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"You wear that better than I ever did," he whispers after a minute of tense silence.
"Oh, please," I say in an attempt to laugh the compliment away.
I make my way toward the bed, not missing the way Declan's eyes have slid toward my exposed legs once more, gazing intensely. I drop weakly onto the bed and try not to think about what Declan's interested stare could mean. Maybe, like me, he has not been with a woman in a long time. That would explain his less-than-discrete appraisal.
This is the strangest thing I’ve ever done. I'm sleeping in bed with a man I'm in a fake relationship with.
Declan gets up and begins to undo the buttons on his shirt. I watch, because I have nothing better to do, of course, and have not in a very long time watched something so interesting and entertaining. He shrugs out of his shirt, exposing bronze-colored, well-muscled shoulders that cause me to gulp.
Declan is more than ripped, the fact that he's so much older makes him even more appealing. He is nothing like Allard or the past boyfriends I dated. He's so much different. So much older.
Sexier...
At forty-one, he’s got a trim physique that makes him look like he belongs on the front page of some famous magazine.
I become wide-eyed at my thoughts because suddenly, it becomes apparent to me what I have been feeling for Declan.Lust. Pure, unadulterated lust.
I watch him reach for his belt buckle, when he begins to undo it, fingers sliding between the fly to push it down, I jerk my eyes away and decide that's enough. But it's, in fact, not enough. I want to do more than watch Declan's athletic body.
Godammit! This cannot be happening.
Minutes later, I don't know how long, the bed dips signaling that Declan has come to bed; my body is acutely aware of the warmth of Declan's body that I feel, even with the distance between us.
I keep my body turned away, not missing how tense I am and how I even have balled my hands in a fist. Declan turns the bedside lights off and bathes the room in complete darkness so that the only thing that I can hear is the deep sound of his breathing. At this point, I wonder just how I'm supposed to fall asleep, keenly aware of my attraction to Declan.
"What a day, huh?" Declan's voice interrupts my thoughts.
"Tell me about it," I say, trying so hard to keep my composure.
"I owe you, Felicity. Thank you for agreeing to do this, despite how uncomfortable this makes you."
Oh, I wish he knew that the only discomfort I'm experiencing is the strange ache between my legs at the thought of running my fingers against that impressive chest that he had displayed minutes earlier.
"It's not as bad as I thought," I lie. "It's just like a cute little sleepover, except that we are adults."
"I never had sleepovers,"Declan confesses in a low voice.
"Really?" I am a little shocked because I used to think every single kid did sleepovers.
"Yes. It was a strange concept that Father failed to understand. He didn't think there was anything fun about going to my friends’ to sleep. Wasn't my bed good enough for me? He would ask.” I am confused by his question.
"I don't know much about boy friendships, but sleepovers bonded my friends and I. I learned how to braid hair from all the sleepovers I had with my friends."
"I think Father was also primarily concerned about my safety. As an only child, I have always experienced being overly protected."
"I don't think it can be that bad."
"What?" Declan says in a surprised tone.
"Having overly protective parents. My parents were the opposite of that," I admit painfully. "Father never gave us the time of day; he was always too focused on himself and food," I say, remembering how overweight he has always been."And Mother was always running around trying to make ends meet. She barely had time for anything except work. So," I say, and pause for a split second, drawing the blanket further up and enjoying its warmth and scent. "Most of the time, I felt invisible to them,"I confess, my voice low and raspy.
I wonder why I am opening up in this manner to Declan. I have never willingly told anyone about some of the painful events from my childhood or how much of a deadbeat my father had been. But I am comfortable enough at this moment to tell Declan.
"There were times when I did wish I could disappear. It's pretty funny that we had desired the opposite of what we had gotten as children.”
"Quite ironic," I admit.
"But really, I did wish that I didn't have so much attention on me when I was a kid. The expectations, especially how I must follow in the footsteps of my father, had been daunting. I hated that everyone expected me to be like him."
