Page 34 of Double Play

Then I see a vision I haven’t seen in twenty years.

India Baker. Naked.

fifteen

. . .

[India]

After taking a second to calm my racing heart while my scream peters out in the small space of the second-floor guest bathroom, I anxiously giggle. The sound is giddy and youthful since my nervous system is completely out of whack.

Because Declan Wylde is glaring at me through the steam-covered glass shower door, and he isn’t moving.

What are you doing here? should be my first question.

Instead, I shut off the shower and open the glass door outward, allowing him an unfiltered view of my bare body. One that has changed over the years, grown a little thicker in some areas despite a healthy diet and workout regime. If he reads the vulnerability in my actions, he ignores it. Or maybe I’m just quick to cover up my initial concerns. The ones that tell me he’ll reject me. He’ll judge my body or my boldness.

“You’re eye-fucking me,” I state brashly as I reach for a towel and slowly wrap it around myself, tucking the thick terry cloth tightly above my breasts.

Declan closes his eyes a second. His mouth pops open. Then it snaps shut. He half-heartedly lifts his hand, weakly pointing behind him with his extended thumb, before dropping his arm like it took too much effort to raise his limb.

Slowly, his lids open. “In your dreams.” His voice is rugged and rough, and I chew my lower lip because he remembers. He recalls what he said to me and what I said to him right here in this very bathroom all those years ago.

In your dreams. What a childish retort, and yet . . .

“In my dreams, you’re fucking me.” My response might be almost as childish, taunting and teasing, daring him. Maybe I’m even daring myself to be a little stronger in expressing myself, a little more empowered to seek what I want.

Declan swallows hard, his gaze pinned to my face. With a shaky hand, I swipe through my soaked hair, the curls tangled and twisted.

Then again, maybe this is a bad idea.

“How long has it been?” he croaks out taking a giant step forward.

I tilt my head, not remembering this question as part of our first encounter. Then I recall we’d been playing a game earlier that night.

“Since I’ve been kissed?” I clarify.

Declan nods robotically.

“I can’t remember,” I admit with an embarrassed whisper. I’d stopped counting the months. The timeframe was too humiliating. It spanned backward into my former marriage.

Declan’s head keeps nodding like a damn bobblehead, until he abruptly stops and starts moving his head side to side. “Truth. Tell me to walk away and I will.”

I should. I should scold him for being here, yell at him to look away, to get out. What is he doing here?

But my tongue is thick, because of the way his eyes both plead for me to kick him out and beg me to pull him close. And God, do I want him closer to me.

My gaze drops to the bulge in his thin dress pants which hardly hide just how turned on he is.

The sight of me has caused his dick to thicken, to lengthen, to pulse, and that’s the confidence bolster I need.

“Don’t you dare,” I beg, raspy and low. I’m almost ashamed of myself, but I want this more than I’m willing to admit.

I can remember a lot of things about Declan. The taste of his kiss. The feel of his hands. The sensation of being connected to him. However, I don’t need old memories; I want to make new ones. Ones that include this fresher version of me and wiser versions of us.

Our eyes only meet briefly before he cups the back of my neck and pulls me to him so forcefully, we collide. My breasts crush against his chest. Then his mouth is on mine, and I instantly melt.

While holding the nape of my neck, his other hand fists the towel over my hip, as if tugging at the material will bring me even closer to him.