Declaration (Preservation, # 3)

by Rachael Wade

  She so had me.

  The kiss wasn’t just any kiss. No, it was a tricky little bastard, because it started out soft and gentle, but shifted gears in a matter of seconds. The moment her response went from surprise to surrender, the kiss turned hard and hungry, launching us into a frenzy of movement. Her arms were around my neck, my hands were moving all over her body, and somehow, in a span of about five seconds, she climbed up me like a tree, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist.

  We spun and bumped into the counter. I reached behind my back with one hand to tighten the cross of her ankles. And then I had her sitting on the edge of the stovetop, my hands exploring the tops of her thighs. I pushed the ruffled skirt hem up and clasped on to her bare, silky skin. Her tongue dove to the back of my throat, sliding over mine like wet, slick velvet.

  Holy mother fuck, I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning in this girl.

  She lifted her ass from the stovetop and bucked into me, meeting my dick with the apex of her thighs. My fingers grazed the dampness, and my erection throbbed at the thought of making her come right through her panties. Judging by how soaking wet she was, she was that ready.

  “I’m burning up,” she moaned against my mouth, ripping at the buttons of my shirt.

  “Oh, baby, me too.” I seated her ass back onto the counter and sent her a slow, precise rock of my hips.

  “It’s so hot, God it’s hot.”

  “I know. Let me help.” I made quick work of her shirt, gliding down the lace ruffles to get to the buttons. “This uniform drives me crazy.”

  She giggled into my mouth. “You like?”

  “Mmmmmm it’s so damn sexy.”

  I dragged her shirt sleeves down to her wrists, wishing I could memorize the image—her leaning back on the counter like that, shirt wide open and tits thrust in my face—but something else glared at me from behind her, distracting me from the view. “You’re burning up!” I shouted. “Whitney!”

  She laughed and leaned in, biting my lip hard. “It’s all your fault, Montgomery.”

  “No, shit! I mean your shirt, it’s literally burning up!”

  “What?” she shrieked, her head snapping to look back over her shoulder, where her shirt was still attached to her wrists. Flames had started to dance across the material and she let out a scream, pushing herself off the worktop and scampering to her feet.

  I’d turned on the stove to start cooking the chicken and had forgotten about it.

  Frantically sliding her shirt over her hands and flinging it to the floor, she jumped and started stomping on it while I flicked the stove off and raced for a pot of water to douse the shirt. A loud sizzle pooled at our feet, steam and smoke rising around our knees.

  “Oh my God!” she coughed, her choke mixed with laughter. “Were you trying to kill me, Montgomery?”

  “No!” I laughed with her, my shaky hands and racing heartbeat slowing just enough to register that I needed to check her for burns. “Come here, let me see you.” I pulled her around the smoky puddle and toward me, grabbing her hands and arms to assess the damage. I turned her around under the light and gently ran my fingers over her arms, back and chest, brushing over her hot, clammy skin and the white satin of her bra. Her heaving chest rose as she took a deep breath in, then fell as she worked to calm herself.

  “I’m fine. It just caught my shirt sleeve.”

  “Way to give me a heart attack, woman.”

  “Me, give you a heart attack?”

  “Well, yeah,” I shrugged in exasperation, “first you attack me like that and make me crazed with lust, and then you go and set yourself on fire!”

  “What?” she screeched.

  “You heard me!”

  “You’re the one who kissed me and set me on the damn stove!”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t thinking properly. God, I’m bloody knackered, now. I need to sit down. Come here.” Our panting laughter began to simmer down as we took a seat on the sofa. She slipped comfortably into my lap and I radiated satisfaction, realizing that if I had a mirror right now, I’d probably find a big, cheesy grin plastered across my face.

  “You, Carter Montgomery, are a menace.” She smiled down at me, slowly wrapping her hand around the nape of my neck, giving a light tug.

  “I think I owe you a meal. Take out?”

  “Ha. Yes, definitely. But first…” Her neck slowly bent to the side, her mouth coming down to meet mine, and the softness that was present when I’d first kissed her was there again, encouraging me to move my tongue with hers.

  “Mmmm you taste so good, Ka—”

  I froze and felt my whole body stiffen.

  “Hmmm?” She hummed against my lips, leaning into me, unfazed by what I’d almost just said. But every cell in my body sensed what I’d just done, and it wasn’t letting me slide so easily.

  My heart rate accelerated. I raised my hands to cup her cheeks and slowly peeled her mouth from mine, opening my eyes to find hers clouded and confused.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I whispered, swallowing the thick lump that lodged in the base of my throat. “I’m sorry, I have to…”

  “What is it, Carter?” She nuzzled into my cheek, but I didn’t fully register the sensation. My nerves were strung tight and my heart had dropped into the pit of my stomach. “You’re beautiful. But I have to go. I’m sorry.” I swiftly set her on the couch and stood, then beelined for the door. It was official. Kate Parker had truly ruined me for all other women. And the worst part about that?

  I actually wanted this one.

  Chapter 7

  Battle Scars

  I’d told Ruben I had nothing to hide. Gave him the impression that it didn’t matter what he said to Whitney about my past with Kate.

  But I didn’t mean it.

  Not now. Not after it all became painfully clear to me that I not only had a thing for Whitney, but that I had almost called her Kate’s name, too.

  Shit.

  My fingers rested lightly on Liz, unmoving and so solemnly still that I was beginning to wonder if I was hitting a block. Since I’d darted out on Whitney and left her alone, sitting in my apartment, I hadn’t been able to work on my music. It had only been a day since I abandoned her like that, but being unable to play Liz or jot down some lyrics?

  That made one day feel like a lifetime.

  When I’d dashed out on her, I’d raced down to Jackson’s boat. He’d been working at the club, so I had no way to let myself in, but I waited. Hid and waited is probably more accurate of a statement.

  I was mortified. Add to that ashamed and just generally guilty, and well…I felt pretty shitty.

  “What’s wrong?” Jackson looked tired and broken when he made it home that night, his heavy eyes blooming with anxiety as he approached me on the dock. “Is it Emma? Please tell me she’s okay.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I assured him, stubbing out the last of my cigarette. “Don’t worry, she’s fine.”

  “Then what is it? You look like hell. What are you doing here so late?”

  “I’m sorry to show up like this, it’s kind of hard to explain, but I really need to vent. I could also use a beer. I’m out.” Still being stranded without a car was proving difficult, especially for late night grocery store runs.

  “Yeah, okay.” Jackson ruffled his hair and slipped his key into the cabin door. Seeing him up close like this, even in the dim light that surrounded us from the dock, made me realize just how burdened he was looking. He hadn’t shaved, which I’d noticed earlier, but under this low lighting, it somehow stood out more.

  To top it off, his clothes were a mess. They smelled, for one. But they also looked like they’d been rolled up and stuffed in the back of a dresser drawer for more than a year. The wrinkles were prominent and the shirt and shorts were a complete mismatch.

  “So, what’s going on?” he asked with a yawn, letting me in behind him.

  “I can’t call my friend Dean about this, and I don’t know who else to t
alk to. Kate’s the last person I’d ever mention this to.”

  “Details, bro. Fill me in here.”

  “Sorry. Well, uh…it’s about Whitney.”

  “Whitney. As in, Whitney Sinclair?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I knew it.” Jackson’s ragged expression lightened for a moment and the corners of his mouth turned up.

  “Knew what?”

  “Ruben came to the club tonight. He was running his mouth about you and Whitney.”

  “No offense, dude, but your friend’s a douche.”

  “He can be, I know. But the thing about Ruben is he’s a good guy at heart…at least, he wants to be. He’s just got his head up his ass half the time, and he can be selfish. He’ll tell you that himself. I gotta hand it to him, he’s honest. When he screws up, he admits it.” Jackson looked fondly up at the ceiling. “Then again, he’d probably say the same exact things about me, so scratch all that shit. So, you have a thing for her.”

  “It’s kind of hard not to.”

  “Ha.” His brows shot up and he poured himself some whiskey, dropping on the small cabin loveseat. “Speak for yourself, man. That girl’s a pain in my ass.”

  “She’s spirited.”

  Jackson rolled the whiskey around in his glass, chuckling. “That’s one way to put it.”

  “Anyway, we almost hooked up tonight, and then I…I…”

  “Out with it, bro.”

  I reached for his whiskey glass, chucking back the remainder in one gulp. I handed him the empty glass. “I almost called her Kate.”

  Jackson’s head fell back and he sighed. “Oh, damn.”

  “Yeah, well, to make matters worse, I just left her sitting half naked at my damn apartment. I took off like a bat out of hell after she opened up to me about her fear of rejection and all this shit. And your buddy Ruben paid me a visit before I went in to work, rambling on about how you told him about my past with Kate and how he’d use that as ammo to have Whitney for himself.”

  Jackson stood and took a few steps across the tiny cabin to the fridge to retrieve me a beer. “I don’t know what he told you, dude, but I barely said anything. I was drunk and stupid. I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  “So, you left her there? Have you talked to her since?”

  “Nope.”

  “You need to tell her.”

  “Tell her what?”

  “All about this Kate chick back home. Assure her you’re not in love with her anymore. Because you’re not, right?” He tilted his head and gave me a warning look.

  “You know I am.”

  “But Whitney needs to know you’re not.”

  “How is that honest?”

  “Look, bro, you might not see it, and I know I haven’t known you that long, but you’re in love with an ideal and you’re making her the perfect girl in your head. You aren’t really in love with Kate. It sounds like you definitely were at some point, but right now? You’re in love with the idea of her. Maybe you have been this whole time and you just couldn’t see it. The point is, you obviously have a thing for Whitney, which means you’re ready to move on. So, move on. There’s nothing dishonest about that. Just be upfront with her, just like she is with you and everyone else on this island. Tell her the truth.”

  “I guess you have a point.”

  “I know I do.” He crashed next to me on the couch again while I gripped the cold beer bottle tightly. “For what it’s worth, I’ll do my best to keep Ruben off your back for a while to give you some time to patch things up with Whitney. I’ll tell him to back off. He’ll listen to me.”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it, man.”

  “Trust me,” he glanced at me with a nod, “Ruben can be persistent when he wants something. And he’s wanted Whitney for a long time.”

  “So I hear.”

  “Just let me talk to him.” He yawned again, stretching his arms. “Sorry to hear you had a rough night. I gotta crash, though. You can sleep on this seat if you wanna stay. I’ll see you later?” He nudged my shoulder and started for the bed.

  “Yeah, thanks.” I stood and set my beer on the counter. “I better get back to my place. See ya.”

  I stepped out into the foggy night and walked back to the shop, catching the glowing light from my apartment window upstairs. The curtains were drawn, the window in clear view, and the place was empty.

  ***

  For the most part, Whitney hadn’t spoken to me the rest of the week. She hadn’t objected to me checking in on Emma, though. So I still helped keep her company when I could, while Whitney was at work. I did manage to fill Whitney in here and there on Jackson’s status, assuring her that he was a mess without Emma. She seemed to appreciate it, but other than that, our conversation was sparse. The second things got awkward, Whitney would bolt before I could talk to her about what had happened that night in my kitchen.

  Emma had been doing well for a few days, starting to resume her normal routine, but then that progress went out the window one night when she had the sudden urge to sneak out and go line dancing. The next morning, she vowed that our babysitting duties were over for good and that she was ready to get back to the real world, so I took her word for it and turned in my resignation. It was time to give her space and let her get back on the horse.

  Now that Emma was on the mend, there was nothing between me and Whitney but us. Nothing else to talk about except the big elephant in the room: what had happened the night I ditched her at my apartment.

  Liz was cradled in her case, which was slung comfortably over my shoulder, as I traipsed over the sandy dune toward the pier. I glanced at my watch. There was no guaranteeing she’d be there, but this was her lunch hour. At least, it was the first time we met. My eyes traveled over my shoulder, back toward the swanky resort where she worked. I adjusted Liz’s case strap and breathed deeply to steel my nerves.

  The pier came into view and the breath I’d taken in to garner some strength whooshed from my lungs and lodged itself somewhere in the back of my throat.

  There she was, sitting on the edge of the dock, her back to me.

  I stilled for a second and then resumed my stride, walking quietly onto the dock. She shifted at the sound of my footsteps, turning to peer back at me through her dark shades.

  “Hey,” I said softly, coming to a stop next to her. “Mind if I join you?”

  She folded her sandwich foil and opened her paper bag to stuff it inside. “I was just going.”

  “You haven’t finished your lunch.” I eyed the remains of her chicken salad sandwich and the plastic bag of apple slices as she hurried to stuff them away.

  “I’m not that hungry today.”

  She moved to stand, but I stooped down to sit next to her, cupping the side of her neck to give her skin a gentle brush. “We need to talk, Whitney.”

  “No, we really don’t.” Her voice was determined, but I could feel her melt into my touch.

  I massaged my fingers into her nape and then moved to lift her shades so I could see her eyes. “You know we do. I’m really sorry about that night. After what you told me…I can’t believe I took off like that.”

  Her lashes fluttered and she fixed her smoky greens on me. “Then why did you?”

  I let Liz’s case slide from my shoulder and I set her down. “There’s this girl back home. Her name’s Kate.” I chanced a peek at her to see if any recognition registered on her face. She still didn’t seem to have caught the fact that I almost called her Kate that night. “She’s my best friend, aside from that guy Dean I told you about. But I had a thing for her, the feeling wasn’t mutual, and when the guy she’s with hurt her, things got messy. Between us, I mean. I was protective and I did things I shouldn’t have done. I had no right to, because she wasn’t ever mine.”

  “Oh.” She nodded her head in understanding, looking down.

  “I haven’t been interested in anyone since. Not genuinely, I mean. Not since I met you. I just freaked out for a min
ute there. I was conflicted. I wanted to tell you what was going on in my head, but I didn’t want you to take it the wrong way. I didn’t want you to think it was you, because it’s so not you.”

  “It’s not me, it’s you, right?” She sent me a wry grin.

  “I swear I’m not trying to serve you up some cheesy, clichéd excuse, okay? Bottom line is I’m still hung up on some shit back home. I admit that, but I want to move on. When I’m hanging out with you, I feel like I might be able to do that. I want to do that. So, is there any chance we can start over? Will you give me another chance?”

  Her small grin widened and she brought her eyes back up to meet mine, gripping the lunch bag tight in her fists. She didn’t open her mouth to answer. Instead, she slowly tilted her head and moved in to press her lips lightly on mine. Relief rushed through me, quickly followed by desire. I reached out and cupped her face, guiding her harder against my mouth. My tongue peeked out and teased her lips open, and she accepted me, leaning into my chest and letting me kiss her deeply. We both exhaled through our noses, sinking against one another.

  “Is that a yes?” I asked against her mouth.

  She snickered, pulling back a tendril of hair so she could look up at me. “For what’s it worth, I’m still hung up on my own baggage, too, which you’ve obviously caught a glimpse of, when I’ve rambled on about it.” She rolled her eyes with a smile. “So, that’s a yes. And for the record, I’m not rushing you into anything here, okay? We can take things slowly. This can be casual. No pressure.” She rubbed her nose against mine and nipped at my bottom lip. It sent a shot of pure pleasure straight down my spine and into my groin. Mental images of her on my stove top that night pounded into me, and snapshots of all the things I wanted to do to her followed right behind.

  “Thank you. Can we start tonight? Do you work at the diner?”

  “Nope, I’m free.”