The Mighty Quinns: Declan. Kate Hoffmann
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in a slow rhythm.
She walked over to the overstuffed chair opposite the sofa and sat down, tucking her legs beneath her. Slowly, she let her gaze wander over his body. Attraction was such a strange and mystical thing, she mused. She’d met lots of nice-looking, successful professionals over the course of her adult life, but not one of them had piqued her interest the way Declan had.
But was it really him, or was it simply the fact that she hadn’t had a man in her life for such a long time? Men had a drive to find sexual partners on a regular basis. It was part of their physiological and psychological make-up. But Rachel had the same needs, though not quite as urgent or overwhelming.
The thought of a man, naked and aroused, lying beside and on top of her, touching her, invading her body with his…The thought created an ache inside of her, a need she felt compelled to satisfy.
Since the sexual revolution of the sixties, it had become much easier for women to seek out their own pleasure, at least in theory. But in practice, it was quite a different matter. Convincing a man to bed her took determination and resourcefulness.
Rachel knew exactly how to do it, at least by the book. But there was no way to predict whether Declan would respond, or whether he’d notice at all. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Perhaps this wasn’t the right man or the right time. She sighed as an image of him swirled in her mind. Still, she wouldn’t know until she tried.
DECLAN SLOWLY OPENED HIS EYES, then became instantly alert to his surroundings. He was in Rachel Merrill’s apartment, sleeping on her sofa, the dawn just coloring the sky outside the windows of the high-rise. The papers from Rachel’s file were spread out on the floor around him. He pushed up on his elbows and yawned, then froze when he saw the outline of a figure standing next to the chair. Dec’s instincts kicked in and he jumped up, ready to defend himself.
It was only after the figure took a step back that he realized he was looking at Rachel. He reached over and turned on the lamp and they stared at each other for a long moment.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m not scared,” he said.
Her glaze dropped to his crotch and Dec looked down to find an early morning erection pressing against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He’d been dreaming, a very vivid dream, he recalled. And it had involved Rachel. He reached out and grabbed a pillow, holding it in front of him.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” she said with an earnest look. “It’s a perfectly normal physiological reaction. It happens during REM sleep. In fact, you probably have three or four a night without even knowing. You have them when you dream, even if the dream isn’t sexual.”
“It wasn’t,” he said.
She shook her head, her hair falling into soft waves around her face. “I wasn’t accusing you. Although there’s nothing wrong with having sexual dreams. That’s normal, too.”
“Can we stop talking about this?”
She shrugged and sat down in the chair across from the sofa, tucking her feet up beneath her. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed to talk about sex. It’s perfectly—”
“I know,” Declan said. “Normal.”
She nodded. For a long while, she watched him, her unflinching gaze fixed on his face, the intensity of her study a bit unnerving. It was as if she could see inside his head, as if she knew his thoughts before he did. Dec couldn’t deny that he’d had more than a few erotic thoughts about Rachel over the course of the night. But what man wouldn’t? It was perfectly—He cursed inwardly. “So, I guess you know a lot about sex,” he commented.
She tucked her feet beneath her. “Some people would call me an expert. That’s how I got into this. I wrote a paper for the journals on sexual addiction and then CNN called me to appear on a few of their talk shows when some celebrities claimed sexual addiction in their divorce proceedings. That’s how Trevor Ross found me. He liked the way I sounded and asked if I’d be interested in having my own radio show. The offer was good, so I said yes.”
“And that’s how you became Dr. Devine?”
“I thought it would be better to take a pseudonym. The university frowns upon pop psychology. I think they believe it might tarnish my reputation as an academic.”
“Talking about erections on the radio does seem a bit out there.”
“I help a lot of people,” she said, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. “You’d be surprised at how many of my listeners are completely undereducated when it comes to sex. I believe we should be open and honest about our sexual desires.”
“And what are your desires?” he asked. The question was out of his mouth before he even realized he was thinking it. Dec cursed softly. “Sorry, that’s personal.”
“No,” she said. “We might as well be honest with each other.” Rachel paused. “Of course, you probably know how charming you are. And I do find you very attractive.”
“I find you attractive,” he countered, smiling at her. She was right. It felt good to admit it. “And I was dreaming about you when you woke me up.”
Rachel smiled. “See, that wasn’t so difficult. Now that we’ve said it, we understand each other.”
“That’s it?” Dec said.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy. We’re going to be stuck together for a few days, maybe even weeks. Don’t you think being attracted to each other might cause a problem?”
“Why should it? We’re two adults who can control our impulses. Just because we find each other attractive doesn’t mean we need to rush off to bed.”
“At least not right away,” he teased.
She blushed, then giggled softly. “Are you hungry? I could make breakfast for us. I think I have eggs. And English muffins. Or I could make French toast.”
“French toast sounds good,” he said, noticing how deftly she changed the conversation to suit her.
She walked to the kitchen as Dec retrieved his pants from the floor and tugged them on. He joined her a few moments later, sliding into a spot at the breakfast bar.
“I slept well last night,” she said. “I felt safe with you here.”
Perhaps she’d been safe from the stalker, Dec mused, but considering his own preoccupation with her, her virtue was definitely at risk. “I heard you talking in your sleep. Were you having a bad dream?”
She glanced up from the carton of eggs she’d opened on the counter. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember.”
“I was reading your file last night,” Dec said.
“Did you find it interesting?”
“There wasn’t any personal information in there, Miss Merrill.”
“Rachel,” she insisted. “I think we’ve gotten past formalities, don’t you?”
“Rachel,” he repeated. He liked the sound of her name on his lips. He wanted to say it a few more times, pleased with the added level of intimacy it gave them. “Tell me, Rachel. Is there anyone in your private life, an ex-boyfriend, a scorned lover, who might be writing those letters?”
She sat down across from him at the breakfast bar and braced her chin in her palm, toying absentmindedly with a pencil. “I wish it was someone I know, but it isn’t. I’ve tried to come up with a list. I have listeners. I also have clients from a small private counseling practice I maintain and from seminars that I conduct regularly. And then there’s my research work at the university which puts me in contact with more students.”
“So would you say we’re looking at