purely innocent kiss. Ironically, Rachel probably wouldn’t even remember it the next morning. Perhaps that was for the best, Declan mused. Things were uncomfortable enough between them. He didn’t need to have her embarrassed over behavior she couldn’t control.
Still, Dec couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened had the kiss been real, borne out of conscious thought rather than the haze of a dream. What would have happened if she’d been awake and kissed him. He wouldn’t have put up any resistance even though refusing her should have been his standard, by-the-book response.
The hell with the book, Dec thought. Somehow, he didn’t think the book applied when it came to Rachel Merrill. If something did happen between the two of them, then he’d deal with it. But it was silly to anticipate an attraction that probably wasn’t even there. Rachel just didn’t seem all that interested.
RACHEL PUSHED UP ON HER elbow and punched her pillow, frustrated by her inability to sleep. She’d slept for three or four hours before being awoken by an odd dream. She’d been at her office and Declan Quinn had been there with her. And she’d kissed him.
She groaned. What did she expect? There was a handsome man sound asleep just a few feet away from her bedroom. Of course her mind would wander to thoughts of him. In truth, she’d spent the entire night thinking about him.
“Don’t fantasize about the bodyguard,” she muttered, flopping back down into the pillows. He’d been sent to do a job, and though it seemed as if he cared about her, that’s what he was paid to do. To think his interest was rooted in attraction was simply deluding herself.
But it was such a delicious delusion, she thought, smiling to herself. Declan Quinn was a gorgeous man. His dark hair was nearly black and he wore it just a bit longer on the top, just long enough for a woman to run her fingers through it when she kissed him.
Her thoughts switched to his mouth and Rachel wondered what it might feel like to kiss him. He’d probably kissed a lot of women. A man who looked like that wouldn’t have any shortage of female companions. And that voice, so deep and rich, was designed to seduce, to convince a woman that all she really needed to make her life complete was to strip off her clothes and climb into bed with him.
Rachel hadn’t had to imagine what his body was like. His little encounter with pepper spray had offered her a chance to see just what was under his clothes. A shiver ran through her and she sat up again. Tossing the bedcovers aside, she stared up at the bedroom ceiling.
She’d lost enough sleep over the past few weeks worrying about her stalker. It was strange to be kept awake by other thoughts. Reaching for one of her journals on the bedside table, she searched for anything to clear her mind. A nice long article on anthropological research should do the trick.
But she read the same paragraph over and over, her mind returning each time to the man sleeping in her apartment. Rachel rolled out of bed and walked over to the mirror above a low dresser. She stared at her reflection in the soft light from the bedside lamp. Smoothing her hands over the thin cotton of her nightgown, she looked at her figure critically.
Unlike many single women her age, Rachel didn’t work out. She hated exercise and hated sweating even more. But though her body might be a bit soft, she still considered it attractive enough to interest a man. A tiny waist, nice hips, and breasts that were just the right size. “Not too big, not too small,” she murmured.
She tipped her head to one side. She’d never considered herself beautiful, though. The features of her face, taken individually, weren’t that remarkable. But combined, some men might consider her pretty. And then there was her hair.
She ran her fingers through the thick auburn waves, cropped to just above her shoulders, then turned away from the mirror and walked back to the bed. Her hair had always been the bane of her existence, from the time she was a little girl. It never looked as though she’d done much to style it and usually she hadn’t.
Rachel knew the effect of physical beauty on sexual attraction. Every person had a checklist of qualities they looked for in their perfect mate, a list condensed and honed over time. She could be the most beautiful woman in the world and if she didn’t fit Declan Quinn’s profile, then she was out of luck.
She crawled back into bed, then listened as her stomach growled. That’s why she couldn’t sleep. She was hungry. Rachel grabbed her robe and pulled it on over her nightgown. She walked out of her room, passing the closed door of the guest room. Pausing, Rachel listened for the sounds of his breathing, but she couldn’t hear anything.
When she reached the living room, Rachel realized why. Declan was stretched out on the sofa, dressed only in his boxer briefs. Though he’d grabbed a blanket from the guest room, it lay on the floor beside the couch, just one corner tangled around his foot.
Rachel drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. The only source of brightness in the room came from the kitchen, from the light above the stove that she left on. It was just enough to make out the details of his face and body. She watched him breathe in and out, his chest rising and falling 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
