Chasing Serenity (Seeking Serenity) (12 page)

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“This is more of that too much friendliness behavior we talked about.”

He moves me to face him, holds my cheeks in his hands. His pupils are wide, the green in his irises shining bright and I’m sure he’s likely as drunk as I am. But he smells sweet, he feels sweeter and I forget to care about our drunkenness or that he pissed me off earlier.

“I’m not your fecking friend, McShane.” And then his mouth covers mine, searing, certain. This isn’t like the simple peck that he gave me last night. It’s firmer, more severe and heated than even our first kisses in the basement. His kiss is deep and long and when I try to pull back, afraid his tongue will make an appearance, the pressure on my face increases. He breaks away from me, but his arm curls tight around my body, at the curve of my lower back. Through the haze of drunkenness and that left-unfilled pulse against my clit, I forget my earlier declarations, ignore the fact that he isn’t right for me or that I’m being irresponsible. I kiss him back, let my tongue slide across his bottom lip. His low growl vibrates against his throat, makes my stomach flutter and I’m instantly caught up in the need and want of him. Declan moves back, kisses my neck again, lets his mouth leave cool tracks of moisture in its wake and then he whispers in my ear. “Come with me.”

Drunk and swaying, I follow Declan to the back of the bar. There are couches and chaises in a semi-circle and a row of plush chairs pushed back against the wall. We never make it to any of them. It is late, the crowd has thinned and Declan finds a small, dark alcove illuminated only by the slight red light of the exit sign. He pulls on my hand, pushes me against the wall and spends five full seconds staring at me, no smile quirking his lips, as though he’s giving me an out. When I pull my bottom lip under my teeth, Declan’s nostrils flare and his hands cradle my face, his mouth returns to mine.

His tongue slips between my lips, so simple, so effortless, as though that is where it was always meant to be and I moan as he cups my ass. He pauses, a wicked smirk on his face. “Not going to knee me again, are you?”

A quick smile twists across my lips before I grab his hand and lead it back onto my body. “Do it again.”

We become a flurry of motions. He lifts me up, grip tight on the backs of my thighs. I pull on his hair, yank his head back to expose his neck, nibble on the skin and by the shake of his body, by how tight his grip is on me, how thick he feels against me, I know that Declan is as desperate for more as I am.

He stops as though he’s fighting for control and then his eyes are searching mine. He worries his bottom lip. “My God, I’m dying here.” He moves in close to breathe against my neck, his mouth just near the shell of my ear. “I want to be inside you,” he whispers, then rests his head on my shoulder, his breathing a hard pant. “But I’m drunk. You’re drunk.”

Whatever I thought I might say becomes a blur. I want to continue, I want him back at my apartment, in my bed, but my head spins and the lights and sounds around me twist my stomach into knots. I push him back, make him stop and he gives me little resistance.

“Shite, don’t get mad, McShane—”

I grab his collar and close my eyes. “Shut up, Declan. I’m not mad. I’m just…I’m going to be sick.” 

Flashes of stupidity circle my mind. I see myself stumbling down the sidewalk, leaning against buildings and windows as I try to steady myself. I hear Declan behind me, his voice gruff, annoyed as I continue to slap his hands away from me.

“Let me get a cab. Stop now. Where are you off to?”

“I don’t need your help, Declan.”

Then I remember my girls, drunk, fussing at Declan like he’s an idiot. Less clear is the bumpy cab ride to my apartment, Declan’s hands holding me upright. The images shift and consciousness comes back to me. Someone is snoring next to me. There is an ample bulk across my back. I roll to my side as slowly as I can and notice the arm laying like a dead weight over me is heavily tattooed.

Dear God. Declan Fraser is in my bed.

A quick survey of my body brings instant relief. My shoes are missing, but I am still wearing my burgundy dress. A glance up at Declan, and the only article of clothing he’s missing is his shirt. He rolls on his back and I can’t help but look at him. He’s beautiful. His chest peaks with firm, abundant muscle. There is the scar below his navel he showed me and the faint patch of dark hair that runs in trail beneath his jeans. I swallow, my mouth already like a wad of cotton when I notice the deep depressions along his hips.

When I shift away from him, he nudges closer and his arm curls across my stomach, pulling me down to spoon against his hard body. Still asleep, Declan makes an odd little noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a moan and a growl. He moves his hips up once against me and my eyes widen. I forgot what having something so male in my bed, especially in the morning, feels like. I need to move.

The second my feet hit the rug, I dart toward the bathroom and jump in the shower. I hope the noise I make wakes him up. I hope he’s as mortified as I am and that we can establish a silent agreement to never, ever, talk about last night and our little snog fest against the wall.

Or our bump and grind on the dance floor.

In front of people I see every day on campus.

My loud groan is muted by the thick spray when I soak under the showerhead. The hot water does little to dissipate the continuous thump and throb that racks against my skull. My routine is purposefully slow and I listen occasionally for any movement outside the door. The loud roar of the hair dryer doesn’t seem to wake him, nor does the faucet running as I brush my teeth or my frequent “ahem” of throat clearing as I do my make-up. Still not a peep from my bedroom.

My thick terrycloth robe covers my shoulders and I make my way back into my room smiling, relieved, when I notice my empty bed. Thank God he’s gone. I put on my underwear and cool off from my shower, walking around my room with nothing on but my bra and panties. When I head for the kitchen, hoping I still have the ingredients to make a hangover remedy, a little scream issues from my throat at Declan, sitting shirtless on a barstool, inhaling one of my freshly made muffins.

He notices me staring at him in nothing but my underwear and pauses with the muffin inches from his mouth. Without the slightest hint of shame, he scans up and down my body.

“McShane,” he says in greeting. “These are delicious.”

My hands instantly run over my leg, to cover the scars there, to my stomach, hiding the red incision line. Declan has the decency not to stare at my battered body too long. Besides, he hasn’t left, which I find annoying. His invasive presence is still very much in my apartment, so I release my embarrassment and I don’t bother to cover myself. If he’s not uncomfortable seeing me half naked, then why should I be? It’s my damn apartment.

The sharp coolness of the fridge makes my skin pebble when I open it and I sigh when I move the contents of my refrigerator around and can’t find the tomato juice. Declan clears his throat and pushes a large glass of red liquid toward me.

“Bloody Mary?”

“God yes,” I say and lift the glass to my lips.

The scent hits my stomach and when I sip from the glass, the drink lands in my insides like a brick. I down it anyway, eager for the pounding in my head to ease.  “Thanks,” I say and he nods. I rest my elbow against the bar next to Declan and finish off the Bloody Mary. “I don’t just mean about this.”

“Are we going to have that conversation now or can I have a piss first? You were in the bathroom for ages.”

I shake my head and nod toward the bathroom before he jumps off the stool and disappears down the hall. So much for silent agreements. Deciding this particular chat might go a lot smoother if I was actually dressed, I head for my bedroom and pick out an outfit. I’m zipping my black slacks and pulling over my silver scoop neck sweater when Declan leaves the bathroom. He pulls his shirt over his head and sits next to me on the bed as I pull on my boots.

Resting his elbows on his knees, he rubs his face and sighs. “I was drunk.”

“So was I.”

“Fine then, we were both pie-eyed, but just so you know, nothing happened.”

I glance at him, lift one eyebrow, doubtful.

“Nothing happened when we got back here, McShane.”

“I figured as much. We were both somewhat dressed when I woke up.”

He rests back on his hands and I can feel him watching me as I pace around the room, grabbing my jacket, my scarf, trying to find my bag.

“You’re making me dizzy.” When I ignore him, Declan pulls me back to sit on the bed.

“What?

“Going to ignore the giant fecking elephant in the room, are you?”

My body slouches and I lay back on my bed. “It was stupid. All of yesterday was stupid, Declan.”

“And hot.”

“Mostly stupid.”

He lays next to me and grabs my hand. “It shouldn’t have been like that.”

“Like what?”

“The pair of us, grinding against each other, pissed out of our heads in front of loads of gossiping folk.”

“True. It was a mistake.”

He sits up and rests on his elbow. “Kissing you like that in the middle of a damn club was a mistake, McShane. Kissing you in general, was brilliant.”

“Declan, you and I would be—”

“Again, hot.”

I can’t help but smile. “No, it would be irresponsible.”

He sighs again and lays back down, letting his arm cover his eyes. “You always have to be so wound tight? Why can’t you let loose every once in a while?” The mattress dints and my body moves to the side as Declan bends down to stare at me again. “I’m not asking to marry you. I just said it was nice, the kissing and the other…things.”

I’m not sure I like the direction of this conversation. I like Declan. I can at least admit that to myself, but I don’t want complications. Not with him. Not with anyone. “It was. I’m not saying it wasn’t, but I think I let loose a bit too much last night.” The vanity across my room is an antique, another find of my mother’s and I leave the bed, grab my brush off the top of it and watch Declan in the mirror. “That’s my one episode of drunken debauchery for a while.”

“So what are you saying, then? A few snogs against a wall and that’s it?”

“And the basement,” I mumble. His eyebrows disappear beneath his shaggy hair. “Declan, I told you last night, I’m not the girl you want. You’ve got this idea that I need a hero. I don’t. I’m not looking for anything from you or anyone else.”

Before I can blink more than twice, Declan is in front of me, spinning me around. When I step back, away from him, I end up sitting on the vanity bench. “You’re full of shite.” He places his hands on either side of my hips. “We spark. The pair of us, we bleeding spark, McShane.”

“So? We spark. I’ll admit it. But that doesn’t mean we can—”

“What? Go steady? You think I want you to wear my class ring or something? Isn’t that what you Americans do?” He laughs. “I’m not saying that either. I’m not saying I love you or want to it to be just us. I’m just observing a very real fact. We. Spark.” Then he shows me how much we spark. His mouth is spectacular, soft, controlled and when he pulls away from me, I find breathing suddenly difficult.

I need to snap out of this. He’s…too much, much too much. “Again, that means what, exactly?”

“Why does it have to mean anything? Why can’t it be two people who get on, who like to snog and—”

“It’s the and that concerns me.”

“Ah, but the and would be…Well..."

I can’t let him finish that sentence. I cover his mouth with my fingers, a slight touch to silence him. Despite the scrapes and bruises, his eyes are bright, and an easy smile softens his features. Why does he have to be so good looking? “I’m not interested in casual sex.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Point of fact. You and I, we do it.”

“Now?” Seeming excited, he stands and immediately reaches for the buttons on his shirt. 

“No, not now. I’m being hypothetical.” I shake my head at that disappointed expression on his face. “If we do it, get into this casual thing, then what? Then emotions get involved and it gets complicated.”

“We can leave emotions out of it.”

“Oh, really? So, what if you and I are involved in this whole casualness and then I start seeing someone? Or you meet someone? Then there’s not casualness anymore.”

Declan lifts his fingers through his hair as though he’s thinking about that complication. “I…I wouldn’t have a problem with you seeing someone on the side.”

“That’s not my style. I couldn’t have sex with you and see someone else and excuse me for reminding you, but you get all caveman anytime Tucker and I are mentioned.”

“So?”

“So you would be fine with me sleeping with you and—again hypothetical because this will never, ever happen, but what if I went out with him?”

“You said you wouldn’t.”

“Ah, so it’s just Tucker you don’t want me to date? What about someone else? How would that make you feel, me sharing my bed with you and then going off with another guy?”

His grave expression returns and this time there is a slight sneer. “I probably wouldn’t like it.”

“See? Emotions and we haven’t even slept together yet.” He smiles at my saying “yet.” “Figure of speech.” Declan drops to his knees in front of me, comes close so that I notice that the faint freckles on the bridge of his nose are brown. I can’t help but touch his face. “I don’t want to be in love and I don’t have time for emotions. Those things are for children.”

Small lines run across his forehead. I try to smooth them out, running my fingers over his skin, but he pulls my hands away and the expression on his face is stern, perhaps a bit concerned.

“What did he do to you, McShane?”

“Who?”

“Morrison. Your da. Whoever it was that made you so scared.”

He’s attempting to ferret out secrets again, just like he did in the basement.  I try to understand why he wants to know and for the first time, in a very long time, I don’t want to change the subject or refuse to discuss my past. He brings something out in me, something I thought long buried, and I’m not sure I like how that makes me feel. I’m not sure I mind it much either.

“It’s partly them. It’s partly that I just don’t want the heartache.” He isn’t satisfied by that answer. I hear the joints in his knees pop when he stands and walks back to the bed to sit. For a moment, I stare at the floor, the rich color of the hardwood, trying to organize my thoughts. I lower my elbows on my knees and take a breath, figuring if I’m going to reject Declan, then I should at least explain why. “You ever feel something for someone, something so strong that it consumes you, takes over your life?”

“I can’t say that I have, no.”

“Well I have.” My long hair falls over my shoulder and I don’t brush it away. “To love someone so much that it feels like a virus, this heavy weight that infests every part of your body like a fever. It’s a sickness really and for a long time I thought that was what love was. When I doubted it, when Tucker walked away from me, I realized that’s not what love is supposed be. Love isn’t obsession. Love isn’t giving up everything you are, everything you want to be. It shouldn’t poison all aspects of your life. And it damn well should be equal. With Tucker, it was never that. Not even for a moment.”

“You said you broke it off with him, but that’s not true, is it?”

“I didn’t lie about that. But he left first. It wasn’t until he’d been gone a few weeks that I called him, told him I was done waiting for him. He wanted to try for Nationals.
  I understand that desire, but his decision was so abrupt. It didn’t make sense to me. One day my boyfriend of two years is talking about our plans for Christmas, for the future, and the next he shows up at my apartment already packed, telling me he’s going to Europe. Telling me I had to follow him. He didn’t ask me anything. He told me.” I take a breath, recalling the shock I’d felt, trying to figure out where all that pain had gone. At the time, Tucker’s leaving had devastated me, confused me. Now I can’t remember why. “I gave up a lot to make him happy. I lost part of myself just to please him and there I was crying, begging like an idiot for him not to leave and then suddenly, in that moment, I realized he never loved me. You can’t love someone and abandon them. You can’t really love someone and desert them like they never mattered. We fought. I slapped him and he left.” Declan’s eyes round. He is no doubt shocked that I’d let anyone treat me like that. Least of all Tucker.