Page 28

Within fifteen minutes, we’ve weaved around Nashville in Declan’s pickup truck and wind up a hill. When he parks beside a raised, grass knoll as the sun is close to setting, I glance around us.

“Love Circle Park?” I’d read the sign as we entered.

“This place is considered a hidden locale and a favorite among locals. Heard it’s one of the best places to watch the sun set in Nashville.” Declan pops open his door and comes around to the passenger side.

I could mention that watching the sunset from his place during the Fourth of July was pretty spectacular, but I don’t. We haven’t been to Declan’s apartment these past few days and when I asked him why not, he simply said, “I like your home better. It’s cozier.”

He isn’t entirely wrong; my house is warmer than his place. I’m not really concerned.

Instead of leading us further up the hill, Declan escorts me to the tailgate of his truck and helps me up into the back.

Then he returns to the cab and pulls out a blanket.

He climbs into the bed, tossing the blanket so it spreads, and I shift to help straighten the woven fabric.

We both settle over the blanket, staring over the tops of the trees to the bright illumination of Nashville off in the distance.

Even in the last hour of sunlight, the place is all neon lights, and I can almost imagine hearing country music despite the miles between here and there.

“I promised your brother I’d show you Nashville.” Declan waves his hand toward the city. “I present to you . . . Nashville.”

I softly chuckle. “Looks a little like Vegas,” I admit about the blinking lights and the streams of neon.

“Looks like home to me,” Declan declares, and when I turn my head toward him, he’s staring at me.

Nashville . Declan. Home.

On second glance, Nashville is nothing like Vegas, and I breathe in a grateful breath of mountain air and summer breeze, and the hint of cinnamon gum and sunflower seeds on the man next to me.

When Declan lies flat in the truck bed, I follow his lead.

We might be out in public, but no one can see us in this position, with my head on his shoulder and one of my legs wrapped over both of his.

Plus, no one really cares about a couple snuggling in the back of a pickup truck around here.

The view of the sky holds everyone’s attention, and we watch as the clouds shift to blushing pink, then orange-yellow petals before a lavender haze takes over.

The display is beautiful, and we continue in this position as the brilliance fades and darker blue blankets the sky.

“The past four days have been some of the best in my life,” Declan states, cupping the back of my thigh and hitching my leg higher, resting it just below his waistband.

I stiffen in his arms, holding my breath. “But . . .”

“No but.” He shifts his head, and I tilt mine against his shoulder to glance up at him.

“Why do I feel like you’re about to break up with me?”

Declan chuffs. “I’m most definitely not .”

“I still feel a but .”

“Well, I’d be feeling your butt, except we are out in public, even if it is growing dark.” He lifts his neck, peeking his head over the side of the truck before looking back at me and awkwardly grabbing my ass.

“You’re so corny.”

“I’m horny. And I’m just being honest. I want you to know, I’ve enjoyed spending time with you.” He tucks his free arm behind his head and stares up at the sky once more.

“Tomorrow, it’s back to business,” I remind him, lowering my head and running my finger down the middle of his chest. His T-shirt smells like him.

“Tomorrow means nothing.”

“What does that mean?” I chuff.

“It means team back or no team, you and I remain the same.”

“And what are you and I?”

“Together.”

Together . He presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering there a second.

The sensation is sweet. The sentiment sweeter.

“Dare,” I whisper beneath the darkening sky and tilt my head upward again.

Declan meets my eyes, arching one brow in acceptance.

“Kiss me.”

Slowly, his lips curve, and he lowers for my lips, bonding us. Together .

I’m not opposed to making out in the bed of his truck like randy teens, and our bodies shift so we face one another, only we move like we can’t get close enough.

“Roll over,” he whispers against my mouth, gently pushing at my shoulder so I shift and place my back to his front. “Slip off your panties.”

“Declan,” I groan, wound as tight as a fast pitch before release, while wiggling out of my underwear.

As soon as I’m on my side, I understand his intentions as he flips a portion of the blanket over me.

Beneath the cover, he slips his hand over my hip, rucks up my dress, and slides his fingers between my thighs.

“So wet,” he hums into my neck while gliding his fingers directly into me.

I purr, arching my back and pressing my backside against the giant bulge in his light-weight shorts.

“We’ve got to be quiet,” he mutters, working his thick fingers in and out of me while my hips rock.

I squirm and ache, wanting him deeper. His thumb flicks my clit, and I spread my legs, hooking my ankle over his knee, opening myself up to him.

“Gonna come for me, wildfire? Gonna let me feel that flame?”

I groan, panting as his fingers work their magic and my hips roll in a way my backside kisses that thick length in his shorts.

“I want you,” I whimper. I’ve never done anything like this before. Sex in public. Sex under the stars. Sex in the back of a truck.

“Be a good girl,” he hums against my neck. “And I’m all yours.”

Good god, why do I like both the praise and the gift.

Within minutes, I’m set alight, like those fireworks we watched from his balcony or the twinkling stars breaking out as night blankets us. Actually, I’m more like the neon streams of downtown Nashville, vibrant and bright and loud.

Declan covers my mouth awkwardly with his other hand as I melt against his fingers.

Then I hear the rip of Velcro at the waistband of his shorts. He shifts, pulling away from me only briefly before he’s back on his side, his chest to my back, and his warm, hot cock against my ass.

“We don’t want to give anything away. No rocking the truck.” He chuckles. “We’ll go nice and slow.”

He hitches my leg over his thigh, spreading me even wider, and settles his tip at my entrance, rolling the top against my clit.

I shiver.

“You like that?” he whispers.

“I like everything you do to me.” I hum. Every touch. Every kiss. Every chat. Every second we spend together.

And when Declan takes his time to glide into me, connecting us together, he grunts, “I like you .”

The phrase is so childish and yet nothing has ever been said with such emotion. He likes who I am as I am. Driven and spunky. He appreciates my body, but he loves my mind and my humor.

I slip my hand between my thighs, spreading my fingers like a V to give his dick an extra squeeze as he drags out entering and exiting me.

“Oh fuck,” he softly grunts behind me.

“You like that?” I question him, flirtation in my tone.

“I like everything about you,” he counters, not exactly matching my sentiment but adding to it.

I smile to myself as his hips keep a steady pace. The deliberate slowness drawing out the build up. The ease of him sliding into me is aided by the slickness between my thighs. Nothing has ever felt like this. Him and me. This position. This connection.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was making love to me. Or rather, making me fall in love with him.

“You feel so good, wildfire,” he murmurs behind me lost in his own euphoria as his hands grip my hip and I lean forward more, deepening the angle.

I hum again.

“Want you to come around me,” he demands.

I shift my squeezing fingers to fingertips on the sensitive nub that will get me off, working myself in tight circles as he drags in and out, winding us up like a batter set to swing.

Typically, I’d consider side sex lazy, but the tender tease of him leaving me and the controlled rush to fill me is anything but idle.

Every slow thrust is purposeful. Every deep tap is intentional.

Declan flattens his hand against my lower belly, as if feeling himself within me, filling me, touching me as I’ve never been touched.

And when Declan finally presses to the hilt, jetting off inside me, I bite my lip as he sets me off and I squeeze at him buried within me.

His arm wraps around my middle, and he tugs me until my back is tight to his chest, and we lay like this despite the mess.

“India Baker, you’re my best girl,” he whispers, like the claim he made when he asked me to dance in the middle of a crowded street.

And I close my eyes, knowing it’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.