Page 63 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

Behind me, the glass door opened and closed again; Declan had stepped into the shower. I kicked my dirty clothes into a corner, realizing as I did so that I hadn’t bothered to grab any clean ones from my hotel room. I worked up the courage to face the shower. The glass was fogged, so I couldn’t see anything except vague movements. I took a deep breath—last chance to bail—and then I opened the shower door, crossed one of my arms over my chest for some semblance of dignity, and stepped inside.

The noise I let out the second I was beneath the steaming water was not even a little bit sexy. But my concerns about being attractive were momentarily forgotten, because the rush of the hot water against my aching muscles felt so good that I was ready to sink into a puddle by the drain. I was standing facing Declan, with my back to the showerhead, but I kept my eyes closed, letting the water beat against me until my hair was sopping and falling in my face.

A hand grazed my cheek as he swept a stray lock of hair behind my ear. My eyes fluttered open. Declan was drinking me in, his gaze inching patiently over the curve of my hips, up my waist, to where I still had a protective arm across my chest. He lingered for a moment on my lips before his eyes finally met mine. Water clung to my eyelashes, and I reached with my free hand to wipe beneath my eyes, hoping I didn’t look like a raccoon thanks to whatever was left of my mascara.

“Hi,” he said, his voice low.

“Hi,” I whispered back, the sound nearly swallowed up by the rush of the water.

He stepped closer. A hand came to my waist, slick as he traced the lines of my body, like he was trying to memorize them. I let my eyes break away from his long enough to venture over his body, over the freckles that dotted his shoulders, down to the faint trail of hair beneath his belly button, before darting back to his face.

“We should probably wash up first,” I breathed.

“We should,” he agreed, and I was almost disappointed when he tore his eyes from mine and grabbed the pine-scented body wash from the shelf. But then his hands found my waist again, slipperier than before, and he started to work the soap into a lather over my skin with hungry attention. I let my arm fall from my chest so that he could run soapy hands over my breasts, and I failed to hold back a moan. He took the opportunity to pull me closer to him and trailed kisses over my jaw, down my neck, across my collarbone.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered against my skin, his hands slipping down my back so that he could cup my ass, easing me against him. He was hard. Heat pooled between my legs. “Even better than I imagined.” His fingers slipped between my thighs, teasing slow circles.

“Imagined me, did you?” I breathed.

His breathing was as heavy as mine was. “I’ve had plenty of time for imagining over the years.”

“Tell me about it.”

He bent to kiss my neck. Our bodies were slick and warm beneath the shower. He held me against him as his mouth moved over the sensitive spot where my jaw met my ear, where he whispered, “I thought about doing this. Touching you. Getting you off.”

He slipped two fingers inside, the heel of his palm still rubbing against me. I moaned, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “Keep going.”

“Our first night here, when we went out to dinner and you were wearing that sexy little sundress. I could barely focus on dinner. All I kept thinking was how badly I’d like to get you out of it.” His hand wound me tighter and tighter until it became difficult to stand. “And the other night, in the arcade. When you sat on my lap.”

“Tripped,” I managed to correct him, though I was barely coherent.

He breathed a laugh. “I thought about taking you right there and then. I got hard just feeling your ass against me.”

His fingers pushed me over the edge, until all I could manage was a small oh and the pleasure crashed over me in waves. It was impossible to stand, but that didn’t matter because he held me in his arms and kissed me. It was a slow kiss, like he was savoring the way I moaned into his mouth. When he pulled away, he asked in a husky voice, “Meet you in the bedroom?”

“Meet me?” I repeated, dazed.

“I haven’t exactly washed myself off yet,” he pointed out.

As though I needed visual confirmation, I looked him up and down. His chest and abs were slick with water and some of the soap from my own body. “I could help with that.”

He laughed hoarsely. “I wouldn’t complain.”

I wasn’t much help. While he lathered his chest with body wash, I let my fingers slide down his stomach, tracing the faint trail of hair beneath his belly button before I took him into my hand. He replied with a groan, hips bucking, and then the shower was forgotten entirely as his mouth covered mine. He reached over my shoulder without looking to shut off the water. A fog lingered. He scooped me into his arms—my thighs tightening around him—and he kicked open the shower door, glass still slick with condensation.

He carried me out to the bedroom and we flopped onto the unmade bed, not caring if we got the sheets wet. He kissed down my neck and over the curve of one of my shoulders as he positioned himself between my legs. “Do you have any condoms?” I asked, breathless as his hands roved down my body until they came to settle on my hips, pulling me toward him. I could feel him pressed against me, but it wasn’t enough.

If there was such a thing as a record scratch in real life, this was it. Declan blinked, and I almost wondered if he’d heard me, but then the hunger in his eyes gave way to a sort of horrified comprehension. He pushed himself up onto his knees between my legs and ran a frustrated hand through his damp hair. “Shit. No.”

“Seriously?” I asked, propping up on my elbows. It came out sounding way more demanding than I meant for it to, because the last thing I wanted to have to do was wait another night.

“I don’t do one-night stands, so I’m not sure this should come as a surprise. And I didn’t exactly set out on this trip with the expectation that you’d give me the time of day—let alone want to have sex with me,” he added dryly, when I only stared at him with my mouth half-open.

Instead of a condom, he extracted a pair of clean boxer briefs from his gym bag. “Okay,” he said, looking frazzled as he pulled on the underwear and turned in place, searching for something else. “Okay, give me a minute.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back in a few.” He buttoned his jeans and pulled a T-shirt over his head before stooping to catch my mouth in a deep, longing kiss. “God, you look good in my bed,” he mumbled against my lips before pulling away and heading for the door.