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“Wait.” She blinks, raising a hand. “You got rid of flowers? From your own house? When?”
I clear my throat, letting my expression turn neutral. “A while ago.”
Her brows shoot up. “You did? What, in case I ever ended up here? And now that we’re on the subject, was it because of you that those flowers in the office disappeared and got replaced with something else?”
“Of course it was.” I shrug, pulling her a little closer against my body. “Gigi told me that you had an allergy. She said you’d assured her it wouldn’t be a problem, but there was an easier way to make sure it wouldn’t be a problem that didn’t involve you taking a pill every day just to go to work.”
A slow, soft smile spreads across her face, and even though I know I’ve just revealed how deeply—and how long—I’ve been obsessed with this woman, I can’t bring myself to care. We’re not fighting this thing between us anymore, no longer trying to relegate it to something physical only, so I don’t have to hide my feelings now.
“That’s… that’s really sweet, Declan,” Sophie whispers. Then she chuckles. “I remember wondering if you had anything to do with it and convincing myself you must not have, since I was pretty sure you hated me when I first started at Dynasty.”
“I never hated you,” I tell her honestly. “I don’t think I could if I tried. It would be impossible. But I hated how out of control you made me feel, how everything I thought I wanted got turned on its head whenever you were around. Everything used to be ordered, and what I felt for you was… messy. I didn’t know how to handle it.”
She reaches up, trailing her fingers along my jaw. “Thank you for looking out for me. And for making space for me in your life, even though it’s messy.”
I give her a wicked smile, sliding one hand between her legs and through her slick folds. “Well, not every mess is bad. I quite enjoy making a mess out of you, for example.”
She laughs and then whimpers as I find the swollen nub of her clit. She reaches up to hook a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss—but then her stomach lets out a loud, sustained growl. She freezes, her eyes going wide, and then we both burst into laughter.
“I guess we worked up an appetite,” she says, resting a hand on her stomach.
“Yes, we fucking did.” I chuckle, pride filling my chest at that. “Don’t worry, Spitfire. I’ll feed you.”
Chapter 33
Declan
I roll out of bed, getting to my feet and stretching. Sophie tries to follow me, but as she swings her legs to the floor, she winces in discomfort.
I glance over at her, concerned. My eyes trace the marks on her body—marks from my hands on her thighs, love bites down her neck and collarbone, the red imprints of my fingers on her sides.
A flash of guilt shoots through me. I fuck hard—I can’t help it—but last night and this morning, I was particularly unhinged. I wasn’t thinking. I just let my desire for her overpower my sense of reason.
I pull her into my arms, holding her close. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she assures me. “Really.”
“I know I can be too much sometimes,” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“Declan, I like the way you fuck.” There’s a deep flush in her cheeks, like she’s embarrassed to admit it outside of the throes of passion. Her shyness only makes her next words even hotter. “I like how intense it is.”
Even though I finished only a few minutes ago, I can feel my cock beginning to harden again. I don’t think she knows the full effect she has on me. She’s sweet and innocent, with a little sex kitten buried underneath, and it drives me crazy.
“Can you give me something to wear?” She gestures up and down her body, which only makes my dick harder. “Or am I supposed to eat breakfast naked?”
“Here,” I say, tossing one of my t-shirts to her. She takes it and presses her face into the fabric, breathing in the scent. I bite my lip and look away, trying to think of literally anything but sex.
Investors. Tax documents. Skype meetings. All of my forced thoughts about work are drowned out by the sight of Sophie wearing my t-shirt. It hangs halfway down her thighs.
“Let’s go,” I say. As she turns to leave the room, I can’t help but slap her ass. She laughs, shooting me a mischievous grin over her shoulder.
In the kitchen, I lead Sophie to the island and get her settled in one of the high chairs at the counter. She looks around the open, airy space with wide, appreciative eyes.
“God,” she says, “how the other half lives, huh?” She’s clearly blown away by it.
I reach into the fridge and produce a carton of eggs. I glance around as I straighten back up, looking around at the industrial fixtures, the furniture. I try to see it through her eyes.
“I barely even notice it anymore,” I admit. I don’t really care about a lot of the luxury. It’s all just a backdrop at this point.
