by Jillian Neal
He didn’t want to rush any part of being with her. What a tremendous waste that would be. He wanted to linger in each kiss, breathe life into her soul, show her how she was meant to be worshipped. Fulfill her every fantasy. Spend hours making her desperate for him to soothe the burn he ignited.
In that moment, as his cock finally figured out that it wasn’t getting any attention that didn’t come from his own hand and retreated, he knew he could spend years showing her what sex was supposed to be, owning her satisfaction, discovering what Holly Camden required to come completely undone, to be entirely freed of the expectations the world dumped on women’s sexuality. The flavors of her release on his tongue, every silky ripple of her channel, the shade of her nipples when deeply aroused, the pucker of her backside, the flush of her soft skin under his touch or the perfectly timed strike of his hand, the knowledge he’d desired an hour ago had quickly become a requirement. He desperately needed to unfold the complicated delicate truths of her with his own body.
Far too hyper to ever have slept, Holly debated. It wasn’t that late. There was a decent chance Cheyenne was still awake. Having never possessed the ability to talk herself out of anything at all, she touched her best friend’s name on her phone.
“Oh my God, why do you hate me?” was Cheyenne’s sleepy response.
“Sorry,” Holly whispered as if that would make her call more tolerable.
“S’ok. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s fine. Go back to sleep.”
“Well, I’m up now so spill it. You never call me this late. This has to be good.”
“I met this guy.”
“They do make up half of the human population, Holl, so get to the more interesting parts of this convo or I’m going back to sleep.”
“A guy I really, really like, but I just met him.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Keep going. What’s this guy’s name?”
“Declan St. James.”
“If he’s as sexy as his name, please tell me he’s nekkid between your sheets, and you’re calling me from the bathroom to ask my advice on how to best secure him to your bed. Scarves and neckties are your friends here. Anything else can get dicey and leave marks.”
“Cheyenne, focus. We didn’t sleep together. I all but threw myself at him, and he left.”
“Bastard!”
“No, he’s not. He’s really sweet, but also definitely has a bad boy vibe that is supremely sexy. I’m choosing to believe that he really was being a gentleman and that he didn’t leave because he’s not into me.”
“How is he a gentleman and a bad boy?”
“He just is. You’ll have to trust me on this.”
“Uh, not that you’re not a kickass girl, but I’m pretty sure there aren’t gentlemen anymore. They’re just all assholes.”
“I know, but I swear he is a gentleman. A badass gentleman with a motorcycle and fucking awesome tattoos. And he’s British. You should hear him talk.”
“Oh Holl, babe, you sound like you’re already all the way in. That could be bad. It took Ron seven books to even kiss Hermione.”
“Cheyenne. He is not a wizard. We will not communicate via owls. This is not a children’s book. This is my life. Could you just shut up and listen for a minute?”
A deep yawn extended via the phone two hundred miles east from Pleasant Glen to Lincoln. “Shutting up and listening, but I will say Hermione should have accio-ed herself some Ron-cock one of the times she was staying at The Burrow. Or when they were staying at Sirius’ house.”
“Cheyenne!”
“Sorry. Listening.”
“Thank you. You know how my dad and brothers are always talking about how they knew my mom, and Summer, and Indie were the ones as soon as they saw them?”
“Uh, yeah, I know the story, but a couple of months ago you told me it was all bullshit they told their wives because it sounded good. Remember? You said that it wasn’t true. I need it not to be true, Holl, because the first time Grant saw me I was twelve, and it was that summer that I had braces and headgear and I’d let my aunt perm my hair so I looked like I’d wired my headgear up to an electrical socket or something. He couldn’t have fallen in love with me like that, and that means I broke the Camden legacy, which is really bad because Grant needs to fall in love with me.”
Holly rolled her eyes. Just like every conversation she ever had with Cheyenne it turned into talking about her brother Grant. “You did not break any legacy. Grant is just an idiot. I have no clue why you’re so into him. Could we, just for a moment, wonder if maybe it isn’t just something my dad and brothers say? What if it is true? There is a highly supported psychological belief that human beings actually fall in love in one-fifth of a second. Because you fall in love with your brain not your heart. I’m telling you, something about Declan and me, it was weird. I’ve never felt like this before, and I just met him. I’ve never been so attracted to someone, but it was more than that even. When we kissed. . .it was just different.”
“Are you asking me if the Camden guys and the Camden girls fall in love at first glance?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Maybe Grant just needs to see me more, or maybe we need to kiss.”
Holly sighed. Cheyenne was her best friend. Every now and then her advice was a little less self-centered.
“Why don’t you ask your mom? She’d know better than me, right?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Not sure when I would do that, but maybe.”
“K, can I go back to sleep now?”
“Yeah, sorry I woke you.”
“No problem. I’m here for all of your British badass-slash-Harry Potter needs.”
“You’re the best. Love ya!”
Holly ended the call and stared around her tiny apartment. A student stipend didn’t afford her much in the way of abodes, but she loved that the space was her own. At least this year she didn’t have a roommate.
Staring up at the star strewn night outside her bedroom window, she couldn’t help but miss the ranch. The stars were always brighter there outside of the city lights. She missed the low bellows of the cows and the soft neighs of her horses. She even missed the scent of sweet corn and manure on the constant Nebraskan breeze.
Determination quickly swept through her mind, whisking away the longing to go home. She wasn’t giving up now. She’d figure out some way to be Dr. Holly Camden DMFT, doctor of marriage and family therapy with a specialty in sex therapy, and to be Holly Camden, youngest daughter of Ev and Jessie Camden, kickass horse rider, expert cattle roper, down and dirty cowgirl, and partial owner of the legendary Camden Ranch.
As for Declan. . . with a sly grin, she retrieved her favorite vibrator from the hamper and went to bed.
Right-forward, right-down, left-forward, left-down, over and over and over, Declan let the rapid-swiveled squeak and soft swish of leather against his fists from the speed-bag soothe him. Dammit, why had he looked at the date on his phone that morning? Why couldn’t he have just continued to tell himself it was sometime in late August? His plan this year had been to let sometime in late August blend into the middle of September so he didn’t have to remember the ending date stamped on the tombstone. Today’s date eleven years in the past.
It was nearing ten in the morning. He should have left over an hour ago to pick up Holly. It killed him to think her tattoo might be hurting again, but terror kept him standing squarely at the bag, pounding out his frustration and his desperate need.
He’d already run six miles and had performed enough chest presses to make his muscles weep in agony. Sweat raced down his chest, pooling along the waistband of his shorts.
With one final blow from his right fist, he cursed himself and the entire universe to hell. This wasn’t working. He needed to see her again, needed to feel her silky skin in his hands, needed to draw her candy-sweet nipples in his mouth, needed to know everything there was to know about Holly Camden.
You’ll never be good enou
gh for her. That damned tombstone slammed into his chest with all of the weight of its marble and stone fixtures. You’ve been good for so long. You can’t have a girl like her. You deserve something to ease this pain. The incessant demon call was louder that morning.
I’m not giving up eleven years. I’ve fought for too long. I won’t give up ever.
His mind was a house divided. Or perhaps his mind was set on self-preservation, his demons were hell bent on bringing about his demise, and the head on his cock was staging the revolt.
“Holly is an amazing, beautiful, brilliant woman. She’s not a substance and she is sure as hell isn’t Evie,” he growled at the still-swinging speed-bag as if it had presented the argument.
Sex is so much sexier when it has a little help. His cravings continued to send vicious troops into battle, but he was stronger now. He could have her without getting addicted to her or using again. He’d learned his lessons, and maybe now was the time to prove it. ‘Never get cocky about your addiction. Never think you’ve outsmarted it.’ Dozens of counselors’ advice rang clearly in his mind.
Before he could convince himself to stand Holly up for her own good and his, he grabbed a towel to wipe his sweaty hands, and texted Holly to apologize and say he was on his way. There. No turning back now. Gall-driven determination armored itself in his drive as he headed for the shower. If nothing else, he would take care of her until the tattoo was healed, and maybe it was time he proved to himself that he could have a healthy relationship. Proving to his addiction that he was stronger was how he’d survived the last eleven years. Damn it all to hell. He could do this.
Chapter Four
So, he isn’t coming. Holly glared at the clock, furious that she’d actually believed Declan was a gentleman. She’d stupidly convinced herself that he was different, that he cared. She’d gone as far as to phone her best friend to drone on about him being the one. Idiot! Disgust roiled in her gut. She’d gotten up early to shower, shave, and attempt the coveted I woke up like this look to impress him. Asshole.
If he was going to stand her up, why didn’t he just sleep with her the night before? She’d all but demanded it. The only obvious explanation for bolting after she’d whipped off her shirt was that he wasn’t into her. Well, his loss.
The scorching blister of his kisses were still branded in her mind, serving as both a cruel reminder of what he’d done to her fully clothed and a nudging concern that maybe something had happened to him. He’d been into her. She’d felt it. Cowgirls always lived by their gut, and she was a psych student. She could read people quite well. He wasn’t going to stand her up, so where the hell was he?
Her phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. Had anyone seen the speed at which she leapt for it, she would have been thoroughly embarrassed.
So sorry I’m late, sweetheart. Had to work through a few things. One doesn’t turn down a night with a woman like you and not have to suffer the regret. I’ll be there in a half hour. Promise. – Dec
Holly stared at the text for the better part of a full minute. The humility of signing it, meaning he honestly didn’t believe she’d immediately entered him in as a contact as soon as he’d given her his number, coupled with curiosity as to just how he’d suffered through his regret and brought a broad grin to her face.
There were two distinctive sides to Declan St. James, or Dec, apparently. How did one man possess such skill, bravado, and confidence when he was twisting her libido into coils of desperation and still not believe that she could possibly be into him? She had no idea, but she couldn’t wait to find out.
Determined to prove to him that she really wasn’t a slob, she’d spent the time between getting ready and his appearance unpacking and cleaning her new apartment. She’d deposited her collection of vibrating sex toys in her bedside table drawer so he wouldn’t encounter anymore unless they were mutually looking for one. Thoughts of him wielding a vibrator sped her heart and brought a fresh rush of liquid heat to her crotch. She definitely needed to make that particular fantasy come to life, if he was really willing. Trying to turn her thoughts from sex with Declan to anything else proved difficult, but she persevered.
The apartment was getting there. It was a long way from offering her the cozy comfort that always came from walking in her mama’s kitchen or from saddling up Aurora Belle for a ride, but maybe someday she’d figure out how to make Lincoln a place she really felt at home. After she graduated with this final degree, there would be no more calling Camden Ranch her home. She knew she could always go back, but she’d have to work in Lincoln if she was going to be a sex therapist. It was the closest city with a counseling center.
A wicked thought brought another mischievous grin to her face. The look on her big brothers’ faces if she were to show up at the ranch with Declan. A badass, tattooed, brow-pierced, musician would be sure to get the Camden cowboys up in arms. She lost a little of her glee when she tried to imagine introducing him to her parents, however. They’d never denied her a single thing that it had been in their power to give her. She was the baby through and through, but she doubted her daddy would approve of a musician as her boyfriend. Not that they were anywhere near giving each other titles or parental introductions.
Drawing a deep breath as she stood at her back door watching for his bike to pull up, she ordered herself to grow up. They hadn’t even been on an official date. They were country miles away from a relationship. Why did she always leap fifteen steps ahead of where she was? Because once she set her sights on something she refused to take no for an answer. She was going to make Declan St. James hers, come hell or high water — or both.
“Bloody hell.” Dec couldn’t help but offer her a cocky grin. “I was sincerely hoping my memory of you from last night had somehow been improved by the alcohol or my dreams, but it turns out they didn’t do you justice at all.” His eyes raced up and down her slender frame. From the swells of her breasts, to the inward slope of her waist, to her soft, feminine hips, perfect for gripping while he drove himself inside of her, down the length of her legs, and then on a slow, reverse track to those eyes.
Those seductively-sweet eyes that were the novels of her soul said she’d been worrying and doubting. Another round of lambasting began in his mind. She’d thought he wasn’t going to show. If she’d inked that on her skin instead of the insanely enticing tattoos she already had, it couldn’t have been any easier to read.
“I’m sorry I’m so late. I, uh, just had. . . .”
“To work through your regret,” she challenged with a wicked grin. Despite her attempt at vexing him, a seductive rose of heat bloomed across her cheeks at his compliment. This girl. Fucking hell. She was just too much.
“Something like that. Had to work through what might happen if I found out something terrible about you. You know, like you have Nickelback, or worse, Coldplay on your playlists, or that you play Wonderwall on repeat or something dreadful like that. I decided I could deal with it and just educate you on good music.”
“I see. Well, relax, I don’t have either of those ‘bands’ on my phone.” Even her finger quotes were cute. “I will readily admit to having Taylor Swift, however.”
“Yes, well, I suppose I can work with that. I might even have Bad Blood somewhere, not on my phone of course, but in some other music storage facility.”
“Right.” Holly was still trying not to smile. He wasn’t forgiven yet, but they were getting closer.
“Shall we?” He gestured back to her bathroom, stupidly hoping he might stumble upon another vibrator. The revelation of her sexual preferences drove him almost as much as the quest for her smiles and the sound of her laughter.
Her brow knitted in confusion, and he almost rejoiced aloud. The tattoo clearly wasn’t bothering her enough to be at the forefront of her mind, and she’d all but forgotten the original reason for his coming over.
She’d clearly gotten ready for their breakfast date and had hopefully been looking forward to it. Up until she’d decided he wa
sn’t coming. Probably about the time he’d extended his run yet another mile. Reminding himself that he owed her much better, he took her hand in his. “All I’ve been able to think about is having my hands on you. The tattoo is the perfect excuse. I’ve never been granted such a gift. It allows me to continue to tell myself that I’m being a gent and taking care of you while I’m really indulging in my baser nature.”
“Anyone every told you you’re a very smooth talker, Declan St. James?” Her jaw clenched and her eyes turned wary in a split second.
He sighed inwardly. Yeah. He’d heard that a time or three dozen. For some unfathomable reason, he didn’t want to just be a smooth talking one-night stand, a terrible-at-actually-having-any-kind-of-relationship type of man with her. Showing up late after turning her down when she’d offered him such a stunning invitation to her gorgeous body relegated him to the very kind of asshole he was trying desperately to keep from being.
“I’m pretty sure it’s just the accent. We Brits can be vomiting lines of complete shit, and for some reason people believe it. But you, my beautiful Holly, I mean every word I say to you. I am truly sorry I’m so late.”
“Yeah, I can tell. Probably be safer for me to believe it when I see it, though. Actually, I kind of forgot you were coming over for the tattoo. Why were you really so late?”
Her mind was clearly wired with hesitation and misgivings. He owed her an explanation, just not one that contained any of the harrowing reasons he’d really been late. Wanting to prove himself waged war with the desperation to hide his entire past from her. She may have whipped off her top the evening before, but innocence was penned firmly in every single one of her curves that served to drive him insane with need. So many sides to Miss Holly Camden. He longed to know each and every one. From her naughtiest thoughts to her most mundane activities, something about her made him want to intimately know every single facet.