Page 59 of Declan's Hope

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"Mmm…"

Hope kept her eyes closed and scrubbed a hand over her nose. Good. Her alarm hadn’t gone off yet. She relaxed and snuggled into her pillow, then frowned. Why was it so solid? And hot? And—

Her fingers brushed over a hard button of flesh and her eyes flashed opened, coming eyeball to eyeball—so to speak—with a pale brown nipple. She froze. She’d woken up practically sleeping on top of a man. And not just any man. It could only be…

Declan.

Please don’t let me have drooled… Or snored… Oh, god, or both.

"Good morning."

At the amused voice coming from right above her head, Hope pushed away from where she’d obviously claimed real estate against Declan’s broad chest.

"Um…" She cleared her throat and tilted her head up toward his sexy, grinning, sleep-tosseled self. She didn’t need to know how she looked. She was well-familiar with the view in her mirror every morning. Needless to say, she couldn’t be at her most alluring. "Good morning." Then she sat straight up, panicking as she pushed her tangled hair out of her face and cast her gaze across Declan’s now clean bedroom, searching for a clock. "What time is it?"

"It’s going on ten."

"Oh, no," she groaned while attempting to scoot out of the bed—a great big bed she would love to stay in with him but absolutely couldn’t—but her legs seemed to be tangled in the skirt of her jumper dress and a blanket. "I am so late."

"No, you’re not." He dragged her back down onto the bed—nearly under him—then gave her another one of his grins. "No one’s expecting you to come in today."

Hope froze, her heart racing and eyes closing in defeat at the implication. "I’m fired?" She sagged back onto the pillow and flopped both arms crosswise over her face. "Of course I am."

"Hope—"

"I mean, because of me a busload of children were placed in danger."

"Hope—"

"They all probably have PTSD..."

"Hope—"

"With who knows how many years of therapy ahead of them."

"Baby—"

"I—"

"Oh, for god’s sake," Declan groused.

Her eyes startled open and she let out a slight, "Oomph," when he unexpectedly rolled on top of her. Then her eyes widened when she found her wrists grabbed and her arms uncrossed and pressed into the pillow on either side of her head. "Listen to me."

She stared up at Declan’s furrowed brow as he settled his hard chest against her breasts, rested on his forearms, and leaned close to her face.

"You’re not fired. Your class does not have PTSD. And I don’t believe you have to worry about them needing years of therapy."

"But—"

"But nothing." His lips brushed over hers, while heat rose up into her face at the realization his chest wasn’t the only thing that was hard. "Your principal called your cell while you were asleep last night."

"You should’ve woken me," she whispered, then sighed as Declan’s lips trailed over her chin.

"No, I shouldn’t have."

Hope huffed, but couldn’t find it in her to dispute him. Not when she had his warm breath coasting over the sensitive skin of her neck under the collar of her mock turtleneck.

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