set the mug on the table that sat beside the couch and slid one arm under her knees, the other between the cushion and her shoulder blades—“I’ll carry you.”

  She shook her head at him, a silent protest he chose to ignore, waiting until she levelled him with the cutest scowl he’d ever seen before bothering to speak. “You claim you don’t like it, but you get yourself into trouble and need your white knight to rescue you pretty often, huh?”

  The deadpan look on her face made him laugh, her disagreement with his assessment clear in the way her plush lips flattened, her eyes looked straight at him, her head tilted slightly sideways. “Just stating the facts, Freckles. I think you like me rescuing you.”

  She opened her mouth to croak a response, but he shushed her, biting back another laugh at her indignation. “Let me help you into bed and get you settled, okay?”

  She nodded, likely capitulating so quickly because she was genuinely unwell.

  Oh well, he thought, I’ll take it.

  She’d dressed in pajama pants and a ratty old shirt when she’d showered, so Declan lowered her into the unmade bed and pulled the covers up over her. “Stay here,” he directed, before heading for the medicine cabinet for something to help her get some rest.

  Finding nothing, he walked back into the room to let her know he was going to invade the master suite, only to note she’d fallen asleep.

  She looked peaceful, though her reddened cheeks told another story.

  A bark from the kitchen broke the moment, Declan having stood there looking at her, watching over her, for longer than he’d intended.

  Certainly longer that he should have.

  Leaving her to rest, he went to the animals, playing with them on the floor of the kitchen for several minutes before preparing their dinner and settling himself on the couch.

  Jade might not want him here, but he wasn’t going to leave until she was feeling better. If she asked, he’d say he’d stayed to care for the animals. It was a plausible reason . . .