Declaration (13 page)

“Something on your mind?”

“No!” she answered quickly. “I mean, no not at all. Do you need any help?”

I pulled the defrosted chicken from the little fridge and started assembling ingredients for a salad. “I think I can manage. Thanks, though.”

“Here, let me at least help chop the tomato.” She reached for a knife and the cutting board, then went to town dicing the tomato up into a thousand little pieces. She was so focused on that thing, I had to place my hand on her knuckles to slow her pace.

“Easy,” I laughed, covering her hand with mine. “Don’t want you to take a finger off, there.”

She giggled. “Oh, uh…yeah, thanks.”

Another blanket of silence settled between us as we prepared the food, but it wasn’t a comfortable kind. Whitney’s movements were far too panicked, and the color in her cheeks hadn’t lessened since she showed up at my front door.

I couldn’t stand the tension. “Are you sure there’s nothing on your mind? You can talk to me, you know.”

“Oh!” She recoiled from the cutting board, dropping the knife and sticking her thumb in her mouth.

“Shit, did you cut it? Let me see.” I grabbed her forearm and pulled her over to the sink, leaning us into the overhead light to get a good look at her finger.

“I think I just pricked it. I’m okay.” She removed her thumb from her mouth, keeping her arms pressed tightly against her as we examined the damage.

“Yup, it’s just a little slice. You’ll be fine.” I ran her finger under the faucet, letting the small drops of blood disappear into the stream of water, then pulled back and blew on the cut, feeling her shiver in my grip. Her eyes rolled up and locked onto mine, and I swallowed hard, feeling a shiver snake its way down my own spine.

“I…I think…damn it, why is this so hard?” She broke our connection and her eyes bounced from left to right, searching for the words.

“What is it, Whitney? You can tell me.”

And then her eyes returned to mine, wide and full of uncertainty. “I think I like you. No, I know I like you. I mean, I know I told you that already, but I
really
like you. I’ve been wanting…wanting to kiss you. Shit, did I just say that aloud? I just said that aloud.”

Her hand began to wiggle from my grip but I slid my hand up hers and locked it tight around her wrist. My voice suddenly came out dry and rough. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s just…I’ve been trying to be myself with you, but…I feel like a fish out of water or something. The flirting, the forwardness…none of it seems to faze you. That’s…new for me.”

I went still.

“What I said to you that night we were dancing in Emma’s living room? It was the truth. Only, I left out the part that I only feel the need to put on that front with you…just you.” She pressed her lips together for a second. “You’re different. You intimidate me, and I can’t figure out why. It’s been driving me crazy.”

My stillness was broken by a quiet intake of breath. I inhaled it deeply, working to process her words. “You’re intimidated by
me
?”

“Yeah, because you might not feel the same way. With most guys, I don’t really care. Not much, anyway. The fear of rejection paralyzes me when I really like someone. I put myself out there with Ruben and he just trampled all over me. I realize now that I’ve been picking guys that are so, so wrong for me. I think you intimidate me more than anyone ever has because you’re… good.” She laughed lightly. It was a sad laugh, one that suddenly made me want to kick the crap out of Ruben and every guy before him. “Uh…Whitney, it’s the other way around, you do realize that, right?”

“It is?”

“Of course, it is. You’re bold and vibrant and beautiful. You make me drop things. I chain smoke when I’m around you, have you noticed?”

She nodded softly.

“You’ve been wanting to kiss me? I’ve been wanting to devour you.”

She gulped. “Carter, my last relationship was a disaster. I have trust issues and I’m a serial dater and I have no idea what I’m doing but you make me laugh and—”

My mind forced my body forward and silenced her with the kiss we’d both been waiting for. There was no way I was going to let this girl talk herself out of making a move if she wanted me. Because she already had me.

She so had me.

The kiss wasn’t just any kiss. No, it was a tricky little bastard, because it started out soft and gentle, but shifted gears in a matter of seconds. The moment her response went from surprise to surrender, the kiss turned hard and hungry, launching us into a frenzy of movement. Her arms were around my neck, my hands were moving all over her body, and somehow, in a span of about five seconds, she climbed up me like a tree, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist.

We spun and bumped into the counter. I reached behind my back with one hand to tighten the cross of her ankles. And then I had her sitting on the edge of the stovetop, my hands exploring the tops of her thighs. I pushed the ruffled skirt hem up and clasped on to her bare, silky skin. Her tongue dove to the back of my throat, sliding over mine like wet, slick velvet.

Holy mother fuck, I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning in this girl.

She lifted her ass from the stovetop and bucked into me, meeting my dick with the apex of her thighs. My fingers grazed the dampness, and my erection throbbed at the thought of making her come right through her panties. Judging by how soaking wet she was, she was that ready.

“I’m burning up,” she moaned against my mouth, ripping at the buttons of my shirt.

“Oh, baby, me too.” I seated her ass back onto the counter and sent her a slow, precise rock of my hips.

“It’s so hot, God it’s hot.”

“I know. Let me help.” I made quick work of her shirt, gliding down the lace ruffles to get to the buttons. “This uniform drives me crazy.”

She giggled into my mouth. “You like?”

“
Mmmmmm
it’s so damn sexy.”

I dragged her shirt sleeves down to her wrists, wishing I could memorize the image—her leaning back on the counter like that, shirt wide open and tits thrust in my face—but something else glared at me from behind her, distracting me from the view. “You’re burning up!” I shouted. “Whitney!”

She laughed and leaned in, biting my lip hard. “It’s all your fault, Montgomery.”

“No, shit! I mean your shirt, it’s literally burning up!”

“What?” she shrieked, her head snapping to look back over her shoulder, where her shirt was still attached to her wrists. Flames had started to dance across the material and she let out a scream, pushing herself off the worktop and scampering to her feet.

I’d turned on the stove to start cooking the chicken and had forgotten about it.

Frantically sliding her shirt over her hands and flinging it to the floor, she jumped and started stomping on it while I flicked the stove off and raced for a pot of water to douse the shirt. A loud sizzle pooled at our feet, steam and smoke rising around our knees.

“Oh my God!” she coughed, her choke mixed with laughter. “Were you trying to kill me, Montgomery?”

“No!” I laughed with her, my shaky hands and racing heartbeat slowing just enough to register that I needed to check her for burns. “Come here, let me see you.” I pulled her around the smoky puddle and toward me, grabbing her hands and arms to assess the damage. I turned her around under the light and gently ran my fingers over her arms, back and chest, brushing over her hot, clammy skin and the white satin of her bra. Her heaving chest rose as she took a deep breath in, then fell as she worked to calm herself.

“I’m fine. It just caught my shirt sleeve.”

“Way to give me a heart attack, woman.”

“Me, give
you
a heart attack?”

“Well, yeah,” I shrugged in exasperation, “first you attack me like that and make me crazed with lust, and then you go and set yourself on fire!”

“What?” she screeched.

“You heard me!”

“You’re the one who kissed me and set me on the damn stove!”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t thinking properly. God, I’m bloody knackered, now. I need to sit down. Come here.” Our panting laughter began to simmer down as we took a seat on the sofa. She slipped comfortably into my lap and I radiated satisfaction, realizing that if I had a mirror right now, I’d probably find a big, cheesy grin plastered across my face.

“You, Carter Montgomery, are a menace.” She smiled down at me, slowly wrapping her hand around the nape of my neck, giving a light tug.

“I think I owe you a meal. Take out?”

“Ha. Yes, definitely. But first…” Her neck slowly bent to the side, her mouth coming down to meet mine, and the softness that was present when I’d first kissed her was there again, encouraging me to move my tongue with hers.

“
Mmmm
you taste so good, Ka—”

I froze and felt my whole body stiffen.

“
Hmmm
?” She hummed against my lips, leaning into me, unfazed by what I’d almost just said. But every cell in my body sensed what I’d just done, and it wasn’t letting me slide so easily.

My heart rate accelerated. I raised my hands to cup her cheeks and slowly peeled her mouth from mine, opening my eyes to find hers clouded and confused.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I whispered, swallowing the thick lump that lodged in the base of my throat. “I’m sorry, I have to…”

“What is it, Carter?” She nuzzled into my cheek, but I didn’t fully register the sensation. My nerves were strung tight and my heart had dropped into the pit of my stomach. “You’re beautiful. But I have to go. I’m sorry.” I swiftly set her on the couch and stood, then beelined for the door. It was official. Kate Parker had truly ruined me for all other women. And the worst part about that?

I actually wanted this one.

7
BATTLE SCARS

I’d told Ruben I had nothing to hide. Gave him the impression that it didn’t matter what he said to Whitney about my past with Kate.

But I didn’t mean it.

Not now. Not after it all became painfully clear to me that I not only had a thing for Whitney, but that I had almost called her Kate’s name, too.

Shit.

My fingers rested lightly on Liz, unmoving and so solemnly still that I was beginning to wonder if I was hitting a block. Since I’d darted out on Whitney and left her alone, sitting in my apartment, I hadn’t been able to work on my music. It had only been a day since I abandoned her like that, but being unable to play Liz or jot down some lyrics?

That made one day feel like a lifetime.

When I’d dashed out on her, I’d raced down to Jackson’s boat. He’d been working at the club, so I had no way to let myself in, but I waited. Hid and waited is probably more accurate of a statement.

I was mortified. Add to that ashamed and just generally guilty, and well…I felt pretty shitty.

“What’s wrong?” Jackson looked tired and broken when he made it home that night, his heavy eyes blooming with anxiety as he approached me on the dock. “Is it Emma? Please tell me she’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I assured him, stubbing out the last of my cigarette. “Don’t worry, she’s fine.”

“Then what is it? You look like hell. What are you doing here so late?”

“I’m sorry to show up like this, it’s kind of hard to explain, but I really need to vent. I could also use a beer. I’m out.” Still being stranded without a car was proving difficult, especially for late night grocery store runs.

“Yeah, okay.” Jackson ruffled his hair and slipped his key into the cabin door. Seeing him up close like this, even in the dim light that surrounded us from the dock, made me realize just how burdened he was looking. He hadn’t shaved, which I’d noticed earlier, but under this low lighting, it somehow stood out more.

To top it off, his clothes were a mess. They smelled, for one. But they also looked like they’d been rolled up and stuffed in the back of a dresser drawer for more than a year. The wrinkles were prominent and the shirt and shorts were a complete mismatch.

“So, what’s going on?” he asked with a yawn, letting me in behind him.

“I can’t call my friend Dean about this, and I don’t know who else to talk to. Kate’s the last person I’d ever mention this to.”

“Details, bro. Fill me in here.”

“Sorry. Well, uh…it’s about Whitney.”

“Whitney. As in, Whitney Sinclair?”

“That’s the one.”

“I knew it.” Jackson’s ragged expression lightened for a moment and the corners of his mouth turned up.

“Knew what?”

“Ruben came to the club tonight. He was running his mouth about you and Whitney.”

“No offense, dude, but your friend’s a douche.”

“He can be, I know. But the thing about Ruben is he’s a good guy at heart…at least, he wants to be. He’s just got his head up his ass half the time, and he can be selfish. He’ll tell you that himself. I gotta hand it to him, he’s honest. When he screws up, he admits it.” Jackson looked fondly up at the ceiling. “Then again, he’d probably say the same exact things about me, so scratch all that shit. So, you have a thing for her.”