Chasing Serenity (Seeking Serenity) (20 page)

His eyes are nearly black, hooded as he stares at me. “We’re not drunk.”

“No and I still don’t want casualness.” I lift up on my elbows, considering him. “I don’t love you, Declan.”

“I can live with that.”

“I’m not sure if I even like you.”

He laughs. “You like me fine, McShane.”

My mind buzzes, the conflicting emotions battling; the want, the need, the logic all fighting for control. “Can you kiss me, just kiss me and not let us get all worked up?”

“I’m already worked up. But if you don’t want me—”

“I do. I just…I can’t, Declan. This… you and me? It’s too fast.”

When he stares at me like this, I wish I could read his mind. Is he annoyed? Is he frustrated that I want things slow? I wasn’t dishonest. I didn’t initiate a thing, not even this date, but I haven’t pulled away from him. I haven’t said no once because I’m not sure what I want or at least, how much I want.

He nods, but doesn’t move off of me. And I don’t stop him, not when his fingers run along my collar, feather light touches against my neck, not when he hesitates at the buttons on my shirt.

“I’m not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want, love.” He moves down further, his voice low, gruff. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop touching you. Not if you don't stop me.”

I let him unbutton my shirt because I like the way his fingers feel against my skin. I like his face buried in my cleavage as he kisses me there and the low, husky growls he makes as his licks over the top of my breasts, as he dislodges my shirt from my body, as he lowers the straps of my bra.

“I knew you had freckles everywhere,” he says, pulling a small laugh from me. He works the front clasp free and my breasts spill out, heavy and then aching as Declan skims his fingernail against my nipples. His eyes are so dark, no hints of the usual bright green present as he studies my breasts, as he cups their full weight in his hands. His touch is like a sacrament, reverent, slow. The heat of his stare licks against my skin and I close my eyes at the course trace of his palms over my nipples, the sweet, rough drag of his fingers tracing around the areola. I come unglued when he lingers over me, takes one breast into his mouth, sucking on a raised nipple, exploring, discovering what I like best by the low moans I make.
 

Declan is heavy on top of me, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, I like how wide he is, how his body covers me completely, how he cups my hips and pushes himself against me, between my thighs as his teeth pull on my hard peaks. I can feel his erection against my core, near my stomach, and love the way he arches and grinds into me, our bodies separated by denim, by uneasy restraint.

“McShane, you’re fecking beautiful,” he says, his movement increasing, his breath panting against my neck and I think how ridiculous this is, how I know I want this man, how he clearly wants me. Still, I hesitate, won’t let down my guard. This is erotic, likely the most erotic moment of my life. It’s somehow silly, how we are still clothed, how the friction of him rubbing into me with his breath moistening my bare breasts, with his fingers pinching and rubbing my nipples into stiff points, shouldn’t be this carnal, blissful sensation.

But it is.

He is.

I am.

And I lift my legs around his waist, constricting him so that his pace continues, so that the friction burns hotter, increases until I am thoroughly soaked, until his dick surges into my flesh through his jeans, stimulating me, urging me and that irrational sensation intensifies. His fingers pinch down harder, his hips rock forward and that thick bulge lands directly against my clit, over and over until the sensation grows sharper, until my body convulses and I orgasm hard, harder still, my fingernails cutting into his wide shoulders, pushing him closer to me, deeper against me.

My voice is a rasp of spent energy and Declan looks down, shocked, then pleased and instantly overcome. His body shakes, his arms shudder and those beautiful, clear eyes roll up, disappear behind his closed lids and his deep voice rumbles, shouts until he, like me, is spent. He collapses onto me, his heavy weight against my tender breasts.

“Jaysus,” I hear him whisper.

My chest is sweaty, my skin damp and Declan rolls to my side, encircles my waist, holding me against his chest. We stare at each other and I wonder if he feels as ridiculous, as sated as I do. By the smile on his face and the heavy lidded cast of his eyes I suspect he does. “I’ve not done that since I was a kid.”

“Me either.”

He grunts, rests forehead on my chest. “McShane, you kill me.” His eyes are low lidded, dark. He rubs his thumb across my bottom lip. “But fuck me, it’s a happy death.”

“Ground rules need to be established.” Layla’s hair sticks up all over, the white blonde lengths take on the look of brittle hay. She sips on her water, but her eyes are clear, leveled at me as though she wants me to know how serious she is. “You and Declan? Great! Yay and all, but this morning’s little display cannot be repeated.”

Around the table, I notice Sayo and Mollie nodding in agreement.

“What are you talking about?”

Mollie snorts, but doesn’t speak. Sayo, however, has no problem interjecting her opinion. “Autumn, you and Declan couldn’t keep your hands off each other during training. It was distracting. We can’t prepare for the Dash if you spend our workouts having your ass groped by your boyfriend.”

“He is not my boyfriend. Besides, we were just flirting.”

At my claim, Mollie’s snort morphs into a full laugh. “If I flirted like that, I’d be arrested for sexual harassment. Get over yourself, Autumn, there was much touching on the falls today and I don’t mean Layla swatting at the voices in her head.”

“Hey!” Layla protests.

“The point is, we get it.” Mollie picks up a wedge of cantaloupe and points it at me to emphasis her little gripe. “We’re happy that you’ve finally gotten your head out of your ass and decided to be with Declan. Good for you, but girl, come on, we’ve got to train seriously.”

I’ll admit Declan and I may have been inappropriate this morning, but damn if I couldn’t help myself. When we first arrived at the falls, I’d been nervous, barely managed to face him. He loved that, laughed at me under his breath and then, not caring that my friends were sleepy-eyed and ignorant to all that happened on our date, he grabbed me and then knocked away any trepidation from my body with a firm, demanding kiss. That gesture woke my friends up quickly.

“Guys, I’m sorry. It’s just new, you know? I promise to behave from now on.”

“So?” Layla says, fingering the straw in her glass. “You going to fill us in on what happened?”

I shake my head, not really eager to give them all the intimate details of my night in the middle of our breakfast, not with kids running all over restaurant. But Layla is unrestrained, likely exhausted from Declan’s sadistic training and she flicks her straw at me, splashing water onto my face.

“It was…nice,” I say, wiping my face with my napkin. I receive a collective groan from my friends. “Shut up. God, you bitches are so nosey.”

Sam approaches with a pitcher of water and starts to refill each of our glasses. I smile at his hand on Sayo’s shoulder, at the way he whispers in her ear. Mollie and Layla ignore them, focus on their phones and I appreciate the brief lull in their interrogation.

Last night, I hadn’t wanted Declan to leave, but I knew if I allowed him to stay, much more than a bit of dry humping would have taken place. Our date, our touching and kissing at my apartment afterward, the feelings he roused in me, did plenty to put cracks in the finely built walls around my heart. Declan chipped away the structure with each touch, each kiss, every pant against my skin.

“Can I get you ladies anything else?” Sam asks, his hand still on Sayo’s shoulder.

“I’m good,” I say, then am distracted from Sayo’s fella when my phone chirps with a text alert. Declan again. It is the second message he’s sent me this morning. The first one came before training: Lunch today? I’m hungry for your biscuits. I hated to refuse him, but am woefully behind on grading for Nichols and hadn’t bothered to work on revisions to my thesis in two weeks. When I saw Declan this morning, we arranged a coffee date after his rugby practice.

Sayo taps my arm and I’m distracted from Declan’s new message when my best friend smiles at me. “The swarm not bothering you now?” she whispers close to me, watching to see if Mollie and Layla still focus on their phones. A small twist of my lips and Sayo waggles her eyebrows. 

“You’re like an eighth grader at her first girl/boy party when it comes to men.”

“Guilty. So. You think this thing with Declan will go somewhere?’

“I don’t know. Maybe. Not really sure how I feel about that, actually.”

“This will make Saturday morning in the library a bit awkward for me. Am I going to have to separate you guys?”

“No.”

Sayo wants more details, but this isn’t the time or place. When Mollie asks her about Sam, my friends ignore me long enough for me to read Declan’s message.

Can’t meet for coffee. Will explain later.

The tone of this message is so unlike the one he sent earlier. I wonder if Tucker found out we had a date last night. I wonder if he made today’s practice intolerable and maybe Declan’s just exhausted by all his activity the past two days. An irrational fear crowds me, has me worried and I curse myself. This is exactly why I didn’t want complicated things with Declan. I wanted to be free from the worry, from the constant concern that a new relationship brings. I can feel whispers of the old Autumn returning; Tucker’s Autumn who fretted over every frown, every odd inflection. Damn it. It’s starting already and I’ve only had one date with him.

Helpless against this crippling feeling, I throw a twenty on the table and pick up my bag. “I’ve gotta go, guys. I’ll call you later.”

“You okay?” Sayo asks, but I can’t tell her. Not yet. I glance at Mollie and Layla, note their concern, but smile, faking a calm that is nowhere within my reach. I’m being paranoid, ridiculous and I don’t want them to see that from me. I’ve got to get to my apartment and sort out my head.

I’ve got to see Declan. He won’t mind me stopping by the pitch. It’s on my way home.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my face free from worry. “I’ve just got to get back to my place and work on my thesis. I’ll text you later.”

The squad sprints around the pitch. With each touch of their hands on the ground, Mullens’ whistle blows, sending them back and forth. Faces red, chest lifting in heavy pants, I can see where Declan’s merciless training comes from. The squad splinters into sections and I don’t immediately spot Declan among all the tall bodies, the immense shoulders and thick legs.

To my left, on the bleachers, are the Cockies. Horrible name, but it’s what the squad’s groupie section is called. There are about ten or so girls scattered over the bleachers, dressed in low tops, tight skinnies and tall heels despite the day’s frigid temperatures. These are the same girls who line up for the Biddy Auction without any regard for their own dignity. They have no pride. They love rugby. I do too, but the difference is, I don’t hang around the pitch waiting for a player to toss me a smile.

Damn. That’s exactly what I’m doing right now.

Feeling stupid, I turn to walk away, eager to disappear before Declan spots me, but then I hear my name and I know it’s him. I inhale, plaster a wide, forced smile on my face and turn to greet him as he runs toward me.

“Hi,” I say, wishing my cheeks didn’t feel so warm.

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t touch me. In fact, his eyes drift around me, over my head, to the bleachers when one of the Cockies calls his name, anywhere but at me. “What are you doing here?” His tone is light, but I can feel the tension from his body, hear the edge in his voice.

“Your text made me curious and I was on my way home. I just wanted to check on you.” I step forward and he retreats. Suddenly, my paranoia doesn’t seem irrational. “What is it?”

“It’s not anything I can talk about here.” His eyes continue to avoid me. He offers a smile to one of the girls on the bleachers and I frown when I notice it’s Heather. “I’ve got practice.”

Annoyed that he can’t manage meet my eyes once, I stand in front of him, blocking Heather from his view. “Tell me. What’s going on with you?”

Declan digs the tip of his sneaker into the grass, watches the dirt underneath revealed. “Something’s come up.” When I touch his chin, pull his face up, he jerks back. “I was going to talk to you about this later, but, well—” My heart begins a steady hammer against my ribs. “I can’t…I just don’t think it would be good for you and me to—we shouldn’t see each other right now.”

“Excuse me?” I say, my voice shouting over Mullens’ constant whistle. I know I’m causing a scene, drawing the attention of everyone around us, but I don’t care. “What changed in the past two hours, Declan? It had to be something significant if you wanted my biscuits this morning.”

A small flicker of a smirk moves his lips but it vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared. “I just don’t want you to think that there’s anything between us.” Declan takes a breath and finally faces me. I can’t see anything in his eyes. There isn’t anger, there isn’t anything remotely expressive that clues me into what’s going on in his mind. I ignore the wild ache that has surfaced in my chest, too angry, too confused to feel hurt. “I’m not really keen to be tied down and I don’t think it would be wise to act as though I am.”

I don’t buy it. There are only a brief few seconds that he can manage to hold my gaze. He rubs his shoulder, stares at his feet and I know he’s lying. My gut twists with the knowledge and I sense his hesitation when I step toward him. “Bullshit.”

Declan’s gaze jerks to me and I count the seconds as we glare at each other. He stares at my face, impassive, but it is forced and he holds an angry scowl. His face pales when my anger has my eyes watering and then his expression relaxes and I think he might say something, that there is something toying on the tip of his tongue that he wants to tell me. The next moment, though, his anger returns.

“It’s not going to work. Look, Autumn, we can still be mates. I’ll still train you lot, but as far and you and I, it’s just not going to work.”

“You don’t think you and I spark anymore? Since when?”

Declan opens his mouth to speak, clears his throat, but whatever he may want to say dies when Tucker approaches. They exchange a long, weighted glare and I break between them, taking in the awkward tension, the snap of anger that cuts through the air. I’ve never seen Declan stare at anyone this way. I’ve never seen his shoulders get quite so stiff or his fists curl this tightly.
 

“Shouldn’t you be sprinting, Fraser?” Tucker says, standing too close to me. When his fingers slide against my hand and I don’t immediately pull away from his touch —too shocked by Declan’s behavior— Declan’s eyes lower, his sneer expands and I think another fight flits in his next movement.

“Yes, captain,” Declan says, stepping away from us.

What was that? There is no way Declan would normally walk away with his tail between his legs, especially not from Tucker. I see the gloating grin on my ex’s lips and instantly realize that he has managed to finally keep Declan from me. It could be anything, really. If there are skeletons in Declan’s past, Tucker is the sort to kick them to the present, parade them around so that the Irishman cowers in their presence.

I have to know what it is. I have to discover what Tucker is dangling over Declan’s head. It will take calculation, but if I want to see that defeated cast erased from Declan’s face, there will be sacrifices to make.

When my eyes burn, I turn my face, not willing to let Tucker see my upset. He knows me, though, knows my mannerisms almost as well as Sayo and so I am unsurprised when his knuckle pulls on my chin. Annoyed, I move my face out of his reach.
 

“Hey.” He wipes the moisture from my eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” I try to be flippant, motion as if nothing Declan says would affect me in the least. “I’m good. I was…just…” Declan walks toward the bleachers, approaches Heather, but he can’t seem to keep his glare off of Tucker standing next to me. My fingernails bite into my palm when I make a fist, watching Declan whisper something in Heather’s ear that has her giggling like an idiot. “I was just headed to my apartment and saw you out here,” I say.

He doesn’t believe me, joins my heavy stare at Declan flirting with that scrawny trollop. When the blonde picks a few strands of grass from his shirt, I close my eyes, returning my attention to Tucker.

“Did he say something rude to you?” Tucker asks.

My laugh is harsh, forced. “Of course he did. Isn’t that what he’s best at?”

“He’s walking a thin line and really pissing me off.” Tucker reaches for my fingers and I jerk when he holds them. Part of me worries that Declan will see our interaction. The other, less timid part, is pissed off enough not to care if he does. “Want me to kick his ass?” I manage to smile, thinking that I’d like to throttle him myself and Tucker seems to take this as encouragement. “That’s the least I’d do for you, sweetness.” His grip on my hand tightens and he pulls me closer to him. “You know that.”