Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1) (29 page)

“Declan?” I tried,
knowing it was probably useless. His lips looked so cracked and dry.
“You should drink some more. You look dehydrated.” My hand still
shaking, I brought my palm to his burning forehead. He didn’t move.

I hadn’t seen a
thermometer in his bathroom. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing
he’d have anyway. Thermometers were for worried moms taking their
kids’ temperatures. I was surprised Declan even had Aspirin.

Nothing to do now but
wait and see if his fever would come down from the medicine. I busied
myself cleaning up, opening the windows to let in some fresh air,
washing the dishes in the sink. I found a large water bottle and
filled it with cold water. I filled his empty ice cube tray and set
it in the freezer.

Back at his bedside,
Declan lay looking more peaceful in a deep sleep. Tentatively, I
brought my hand to his forehead. It felt cooler. My entire body
sighed in relief. If the fever could be controlled with medicine,
he’d be all right. Probably. He just needed someone to make sure he
took it.

I wondered how long
he’d been down there sick by himself. Had he spent all day
yesterday passed out, no water, alone in his suffering? I’d been
around yesterday, I could have cared for him. I felt sick I hadn’t
known that he needed me.

I grabbed a towel and
filled a bowl with cold water. At his bedside again, I brought the
cool, wet cloth to his forehead. He stirred slightly under the
sensation, but didn’t wake. I had to guess it felt good, he must
have been so uncomfortable, sweaty and dehydrated and alone. I wet
the towel again, then brought it to his face. His cheekbones stood
out more prominently, his stubble longer than I’d ever seen it.
Even gaunt and sick, this man looked like the hottest thing I’d
ever seen.

The sheet lay bunched
down by his stomach. He didn’t wear a shirt. It was a testament to
how sick he was that I hadn’t fully noticed that fact until now.
Unsure yet driven on, I dipped the cloth back into the cool water,
then brought it to his chest. He lay there, unmoving. Slowly, I drew
the cloth along his pecs, so defined, bare for me to study. I’d
watched him so many times, seen him from a distance without his
shirt, but now here he was, at my touch.

Tattoos played across
his muscles, tribal swirls along one shoulder, a band around his
bicep. I traced them with the damp cloth, using that as my excuse to
touch where I’d wanted to for so long. I might have been cooling
him down, but I was heating up.

The cut of his pecs,
the ridges of his abdomen, I drew the cloth slowly along every inch.
This man was pure, packed muscle. Down at his side, I noticed the
white, tough skin of a scar. Tracing my fingers along it lightly, I
wondered what had happened. It had faded so much I hadn’t noticed
it before. It had to be old, something he’d gotten years ago, but
it had to have been painful, several inches along his stomach. There
was so much I didn’t know about him, but I wanted to know it all,
every untold story, every secret.

I didn’t know who he
had close to him, but something told me he didn’t have many. Maybe
no one. I wanted to kiss that scar, take the pain of it away, care
for him better than anyone ever had. Softly, slowly, I drew the cloth
along his skin, caressing every inch.

My hand rested on his
sheet. A glimpse of his hip lay exposed. Bare. I realized that he
probably had nothing on at all underneath that sheet. My breath
caught in my throat.

I remembered the last
time I’d been in his cabin, that night he’d caught me. So
naughty, I’d turned the key in the lock, opened up his door and
walked right in. I hadn’t made a conscious decision to get into his
bed, it just happened. I’d lain on his bed, between his sheets
still rumpled from where he’d last slept. Enveloped in the darkness
surrounded by his scent, I couldn’t help it. So desperate for his
touch, my carnal craving dominated all of my senses. I’d driven my
fingers down into my soaking wet sex, working myself and coming so
hard against my own hand.

I remembered the sound
of his voice from the doorway when he’d said my name. The feel of
his hands, rough down on my wrists after he’d come to me on the
bed, pinning my hands above my head. He’d shocked me, touching my
fingers and asking me if he’d smell my sweet pussy on them. I’d
never heard anyone talk like that, never thought of anyone doing such
a thing. But instantly I could see it, him sucking on my fingers,
licking my own juices off of him. I nearly came again right there
pressed underneath the hot, solid length of his body.

And now he lay before
me, stripped naked. No washcloth now, I trailed my hand along his
chest, up along his tattoos and hard, honed muscles. Down I swept my
fingers along the ridges of his abdomen.

“Kara,” he
whispered, hoarse, filled with longing.

I pulled away, sitting
up straight, guilty as charged. His eyes remained closed. He didn’t
move a muscle. Had he said my name, or had I made that up?

Tentative, I couldn’t
help but bring my hand to him again. My full palm to his hot skin, I
ran my fingers along his perfect chest.

“Kara,” he groaned
again, yearning for me. No, I hadn’t made it up. He was calling my
name, eyes still closed. Maybe he was half-awake, maybe still asleep
and dreaming. He wanted me.

My eyes traveled down
again to the sheet and then widened, because now I could see a huge
bulge, outlined, thick and long against his thigh. I’d touched him
and he’d gotten hard. He looked enormous.

I stood up quick in
alarm. What was I doing? Molesting a feverish man while he lay passed
out in his sick bed? Had I truly lost my mind?

Declan was going to be
fine. His fever was coming down. My father was probably about to walk
in here any minute to see what was taking me so long. I had to get
back up to the house and tell him everything was all right.

But everything wasn’t
all right. I stood shaking by Declan’s bed for another second
before turning to go. Everything had changed. And whatever was
happening, I knew it would give me no rest.

Now

In a bright,
whitewashed store with ABC letters hanging in the window, I took my
time looking through gift options. There was a newborn baby boy in
Bozeman who needed to be spoiled. Everything looked so sweet, cloth
books a little one could gnaw on, stuffed giraffes to snuggle with,
keepsake baby books for all of the firsts. They had the softest blue
baby blanket I’d ever felt plus a fuzzy zip-up hoodie with bear
ears up top. I could just picture a chubby little baby face in it.

“Are you shopping for
a gift for someone? Or…” A salesperson came over, glancing at my
flat stomach.

“A gift,” I
acknowledged. Though I had to admit, a store like this pulled at my
heartstrings. One day I hoped I’d be buying a zip-up hoodie with
bear ears for my own baby. Or two, or three. I did want a family some
day. And wow was it easy to start dreaming about that with Declan.

I needed to stop that
slide and fast. This morning, the way he’d taken me, so savage with
need, claiming me as his own, my whole world had exploded. We’d
lain there panting and I’d wanted to stay like that in his arms
forever.

Not him. He’d leapt
up, showered and gotten to work.

This week together was
nothing more than a transaction. I had to remember that, keep it
front and center in my brain. Maybe I should make myself an index
card. THIS IS A BARGAIN NOTHING MORE. I could flash it in front of my
face when I started gazing at him with little dancing hearts in my
eyes.

I might feel like I
still knew him, all those old emotions so raw and ready to clamor to
the surface, but Declan lived in a different world now. He’d
ascended into a life of wealth and power, while I remained a simple
rancher with dirt under my fingernails. And I couldn’t afford to
let my heart get broken again.

My cell phone blipped. I pulled it
out and read a new text message.

Do you have an answer for me yet? My
offer won’t stand much longer.

Lymon Culpepper, aka
the toad man who wanted to buy my family’s ranch. I shuddered.
Something in the way he looked at me with those black, beady eyes, I
didn’t know what it was but I did know that man wasn’t right. I
wanted nothing to do with him—and it was more than just not wanting
to sell my family’s ranch. That man gave me the creeps.

My fingers hovered over the screen.
Words sprang to mind that I’d love to text to him right now real
fast. But I didn’t tell him to fuck off or get lost or any other
choice retorts. I had enough realism in me to recall that his was the
only certain offer I had on the table right now. Sure, Declan had
promised, but did I really know how this week was going to go down?
No, I sure as hell did not.

I’ll let you know next weekend.

I sent the text,
another cold shiver running down my spine. I took a deep breath.
Sometimes when too much was going on all at once, I’d learned it
worked to focus simply on the task at hand. Right now, I had a baby
blanket and zip-up hoodie in my hands. I’d buy them. And then I’d
keep putting one foot in front of the other and somehow everything
would work out. I didn’t know how, but I told myself it would.

§

First I popped into a
florist. After all, fairy godmothers in consignment stores deserved
huge thank you bouquets. That woman with the ostrich feather had
saved me on Friday. Plus Declan’s penthouse could use a bit of
color. Then I forced myself back into the fancy boutiques. The
saleswoman had been aloof at first. After all, I was still wearing my
same old t-shirt and jeans. But then I’d explained that I needed a
whole bunch of outfits for a week with a man in New York City.
Suddenly she became my best friend and partner in crime.

Standing in a spacious
changing room in the boutique, I checked myself out in the mirror.
Apparently, there were white button-down shirts and then there were
white button-down shirts. The one I had on was nothing like my
father’s faded Sunday best, more cream than white after years of
use and laundry lines. It was neither prissy nor fussy nor boring nor
any of the other things one might associate with something that
sounded so run-of-the-mill.

First of all, this
white shirt had stretch to it. It was subtle, though, not molded to
me so much as brilliant in clinging and draping just so. Somehow it
accentuated both curves in the top half of my hourglass, making my
breasts look full and lush and my waist look tiny. All while still
looking like a million bucks. Give me some tortoise shell glasses and
I’d morph into an A-list lawyer gunning down the opposing side’s
star witness. The shirt had class. It might even have an Ivy League
degree. Who knew that they made shirts like that? For $150, I guessed
they did.

“Sizzling secretary,”
the salesgirl had called the look.

I paired the shirt with
her suggestions, a narrow charcoal gray pencil skirt and some
Christian Louboutin patent-leather 4-inch pumps, all glossy black
except for a flash of flirty red underneath. Looking at myself in the
mirror, I felt as if I’d been sent to the principal’s office. If
the principal was me.

I tilted my head and
turned my body so I could check out my ass. I filled out every inch
of the tight skirt. I felt nervous and excited, imagining showing it
to Declan. He’d told me he’d want me to model it all for him
tonight. Why did it arouse me to think of doing that? I could picture
him sitting and watching me with his dark, hot gaze as I strutted
around in front of him. I turned front and center again, checking out
the way the shirt clung to my breasts. The thought of pleasing him
turned me on so much my nipples started to harden. I could see them
pushing against the soft cloth.

The salesperson knocked
on my changing room, this time handing me a heap of dresses plus a
bunch of jeans and shirts. I had to try on every single one of them.
I loved the dresses and they loved me, caressing my curves and
showcasing all my assets. Trisha would have been proud. Thinking of
her, I grabbed a black skirt. I’d send it to her as a replacement,
compliments of Declan. After all, he was the one who’d torn it in
half.

The jeans and t-shirts
were just like my old ones—if they spent a year in Paris as an
exchange student, had a torrid love affair with an older man and then
hit the lottery. The fabrics kissed my skin, silks and whisper-soft
cottons. The jeans were clearly magic, making my legs look a mile
long and my ass defy gravity.

I pouted in the mirror,
striking a pose in a clingy silk dress. It was a dress for New York,
for going out on the town. A dress Declan would enjoy taking off of
me once we got back to the hotel. I shivered at the thought. We still
had one last night together in Billings in his penthouse. What would
he want to do to me tonight? And what would he have me wanting to do
for him? Those handcuffs had felt so good, stretching my arms up
overhead, displaying me for Declan’s pleasure. Why had I loved that
feeling so much? Thinking about it made me want it again.

The blindfold had been
better than I’d ever imagined, and I had imagined it in the past.
One too many long nights with nothing but a sexy book on my Kindle
and, sure, I’d thought about how it would feel to lie there
blindfolded, Declan tormenting me with his fingers, his mouth. I’d
felt ready to explode from the second he’d tied the silk around my
eyes, so sensitive when I couldn’t see. I loved not knowing what
he’d do next, the electrifying charge of submitting to his control.
I didn’t know what he had in store for me, but my pulse raced to
find out.

I made my selections,
an embarrassing pile of clothes I couldn’t believe I was actually
going to purchase. With Declan’s money. While the salesperson rang
everything up, I avoided my eyes. I knew Declan had told me to spend
a lot, but really this was ridiculous.