Below Deck

“Declan is down in the crew laundry room. Second door on the left once you get through the galley. The rest of the crew is already asleep for the night, locked in their bunks, so don’t worry about running into anyone,” he tells me with a wink.

I want to be embarrassed that Ben knows exactly where I’m headed, but I’m too happy that now I don’t have to wander aimlessly all over the ship and hope he comes to me like the last couple of times.

With a quick thank you to Ben, I close the door and leave them to it, tiptoeing down the hall past my family’s bedrooms, quietly moving through the darkened main salon and formal dining room. My heart starts thundering in my chest as I stay on my toes and creep down the stairs to the crew area, poking my head slowly into the galley. When I see nothing but an empty kitchen, I keep moving until I exit through the opposite entrance, stopping when I get to the second door on the left.

Quickly glancing down the hall at all of the closed bedroom doors, I take a deep breath, turn the handle and walk right into the laundry room without knocking. The room is larger than what I thought it was, able to fit six sets of stackable washers and dryers along with a long white counter with a bunch of cabinets underneath. Half of the counter is stacked with folded sheets and other linens for the ship, and the other half is covered with piles of crew uniforms.

Declan looks up from the dryer, where he’s currently pulling a load of towels out, when I close the door behind me and lean my back against it to calm my racing heart.

He must have changed out of the white polo and khaki shorts after his bartending duties during dinner ended a few hours ago, and now he’s wearing that same pair of worn jeans that drove me crazy the other night. Any second thoughts I’d been having on my way down here are quickly put to rest when I see he didn’t throw on another tight, faded t-shirt to go with the jeans this time. Oh, no. Standing across the room with his arm full of fluffy white towels, Declan has decided to forego a shirt altogether.

Sweet mother of God. Is there a stealthy way to wipe drool from your chin?

I knew this guy had some muscles, it was hard to miss them when he kissed me and I had been pressed up against his chest, when I clutched onto his arm as he was giving me an orgasm, and especially with that blue swim shirt he had on all day today. But nothing could have prepared me for Declan with his shirt off.

“J’ai tellement envie de toi…” I trail off as I stare at his hard body, telling him I want him, knowing he likes it when I speak French and hoping it moves him into action.

With his eyes glued to mine, he tosses the towels over to the counter and my eyes immediately take in his chiseled chest, the muscles of his abs as he twists his torso, and the V-shaped indents outlining his midsection that I’ve only read about in books or seen in movies.

“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?” he asks in a low, serious voice when he turns back to face me.

“Nope,” I reply, my hands still pressed against the door down by my sides to keep me standing upright, so I don’t do something stupid like collapse at his feet in a puddle and start praying to the God of hot guys, thanking him for his excellent work.

His eyes remain glued to mine as he takes a few steps towards me and then suddenly stops.

“And you’re not going to go back on your word and do something stupid like fall in love with me?” he asks with a straight face.

The tension immediately leaves my body as I laugh.

“Nope, as long as you can do the same.”

He finally smiles at me and takes a few more steps until he’s right in front of me and I have to tip my head back against the door to look up at him.

“So, we’re in agreement? This is just sex. I still have a job to do and neither one of us is going to screw that up?” he questions, raising one eyebrow as he looks down at me.

Hooking my fingers through his belt loops, I tug him forward with a jerk until his body bumps against me, his bare chest pressing against mine as he lifts his arms and presses his hands against the door on either side of my head.

“Correct,” I answer with a small nod, remembering why I came down here in the first place and pulling up a little of that confidence he seems to bring out of me. “As long as you taking me back to your room and fucking my brains out doesn’t screw anything up.”

His eyes darken as they stare down at me and a muscle ticks in his jaw. When he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, I start to wonder if he’s changed his mind and will go back to insisting I’m too much of a distraction he can’t afford, even though he’s exactly the kind of distraction I need right now.

Before I can open my mouth and ask him, he slides one of his hands down the wood of the door and the click of the lock engaging by my hip sounds like a gunshot over the hum of the washers and dryers in the small room.

He presses his hand against the couple of inches of bare skin at my side where my tank top has risen up, then slowly slides his palm around my body. Resting it against my lower back and adding a little pressure, he brings my hips forward until I can feel how hard he is for me. My eyelids flutter closed when he dips his head down and presses his lips against my year.

“How about we compromise, and I fuck your brains out right here in the laundry room instead?”

CHAPTER 15

Declan

Any doubts I’d had about whether or not I was making a smart choice by giving in to temptation and not staying away from Mackenzie were immediately forgotten as soon as I heard the laundry room door open and saw her standing there in front of me.