everyone, the way she’d seen him, on stage.
But did she have to trust him with her heart?
Why not her body?
Instantly she felt heat pooling between her legs. Was that possible, though? He’d said he could show her who she was. Wasn’t that the same as trusting him with her heart? Letting him in like that, to help her discover…
Molly’s spidey sense went off, and she looked around. And then she frowned. A redhead and her brunette friend were, to put it delicately, trying to drape themselves over Declan. It grossed Molly out, and she frowned. She wasn’t one of those women who got catty for no reason. Maybe it was the way they were throwing themselves at him with no sense of whether he seemed to be into it. Maybe it was because the brunette had brought her child to this shindig and Molly was judging the crap out of her, fairly or unfairly, or maybe it was the way seeing children always made her a little bit sad. But she smiled to see him disentangle himself, and then went right back to worrying.
Oh man, she was tired.
“Why so sad, beautiful?” Declan asked, slipping into her booth so that she was pleasantly squeezed between him and the wall. There were worse places to be in the world.
“Not sad,” she said, wondering if he knew she was lying a little bit. “Thoughtful.”
He seemed to watch her. Doing his own thinking. She wished he wouldn’t press on her being sad, not tonight, and in a second he seemed to get it.
“You do a lot of thinking,” he agreed, and ran his finger through the remaining syrup on her plate. “But since you’re too chicken to ask me any questions so far—”
“Hey!” she said, pulling her plate back. “I’m not chicken. And no syrup for men who call me chicken.”
He smiled delectably and licked the syrup off of his finger. God.
“I’ve got a question for you. Who is it you’re always trying to call?” he asked.
That threw her for a loop. The only person she was obsessive about contacting was Lydia, but she hadn’t known he’d noticed that. What was she supposed to say? Any explanation of why she was so worried would involve telling him about her past. Molly was not prepared to go there right now.
“Too tough for you right now, huh? Chicken,” Declan said, pulling the plate back in front of him meaningfully. “I’ve got an alternative question. How come you’re scared to interview me?”
“Who says I’m scared? Maybe I’m just doing research,” she said.
“You’ve interviewed everyone else and avoided it with me,” he said, amused. “I think you do want me to tell you what I’d do to you for lying to me if you were my sub.”
Yes .
“No, I don’t. Look, questions for the other guys are easy,” Molly said quickly. “Questions for you are hard.”
“Chicken.”
And Declan grabbed her hand and pulled her up and out of the booth. That man had become awfully familiar with manhandling her, and Molly just did not have it in her to tell him to stop. She enjoyed it too damn much.
The parking lot was unseasonably cold, and Molly realized they had no ride. They’d come here in Ian’s car—Declan had left instructions for Sierra to get a ride home—and now it was just the two of them, out in a parking lot, while a rocking party raged on in the waffle house.
“What are we doing out here?” she asked.
“That’s your question?” he teased. “I called Davey. We’re waiting for the bus. I’m freaking exhausted, and we have to make time on the road tomorrow. Hey, you cold?”
She was shivering, and not in a good way this time. Her usual shorts and tank top was not cutting it. Declan didn’t wait for her to answer, but instead stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. The contact alone… She didn’t know if she was better or worse off, feeling warm and wanting him all at the same time. She sighed and leaned her head back into his chest.
“Why do you keep turning down groupies?” she asked. “Did you know I was watching
But did she have to trust him with her heart?
Why not her body?
Instantly she felt heat pooling between her legs. Was that possible, though? He’d said he could show her who she was. Wasn’t that the same as trusting him with her heart? Letting him in like that, to help her discover…
Molly’s spidey sense went off, and she looked around. And then she frowned. A redhead and her brunette friend were, to put it delicately, trying to drape themselves over Declan. It grossed Molly out, and she frowned. She wasn’t one of those women who got catty for no reason. Maybe it was the way they were throwing themselves at him with no sense of whether he seemed to be into it. Maybe it was because the brunette had brought her child to this shindig and Molly was judging the crap out of her, fairly or unfairly, or maybe it was the way seeing children always made her a little bit sad. But she smiled to see him disentangle himself, and then went right back to worrying.
Oh man, she was tired.
“Why so sad, beautiful?” Declan asked, slipping into her booth so that she was pleasantly squeezed between him and the wall. There were worse places to be in the world.
“Not sad,” she said, wondering if he knew she was lying a little bit. “Thoughtful.”
He seemed to watch her. Doing his own thinking. She wished he wouldn’t press on her being sad, not tonight, and in a second he seemed to get it.
“You do a lot of thinking,” he agreed, and ran his finger through the remaining syrup on her plate. “But since you’re too chicken to ask me any questions so far—”
“Hey!” she said, pulling her plate back. “I’m not chicken. And no syrup for men who call me chicken.”
He smiled delectably and licked the syrup off of his finger. God.
“I’ve got a question for you. Who is it you’re always trying to call?” he asked.
That threw her for a loop. The only person she was obsessive about contacting was Lydia, but she hadn’t known he’d noticed that. What was she supposed to say? Any explanation of why she was so worried would involve telling him about her past. Molly was not prepared to go there right now.
“Too tough for you right now, huh? Chicken,” Declan said, pulling the plate back in front of him meaningfully. “I’ve got an alternative question. How come you’re scared to interview me?”
“Who says I’m scared? Maybe I’m just doing research,” she said.
“You’ve interviewed everyone else and avoided it with me,” he said, amused. “I think you do want me to tell you what I’d do to you for lying to me if you were my sub.”
Yes .
“No, I don’t. Look, questions for the other guys are easy,” Molly said quickly. “Questions for you are hard.”
“Chicken.”
And Declan grabbed her hand and pulled her up and out of the booth. That man had become awfully familiar with manhandling her, and Molly just did not have it in her to tell him to stop. She enjoyed it too damn much.
The parking lot was unseasonably cold, and Molly realized they had no ride. They’d come here in Ian’s car—Declan had left instructions for Sierra to get a ride home—and now it was just the two of them, out in a parking lot, while a rocking party raged on in the waffle house.
“What are we doing out here?” she asked.
“That’s your question?” he teased. “I called Davey. We’re waiting for the bus. I’m freaking exhausted, and we have to make time on the road tomorrow. Hey, you cold?”
She was shivering, and not in a good way this time. Her usual shorts and tank top was not cutting it. Declan didn’t wait for her to answer, but instead stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. The contact alone… She didn’t know if she was better or worse off, feeling warm and wanting him all at the same time. She sighed and leaned her head back into his chest.
“Why do you keep turning down groupies?” she asked. “Did you know I was watching
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