I do a double take.
No shirt. This is what lady porn looks like. It’s watching Declan Hart having breakfast. I’m surprised he’s down here and not locked up inside his office. Not that I’m complaining. I take in the sight of his rippling abs that seem far too sculpted for someone who sits at home all day writing. After several minutes, I realize I’ve been staring too long. If my appreciation of Declan’s body wasn’t obvious before, it is now.
There’s a self-satisfied smile on his face, although extremely cocky, it tells me he didn’t come away last night unaffected either. I can’t believe Declan touched me. Licked me. Sure, I’ve fantasized about him, but I never thought I’d be in the position to act on those fantasies. That’s like telling my thirteen-year-old self that I would get to make out with Justin Timberlake backstage at a N’SYNC concert. Things like this just don’t happen in real life. Except when it does.
“Good morning,” I say, grabbing a muffin off the counter.
My words sound small and much more nervous than I intend. Who could blame me, though? Thousands of women would trade places with me in a second. I would trade places with me. I take a bite of the muffin and moan in pleasure at the taste of sugar and butter. Louis must’ve made these especially for me.
“Good morning, Olivia,” Declan says, grabbing the bottle of whip cream from last night off the counter and spraying a circle of cream on what look like wheat pancakes. I watch as he spoons some cream on his finger and then dips it into his mouth, never taking his eyes off me.
He’s taunting me, and I love every minute of it.
I wipe the crumbs of muffin off my mouth and flash him a smile. Who is this new version of Declan? A week ago, he was staring at me angrily across the pool. And two weeks ago, he was refusing to even see me.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
Sleep well? How on earth does he expect me to get any sleep with the way he left me last night? My eyes glance over to Adele and Louis, who are busy bustling about the kitchen. Just on the other side of the island stands Louis scrambling eggs and beside him is Adele making tea. It’s as if they’re pretending we’re not here. I’m almost certain I see a ghost of a smile on Adele’s lips as she puts on a teakettle. Even the walls have ears.
“I wouldn’t say well,” I finally reply.
“That’s a shame,” Declan says, getting up and brushing past me as he puts away the bottle of whip. “I slept fantastic.”
I stuff my muffin back in my mouth to keep from swearing at him. His eyes dance as he watches me inhale the delicious treat. If he weren’t my client, I’d throw one at his head. My eyes fall to the plate of assorted muffins. On second thought, why waste such a tasty thing?
“Adele,” Declan says.
“Yes?”
I watch as Adele turns to us, suddenly interested.
“Good morning, Olivia. I didn’t hear you come in,” she says, practically winking at me.
Declan smirks. I’m sure he knows just as much as I do that Adele is lying through her teeth. She doesn’t miss a beat as she walks over with a cup of freshly brewed tea.
“Did you need something, Declan?” Adele asks, looking over to him.
“I think we should move Olivia’s things to the west wing.”
My jaw drops at his words. Move me over to the west wing? Isn’t that his space? Not that he needs an extra ten bedrooms. A smile breaks across Adele’s face as she shoots me a quick glance. Although she says nothing, her eyes say enough.
“Do you want her things moved to Elena’s—I mean, the room next to yours?”
He flinches slightly before shaking his head no.
“No, I think the room across from my office would be more fitting.”
Elena? Who’s Elena?
My confusion must be obvious because Adele mouths a vital piece of information to me that I had yet to hear of.
His ex-wife.
Declan was married?
Adele nods to her employer before disappearing through the hallway. Declan’s silence speaks mountains. The shift in his mood tells me that he has zero interest in talking about his ex-wife. She must’ve done a number on him. Fortunately, I’ve never really let anyone close enough to let them hurt me. I was always too busy accompanying my mom to the doctors, going to school, working, and reading.
That said… it didn’t stop me from falling in love in my pages.
Louis appears in front of me with the most perfect looking omelet. I know he specially made it for me because he left out the onions. Onions on burgers I could do, but not on my breakfast.
“For the beauty.”
I smile. “Thank you, Louis.”
Surprise fills me as I glance back at Declan to find him scowling at me. Why is he looking at me like that? I’m just about to retort with something quick-witted, but the vibration of my phone stops me. I cringe at the familiar sight of Richard’s cellphone number flashing on my phone. It’s almost been two weeks since I left New York. He’s probably wondering if Declan has made any traction in his manuscript.
“Excuse me,” I say. “I have to take this.”
I feel Declan’s gaze on me as I make my way outside to the pool area. With a heavy sigh, I answer Richard’s call. His booming voice fills the line almost immediately. My thoughts are scattered as I try to process the look Declan gave me and the words Richard’s saying.
“Evans, how’s the manuscript?”
“It’s going.”
“It better be,” he clips. “Or your ass is on the street.”
“I understand.” Dick. He really doesn’t need to call me just to berate me over the phone. I never realized just how big of a jerk Richard was until the day we met with the new owners of StoneHaven Publishing. I got the feeling he was ready to throw me under the bus at a moment’s notice. Especially if it meant he’d look good in front of them. If they only knew that I’ve been doing his work.
“When are you sending over the new chapters?”
“Tonight.” I sigh.
“Good.”
“Make sure he stays on track.”
“I know how to do my job,” I snap.
If Richard’s pissed at my reply, there’s no way of knowing. Except that a second later, the phone hangs up without as much as a goodbye. As much as I miss the familiarity of New York, I’m not looking forward to going back to being under Richard’s thumb.
Feeling a little homesick, I make a call to Magnolia Assisted Living hoping to hear my father’s voice. To my dismay, the nurse over the phone tells me my father’s not having a good day today.
“Try tomorrow,” she says, doing her best to sound cheerful.
12
DECLAN
I’m knee deep in rewrites when Adele comes bursting into my office. Lines of worry are etched across her face, setting off alarm bells in my head. The only person Adele gets upset with is me. Did something happen with Olivia?
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s upset. She won’t come out of her room,” she says exasperated.
“Maybe she’s tired.”
“She’s upset about her father.”
"Why?"
My patience is wearing thin today. I don't want to play games.
"She mentioned not being able to speak with him…Maybe she'll come out if you talk to her," she rattles on.
“You should do something nice for her,” Adele says, looking at me with a poignant stare. I pace the room as Adele’s words sink into my bones.
“Nice? Like what?” I scoff.
The only nice things women seem to want are jewelry, extravagant vacations, and designer clothes. At least, that’s what Elena always wanted. The moment one of my books flopped, she was out the door. I guess she couldn’t take the idea of cutting back on the extravagances. Good riddance. The last time I heard, Elena married some yacht club owner in Florida.
It’s funny how one name can sour everything. My day was going well. I woke up feeling alive like there was something to look forw
ard to. I came downstairs for breakfast, surprising both Louis and Adele. I would’ve been lying if I told them it was for Louis’s cooking. The real reason came floating down in a pink robe minutes later. I can’t stop thinking of the taste of her skin on my tongue. The musky sweet flavor of her pussy. I find myself craving it like water. I haven’t touched her since the other night, but I’d do what I did to her the other night again. And again.
Until her, I knew all the ways to describe my feelings. I write romance novels for a living, but words fail me when I think of how I actually feel for her. Yes, I want to bury my tongue, my fingers, my cock, in her pussy. I want to feel her lips wrapped around me as I come all over mouth and tits. I want to see her naked, want to feel her skin sliding against mine, sweaty and slick. I want to hear the sounds and see the face she makes when she orgasms, but most of all, I want to know what makes her tick. What makes her happy. What makes her excited.
“Maybe Louis can cook you two some dinner, and you can sit and watch a movie?” Adele offers, breaking me from my thoughts.
“What does she like?” I ask.
“Like?”
“Yes, what can I buy her?”
My housekeeper smiles and then gently touches my arm. It takes all of my strength not to pull back as her hand makes contact with my puckered skin. I shift uncomfortably in my chair as she flashes me an encouraging smile. Adele doesn’t baby me. She’s always been straightforward with me, and it’s one of the reasons why I’ve tolerated her company. Or rather, she’s tolerated me.
“Who could like me?” I laugh, letting my pain wash over me. “I’m a beast, remember?”
“Only when you haven’t eaten,” she jokes. “Maybe it’s time you got to know her. And let her know you...”
I find myself staring at Olivia’s bedroom door, as I stand barefoot outside of it. I’ve memorized each curve of wood and each dip, but I can’t seem to find the words to say to her. To coax her into coming out or opening the door. It isn’t until I hear her crying that I slightly lose it. But only slightly.
“Open the door,” I bark.
The crying stops for a moment, and I hear her rummaging around the room. The slight creak in the wood floors gives me hope that she’s actually listening to me. I step back and watch the light beneath the door extinguish with her shadow. Disappointment fills me at the silence in the air between us. I’m just about to repeat the words again when she speaks.
“Go away,” she says softly.
The tightness in her voice sends an ache to my chest. I knock my fist against the door feeling helpless.
“I’ll gladly knock down the door.”
“Go away,” she repeats.
“I’m giving you until the count of three.”
“I’m not coming out,” she says, stubbornly.
“One.”
The silence from the other side of the door only eggs me on. If she doesn’t think I’d knock down my own door, she’s wrong.
“Two.”
Very wrong.
“Three.”
I turn bracing my shoulder for the impact, but instead of my shoulder meeting the door, I meet air. Air that sends me stumbling forward into Olivia’s arms. Her hands steady me as I straighten myself and meet her gaze.
“It took you long enough,” I say.
Her soft hazel irises look up at me through red-rimmed eyes and tear soaked eyelashes. I find myself reaching out to her to cup her face. She looks up, startled to see me so close. I wince at the expression in her eyes. She must see a monster when she looks at my face. Her gaze washes over me, but she continues to say nothing.
Finally, I can’t stand it. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s nothing,” she says, wiping her cheeks. “Did you need something?”
“Tell me,” I say. I wince at the sadness in her eyes. I meant to sound supportive. Instead, as usual, I growled. “Please,” I add, forcing myself to sound softer. She sighs, finally giving into my request.
“I tried calling my dad today to talk to him, but he wasn’t having a good day.” She looks sad and frustrated, and I want to comfort her. But I don’t know how. I don’t even know if she’d want me to.
“Is he sick?” I ask.
She looks away, blinking. “He has Alzheimer’s.”
I take in a breath. I’ve never known anyone with Alzheimer’s, but everything I’ve seen in movies and books tells me it’s not a happy ending to someone’s story.
“I’m sorry.”
She looks back at me, her hazel eyes watery. “Me too.”
“Your mom...?” I trail off, unsure of what I’m asking.
She shakes her head. “She died years ago. Cancer.”
I run a hand through my hair, roughing up the already messy strands that cover my ears. I don’t know what to say to make this better. It doesn’t seem like there’s much to say. My parents passed when I was in high school. It was probably one of the most painful moments in my life, but even that pain seems to subside over time.
She looks up at me, her eyes full of pain. “That’s why I didn’t want to leave New York. I visit him all the time.” She sniffs, wiping her wet cheek.
“Does he recognize you?” I ask. I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m genuinely curious.
“Sometimes,” she whispers. “Sometimes he thinks I’m my mom. He’ll call me Lois.”
She takes a deep, shaky breath. She looks utterly defeated, and tears are close to spilling out of her eyes again. Tentatively, I put an arm around her. I’m not used to this, the idea of touching a woman for comfort rather than pleasure. It feels awkward as fuck, but she leans into my shoulder, laying her head on my chest.
After a few minutes, she speaks again. “Why are you being nice to me?” She looks up at me, her jaw set in a hard line. “You know I’m not going to forget about those edits you need to do just because you’re being a decent human being for once, right?”
I chuckle. “I know.” I feel a pang of frustration that I never seem to be on the same page with this woman, but I push it away.
“So why, then?”
“I don’t know.” I sound as uncomfortable as I feel, I’m sure.
I don’t want to admit that I’m awkwardly trying to comfort her because it’s what a good man would do. And I’m trying to be a better man, even if it’s for a selfish reason. I don’t deserve her. Contrary to what she might think, I know she’s better than I am in pretty much every way. I don’t know if I would ever deserve her, but she makes me want to try. My mind churns over the dilemma with her dad. And suddenly, the solution comes to me. It’s so obvious that I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.
“Would you like to go see your dad?” I offer.
She straightens up, looking at me with an expression of utter shock. “What?”
I nod. “I’ll buy your plane ticket.”
Her eyes immediately narrow in suspicion. “You don’t even know me. Why would you do that?”
“I have the money.”
She stares at me for a few moments, as if she’s trying to figure out what angle I’m working. Finally, she shakes her head. “No.”
I scowl. “No?”
“No.” She pulls away from me, pacing for a moment. Then she turns to face me once more. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?” I stand, too, squaring off against her.
She puts her hands on her plush hips, and I try like hell not to stare at them. Fuck, those hips and her ass will surely be the end of me. I would love nothing more right now than to be buried deep inside her, plowing her from behind while I grab them. I’m not picky, though. I’d take some other position.
Anything to save me from this confusing conversation.
“If this is about the other night in the kitchen—” she begins to say.
I growl. “I’m not doing this to get laid.”
From the expression on her face, I know she doesn’t believe me.
“Maybe that used to be me,” I say. “But I’m tryin
g to be better than that.”
She bites her lip. The sight of it makes my blood boil. This woman pisses me off and turns me on all in the same breath.
“Would you really do that for me?” she asks.
“Yes, consider it retroactive compensation for working above your pay grade for so many years.” I smile. “Besides, it’s not like I don’t have the money.”
She stands right in front of me, her breasts taunting me. I have an overwhelming desire to bury my head in her cleavage, but I don’t. She looks like she’s ready to kill me, and despite hating myself half the time, I’m not actually suicidal.
“I don’t need your money,” she says, stubbornly. “Just because you have everything you could ever want or need, you think you own the whole goddamn world. Well, I have news for you, Declan Hart.” Fuck. I like the way my name sounds on her tongue. “You can’t just buy me with money. So you can go fuck yourself.”
I grab her hand, tugging her down until she’s pressed flat up against me. She looks at me with a mixture of shock and outrage on her pretty face. “I’d rather you fuck me,” I growl.
She isn’t prepared for the gift I’m about to give her as I lean in, sealing my lips over hers.
13
OLIVIA
My brain is at war with itself.
On the one hand, I’m still blindingly, irrationally angry with him. I want to punch him in his stupid, beautiful face.
Give me money? Like that’ll solve anything. I mean, yes, it would mean I could go see my father, but the fact that he smiled like an arrogant ass when he offered it doesn’t make me want to take the money. I can’t think straight on this issue. Especially when he’s kissing me with ferocity that belies his arrogance only moments ago. God, his lips are amazing. He doesn’t so much kiss me as he consumes me, covering my mouth with his, nipping my lips with his teeth, and sucking on my tongue.
Filthy Beast (Filthy Fairy Tales #1) Page 7