Page 53 of Carnal Urges
When I raise my brows, her pale cheeks flush with color.
“Oh, shut up.”
“You first.”
She sighs in aggravation and rolls onto her side, her back facing me. I go back to my magazine.
After a five-minute pause where I can almost hear her internal struggle, she rolls over and pronounces, “This is very strange. You know that, right?”
I respond without looking up from the magazine, because I know it annoys her. “Which part?”
“All the parts. The whole thing! Me, you, kidnapping, car chases, hematomas, imminent death, hello?”
“It’s probably best not to get too excited, lass. We don’t want you bursting any more brain vessels.”
“Are you… are youlaughingat me?”
I say mildly, “Why, would your Teflon ego be hurt if I were?”
Another five minutes of silent seething passes before she can’t stand it anymore. She sits up in bed. “Declan!”
I glance at her. “Mmm?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
Holding her gaze, I say, “Protecting you. Go to sleep.”
She opens her mouth, but closes it when—a miracle—she can’t find anything to say. Lying back against the pillows, she pulls the sheets up under her nose and looks at me with wide eyes.
It’s disarmingly adorable. I wonder if she practices this stuff in front of a mirror.
“Declan?”
“For fuck’s sake, lass, just ask the question. Don’t say my name every time first.”
She mutters, “So many rules.”
I snap the magazine instead of her neck and go back to reading.
“I was just wondering if you could tell me a story.”
I cut my gaze to hers.
Her voice comes out small. “To help me sleep.”
When I narrow my eyes in suspicion, she says, “Please?”
“Whatever kind of game this is, I’m not playing.”
After a moment, she whispers, “Okay,” and rolls onto her side again, tucking her legs up to her chin so she’s in a ball. A small, pathetic-looking ball.
I toss the magazine to the bedside table, wishing I hadn’t given up on religion years ago. Now would be a good time to pray for god to kill me and save me from this misery.
Heaving a sigh, I begin. “Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived…” I glance at the back of her head. “A princess.”
Sloane turns slightly, listening. I continue.
“A terribly homely princess, with buck teeth, facial hair, and a large hump on her back. She looked like a wee camel, in fact.”
