Page 387 of Manhattan Bossholes

“I know,” I said, and pressed my lips hard against his. I kissed him as if that was the last thing I’d ever do, every fiber of my body craving the heat of his body. Sweet mercy, I couldn’t even think straight. Had I ever lost control like this?

Our embrace turned hotter. The cardigan slipped from my shoulders, and I unbuttoned his shirt far enough to run my hands over his firm, lightly furred chest, and clutch at those strong, broad shoulders.

“Is that…is that all right?” I panted.

In answer, he tugged the neckline of my sundress below my breasts, swearing gratefully when he realized I wasn’t wearing a bra. My breasts spilled free, and a shiver ran up my spine when he ran his thumb over one hard nipple. The way he caressed my body was downright worshipful. Then he bent and sucked the tip of my breast, and any remaining doubt about how far I’d let him go flew out the window. I wanted more. I needed more.

More of this overwhelming pleasure. More of him. More of everything.

“Please,” I begged. “I need…”

His smile was cocky but warm, appreciative. Like he knew he was in charge, but he didn’t take it for granted. “Where do you need me, Olivia St. James?” His lips found the place on my neck I liked and lingered until I moaned. “Do you need me here?” He pinched my nipple, rolling it between his fingers, and I squirmed helplessly on his lap. Heat spread out from my chest, maddening tendrils of lust swirling down my body. “Maybe here?”

“You know where,” I said, all that heat going to where I needed Declan the most.

His hand slid lower, edging under my skirt, until he was stroking my damp panties. I tipped my head back and gasped. “Maybe it’s the language barrier,” he said, teasing me with his words and his fingers. His low voice in my ear sent shivers down my back. “You’d call this your pussy. I’d call it your cunt.”

The crude words were one more naughty sensation pushing me toward the edge. And I liked that, the feeling of knowing there was an edge and that I was dancing so maddeningly close to it. This felt like sheer abandonment, and I loved it.

“Whatever you call it, it’s lovely,” Declan said, his voice ragged. He tugged my panties aside, so that he could touch me directly, and I nearly expired on the spot. “You’re so damn lovely, Olivia. I can’t wait to lick you here. Fuck you here.”

“Declan,” I whimpered, rapidly losing my ability to say anything else. There was a buzzing in my ears, and stars seemed to dance in front of my half-lidded eyes. I was high on Declan, that had to be it. He stroked me, and my breath grew ragged, until the buzzing stopped. Then it started again.

Wait. That buzzing wasn’t in my head. It was a phone.

“Is that your phone?” I was so out of it that my voice sounded foreign to my ears.

“Hmm?” His eyes were dark and hungry in the candlelight. He was so turned on he looked drugged, and I felt a rush of feminine satisfaction.

“I think your phone’s buzzing,” I said.

He blinked, coming back to the earth. He fumbled in his pocket and checked the screen.

It was the number for his landline. Declan didn’t use it much, but he’d made a point of showing Catie how to use it in an emergency.

Immediately. his demeanor shifted. He answered, worried. “Catie? Sweetheart, are you all right?”

“I can’t find you,” Catie all but sobbed. “I can’t find anyone. Miss Olivia is gone. Mom was gone in the dream, and now you’re gone⁠—”

“I’m out in the backyard,” Declan assured her, moving me off his lap and hurrying to his feet. “Miss Olivia is too. But I’m coming right back in. Take a deep breath. It’s okay, love.”

He rushed toward the house, then looked back at me, conflicted. “I’m sorry, I’ll clean this up⁠—”

“No, go,” I reassured him. “I’ll take care of all this,” I said, gesturing to the picnic.

His lips thinned, like he wanted to say more. But then he nodded once and hurried inside. There was a scared little girl who needed him, and that trumped everything else—as it should.

My heart twisted in my chest as I watched him go. My body was cooling down, but my emotions weren’t. Dating Declan was fun. But I was fooling myself if I thought I could separate the playful, suave man who’d courted me from the flawed, real, deeply responsible man who’d do anything for the people he loved.

I packed up the picnic and blew out the candles. It was cold, so I wrapped myself in Declan’s cardigan before carrying everything inside. I was putting the food in the fridge, when I had an idea.

Maybe Declan was on to something when he’d mentioned spoiling Catie rotten.

I poured a glass of milk, then I took the chocolate tart and tiptoed upstairs.

Catie’s door was open, and the light by her bed was on. Declan sat on Catie’s bed, with Catie doing her level best to burrow into his chest while he patted her back.

“It’s all right,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “It was just a bad dream. Your mom is safe, and so are you.”