Page 49 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

Now he did laugh, deep and quiet, a soft rumble in his chest as I ran my hands up to his neck to pull him closer. His nose brushed against mine, skated down it, but he didn’t close the gap. His breath was warm and shallow, but then it hitched, and for a moment I worried he would pull away again. My fingers curled against his neck, against the rough stubble that traced his jaw, my eyes still shut. His thumb traced slow, teasing circles on my hip that set my skin on fire.

“Please,” I muttered against him, though I wasn’t entirely sure what I was begging for.

With a frustrated exhale, he pressed his lips to mine.

I was kissing Declan, and this time, I had no excuse. No perfect storm to write it off like it was nothing. There was nothing perfect about this, kissing him in broad daylight, in wine-soaked jeans, in the middle of a tacky clothing store. But at the same time, everything was perfect about it. He was gentle but purposeful, his hands leaving my waist to capture my face and angle it toward his. His tongue slipped into my mouth, tasting like the samples of Funfetti cake. All the fire of last night came rushing back, stronger than ever. It wasn’t enough. I pressed my body against his, wanting to feel him, closer—

He broke the kiss, and I could have shouted at him for all the mixed signals, but then I realized he was looking down at my jeans. “Almost forgot,” he said, his voice thick. “Should we—”

“Yes,” I said, almost as eager to change into clean clothes as I was to rip them off entirely. I glanced over at the shopkeeper. She was clacking away on an old plastic register with her long acrylic nails, paying us no mind.

Struck by a sudden bold idea, I took Declan by the hand.

“Come with me,” I said quietly. I dragged him to the back, to the curtain-enclosed changing area, and pulled him through the curtains with me.

“I don’t think I’m allowed—” he started to say, but I kissed him before he could finish the thought. It was all the persuasion he needed. He let out a groan of surrender that sent a fresh wave of desire trickling through me as he pressed my back against the mirror, his hands working their way beneath my tank top and skidding up my bare skin. I reached to shrug one of my bra straps off my shoulder to allow easier access.

I broke the kiss to whisper in his ear. “I want you to touch me.”

He was all too happy to oblige.

His hand slid beneath the underwire to cup my breast, finger drawing those familiar circles around my nipple, and I arched into him. He bent to kiss my collarbone. “You feel so good,” he whispered against my skin, and it sent a shiver through me, my arms erupting into goose bumps.

But as much as I wanted this, I remembered what he’d said last night about one-night stands. What he’d reiterated today. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” I said.

He didn’t say anything, kissing up my neck until his lips found mine again and caught them in a rough kiss. His fingers fumbled with the button of my jeans. Then, to my surprise, he dropped down to the floor, onto his knees, tugging my jeans down with him.

“What are you doing?” I hissed. My bold idea had been a make-out session and a bit of groping, but nothing more until we got back to the hotel. I tried to peer around the curtains, half-expecting there to be some slit the shopkeeper could spy through, but they were closed.

He shot me a roguish look as he pulled down my underwear as well. There was that damned dimple again. “Making up for last night.”

Any protest died on my lips the second his mouth was between my thighs. I moaned, then clapped a hand over my mouth when I remembered we were about fifteen feet from the cash register. My legs felt like they might give out from under me. As though he read my mind, he scooped one of them up and pulled it over his shoulder, steadying me. His fingers dug into my hips, angling me toward him. I buried my hands in his hair.

“You taste like wine,” he mumbled, and his breath was pleasantly warm against me.

I wasn’t sure how I strung two coherent words together, but somehow, I managed to say, “Shut up.”

If I’d thought I was breaking Rule Number Six last night, I was sure as hell breaking it now.

CHAPTER18

“I’ve never done that sort of thing before,” Declan said.

“What, gone down on a girl?” I teased. The answer to that was obvious: he knew what he was doing.

“No, I mean in public like that.”

“Actually, neither have I,” I admitted.

He shot me an incredulous look from the driver’s seat of the golf cart as he turned over the engine. His hair was messy from the way my fingers had tangled in it only moments ago, before we’d paid for my new jeans and a fresh pack of underwear without making eye contact with the shop owner. I’d changed before leaving the shop, eager to toss the wine-stained jeans in the nearest trash can. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not. Didn’t you see the way I sort of panicked?”

“Out of all your various escapades—”

“Is that what we’re calling them?”

“—you’re telling me you’ve never done anything in public.”