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Get a fucking grip. He’s only a man. Mm… but what a man. And does he have to look like that?
“Hey, Luce, I have to go. I’ll call you soon.”
I closed the call quickly and wiped my mouth just in case I’d dribbled chocolate icing on my chin. Or was that drool? My bodily responses to this man were insane.
What happened to Ms. Cool, Calm, and Collected around hot men? I’d always been the one to hold up Lucy when she was about to collapse from some hot guy giving us the eye.
Great-looking guys didn’t do that to me.
Until now.
“Theadora,” he said, with that resonant husk that reverberated through me, tugging at my nipples.
Catching a whiff of his cologne, I felt a throb between my legs again.
Although I hadn’t shared this with Lucy yet, in a way I felt shy about it, I’d finally had my first orgasm. All it took was imagining Declan groping my tits while his hard, naked dick rubbed against me, and I came so hard I virtually chewed through the pillow to avoid screaming.
What next, a vibrator?
If Declan Lovechilde continued to look at me with those lingering gazes that registered straight to my core, I would have to resort to something drastic, like get a boyfriend.
“Mr… I mean… Declan,” I stammered. It felt strange calling him by his first name, but he’d insisted, and we had a history, stashed away in my subconscious, going on how my body responded to his male scent.
“Enjoying the sights?” he asked, pointing at the pier and boats that swayed in the breeze.
“I love it here,” I said.
He looked down at my cupcake. “Mind if I join you? I could use a coffee.”
“Oh… of course.”
I hoped he hadn’t caught the waver in my voice. And oh shit, my cheeks scorched again. What was it about this man? My brain seemed to scatter into pieces around him.
Okay, yes, he was built like a beast. A very sexy, just-enough-hair-on- the-chest version. His eyes robbed me of speech, including those fleshy lips that he often thumbed over. And his voice. Oh my god, that voice. And don’t get me started on his strong thighs and butt in those Speedos. Phew. And when did I start talking to a make-believe person?
“Can I get you another?”
“Um… sure, why not.” My mouth trembled into a smile.
As I watched him stride like a man who owned the world into the café, I took deep, calming breaths so that he wouldn’t think me completely stupid, because that’s what I became around him.
He returned and sat down. His long legs stretched out in front of him. His blue eyes twinkling like the sea before me. I seemed to interest him. But why? He could have had any woman he liked.
“I’m glad I’ve seen you. I’m looking for a maid.”
“Oh? In London?” I asked, unsure if that’s what he meant.
“Just five minutes from here. I live in a converted church.”
“Oh.” I nodded to stop my wobbling head. That’s how it felt while his eyes seared into me. Even a normal conversation with him did strange things to my heartbeat, resembling an avant-garde rhythm section.
He studied me with a crooked smile. “You look surprised.”
“I imagined some slick penthouse in London.”
“My only home in London you’ve stayed in.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, of course. Mayfair.” I smiled weakly. “That was an odd morning. I had to ask someone walking a dog where I was. They looked at me as though I’d landed from another planet.”
