Page 79 of Promise of Destruction
“You were justwatchingme?”
It’s a fact—I saw him doing it—but it comes out like a question.
“Yes,” Declan says, his voice a whisper, hoarse with disuse.
I realize that, though he’s watching me, he isn’t looking at me. He almost seems to be looking through me.
“How long have you been watching me, creep?”
That seems to draw him back from wherever his mind went. His eyes slide up to mine and his humor is back, shaping his mouth into a grin.
“How long have you been asleep?”
I glare at him but then realize I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep. It seems like forever.
My body is stiff, my bladder is screaming, and my mouth feels like I’ve been chewing on cotton.
“A few hours,” I glance out the window, trying to gauge the time between when we left and now.
Declan laughs, leaning forward in his chair. I realize he’s changed into a tee shirt—a plain white tee shirt that hugs his biceps and skims across his broad chest, stark against his tanned skin.
“A few hours?” He teases. “Try again.” He gestures out the window, so I turn to see whatever I’m supposed to.
The darkness that I thought was pressing on us has actually lightened a little, chased away by the light of the sun. It’s not the set of the day; it’s the rise of a new one.
“No way,” I say, turning back to Declan. “How could I have slept that long?”
Declan shrugs, a lock of his hair brushing over his eyes. He sweeps it back without a stray thought, and I realize he looks tired.
“Guess you were really worn out from assaulting your kitchen last night.”
Ignoring his mockery of me, I squint at him. Gone is the clean-cut, fresh face he presents to the world. He looks like he’s missed a few days’ worth of shaving. The dark circles under his eyes reiterate the story his beard tells.
“Did you sleep?”
I hate the concern that leaks into my voice—I pray he doesn’t notice, but of course he does.
“Worried about me, Ren?”
I wrinkle my nose at him, not sure how I feel about him using my nickname. The only people who call me that are Marissa because she’d been around to hear my grandmother use it, and Khan because that’s how Marissa had introduced me to him.
I look around, trying to get my bearings, and note the smirk on his face.
“You have my phone, don’t you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His feigned innocence is canned; there’s one thing that Declan Evers doesn’t have. He’s a crap actor.
“Declan…” My voice is low with warning— threat that I can’t follow up on.
“Soren…” His low voice matches mine. When I don’t waiver, he laughs, lifting my phone in the air like some sort of trophy. “You know, we both knew I was watching you, but I think you downplayed your obsession with me.”
I take a step forward, reaching out to snatch my cell out of his hand. He whips it back, his amusement growing when I teeter off balance, an advantage he uses to pull me hard down on his lap. I wince and push against his chest, terrified that my bladder is about to give up on me. I think I’ll die of embarrassment if I piss myself on the lap of a man that I keep having the sexiest thoughts about.
If I’m honest, I want to do filthy things with him—but notthissort of filth.
“I have to pee.” I tell him, my tone pleading though my words aren’t.
“Is that so?” Declan muses. His words come out like a purr, sensual and velvety and I realize just how close his lips are to mine. We’re talking about bodily functions, but he sounds like he’s trying to seduce me.
