Down and Out(11)

He barks out a laugh and tilts his hip toward me. “C’mon, it’s not gonna bite. I promise.”
My brow arches as I switch his bag to the other hand. “All right, but don’t come crying to me when your pissed-off hostage punches you in the balls.”
Tentatively, I slip my hand inside his pocket, hating the way my heart beats faster just from touching him. I try to tell myself it’s only because I’ve gone two months without sex and being this close to a guy is stirring up old, familiar feelings of lust, but I know that’s not true. It’s Declan who’s making me feel all light-headed and electric.
A soft laugh threads through the air between us, making the tiny awning seem even smaller. How can a laugh sound sexy? It shouldn’t even be possible.
“Kitten,” he says, his deep voice snaking around that damn word like a caress, making it easier to bear. Shit, I think he could read the phone book to me and I’d be riveted. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier,” he continues. “I seriously doubt you’d be anything but nice to my balls.”
I freeze, my hand stuck inside the pocket of his faded, slightly-too-tight jeans as my mouth flops open.
He did not just say that to me.
He’s smirking around the pile of crap in his arms, and as my face turns bright red, he winks at me.
I have the sudden urge to punch his boys just to spite him. “You may be pretty, but you’re kind of an ass.” I give him an acidic smile as my fingers touch the cold metal lump of his keys.
“That’s what they all say.” His dimples are in full force as he grins at me. It’s like he honest to God likes this back and forth between us.
I don’t know what to make of that or how to react, so I ignore it and pull out his keys. “Which one is it?” I ask, sifting through the knot of tangled metal.
“The black one.”
I easily spot the black key, briefly studying the painted-on and punk-looking white skull and crossbones at the top before lifting it up to the deadbolt. With a flick of my wrist, the door’s open and we’re inside.
The light from the hallway filters into the dark living room. It’s just enough to see the giant flat screen hanging on the wall and the big, dark sectional opposite it. His floorplan is open-concept, and the living room seamlessly blends into the kitchen to my left. It’s all stainless steel appliances and gleaming countertops.
I bet it’s granite. Formica doesn’t reflect light like that.
This posh, obviously recently remodeled apartment is not at all what I was expecting from the beautiful, tattooed ass-hat/potential serial killer.
Declan carries my things down the hallway, and into the dark room on the left. Setting his bag on the couch, I hang back, craning my neck to see where he went. I’m so not about to go into a dark room with a six-foot-three stranger, who looks like he can bench press five of me. I don’t care how pretty he is or what dirty things my vagina keeps whispering to me. Some things—like getting made into a lampshade—just aren’t worth it.
Light floods the room as he flips the switch. “You can stay in my room.”
I pop my head in, seeing him strip the king-sized mattress. He’s set my stuff off to the side of the room, and I edge my way over to it, keeping my back to the wall. Bending down, I sneak my hand in my purse, discreetly trying to pull out my can of mace, just in case.
He bunches up the sheets and tosses them into the hamper, then opens his closet door and disappears. After a second he returns with a new, folded-up set. “You can retract your claws, Kitten. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
My back straightens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Save it,” he says, spreading out the fitted sheet. “I saw that can of mace in your purse, and I saw you grab it.” He pulls the fabric over the corner and looks up at me. “You’re not as stealthy as you think. Now get over here and do those corners.”
Begrudgingly, I set the mace on the nightstand and pull my corners over the mattress. “I could be a murderer, you know.”
Those dimples flash again. “I think I can handle myself against the likes of you.”
Hell, he can probably handle himself against a grizzly. “Well, I could steal from you. You could wake up in the morning and find all your shit gone.”
He does this cute little half-frown, half-smile and says, “Don’t?”
I bite my lip, trying to quell the smile tugging on the corners, and fail. “Well, okay. But only because you asked so nicely. Otherwise, I would’ve cleaned you out.”
Grinning, he shakes his head. “You’re too much. What am I gonna do with a little firecracker like you?”
Warmth creeps into my cheeks as I look down at the sheet. I don’t know how to respond to a line like that. It does funny things to my stomach and makes my knees wobbly. I’m used to guys with less finesse, who call me “baby” and promise the world to me. We both know those promises are about as deep as my shot glass, but those extravagant and empty ones are the ones I can handle, because I know they’re harmless. This line from Declan is like a promise of something to come, and I have no doubt he’ll deliver.
I trace my finger along the sheet’s honeycomb pattern. The varying shades of gray match the black leather headboard nicely. “You don’t have to give me your bed,” I murmur. “I’d be just fine on your couch.”
The flat sheet billows as Declan flings it out, spreading it over the bed. “I’m not making you sleep on the couch. I’m not a total ass.” His eyes briefly meet mine before he grabs the folded-up gray blanket from the bench at the foot of the bed.