Page 17 of Worth the Risk (Worth It All #1)
As soon as I hit send, telling him my apartment number, I immediately drop my phone like it’s on fire.
What did I just do?
I look around my apartment with fresh eyes—seeing it as Declan will see it in about two minutes.
The mismatched furniture I’ve collected over the years suddenly looks shabby instead of eclectic.
The stack of community center budgets on my coffee table screams “workaholic with no social life.” The photographs of Highland events covering one wall might as well be a shrine to my father’s legacy.
My heart races as I grab the budgets and shove them into a drawer. Should I change clothes? I'm still wearing the same jeans and blouse from our coffee meeting, now wrinkled from nervous fidgeting.
I catch sight of myself in the hallway mirror and try to smooth down my hair, then immediately mess it up again. Too obvious.
The knock comes exactly when I expect it, but it still makes me jump. I freeze with my hand on the doorknob, suddenly paralyzed by the weight of what I'm about to do. Once I open this door, there's no going back.
My phone buzzes with Highland financial documents demanding attention. Papa's photo watches from the wall, reminding me that some things matter more than personal desires. Every rational part of my brain screams that this is a mistake.
But my hand is already turning the lock.
I open the door to find Declan standing in my hallway, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his expression uncertain. The confident CEO who commands boardrooms and negotiates million-dollar deals looks almost nervous as he meets my gaze.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi.” I step back, silently inviting him inside, my decision made.
He crosses my threshold, and suddenly my small apartment feels even smaller. His presence fills the space, making me acutely aware of how intimate this is—him in my home, surrounded by my life, no professional pretenses or neutral territory between us.
“This is where you live,” he observes, looking around with genuine curiosity.
“This is where I live.” I close the door behind him, hyperaware of the soft click of the lock. “It’s not much, but?—”
“It’s perfect.” He turns to face me, and the intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch. “It’s exactly what I imagined.”
“What did you imagine?”
“Warm. Authentic. Unpretentious.” His gaze holds mine. “Like you.”
The compliment sends heat spiraling through my chest. We’re standing barely three feet apart in my small entryway, the air between us charged with the same electricity I felt in that storage room, in the coffee shop, every time we’ve been alone together.
“Why did you come here, Declan?”
He takes a step closer. "Because I needed to tell you something."
My heart pounds against my ribs. "What?"
"That I want you." His voice is low, rough with honesty. "Not just as a collaborator, not just as Highland's director. I want you, Maya. All of you."
The admission hangs between us, impossible to take back. I could deny it, redirect the conversation back to the presentation, maintain the professional boundaries that are already in tatters.
Instead, I tell him the truth. "I want you too."
His sharp intake of breath is the only warning I get before he closes the distance between us, one hand cupping my face exactly as he did in the storage room. But this time there’s no hesitation, no questioning—just the certainty of his mouth claiming mine, hot and demanding.
I melt into him, my hands finding purchase on his shoulders as he backs me against the door.
The solid thud of my body against wood sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with impact and everything to do with the way his other hand slides to my waist, fingers splaying possessively across my hip.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs against my lips. “Since the moment I walked out of Highland.”
I can’t form coherent words, can only respond by pulling him closer, my fingers threading through his hair as our kiss deepens. He tastes like whiskey and desire, and the intensity of his mouth against mine makes me light-headed with wanting.
His hands slide along my waist, tangling in my hair, tracing the curve of my spine through my shirt. Each touch leaves a trail of heat in its wake, like he’s mapping my body with deliberate precision. When his fingers slip beneath the hem of my blouse to find bare skin, I gasp against his mouth.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, his thumb tracing slow circles just above my hip bone.
“Yes,” I breathe, arching into his touch. “More than okay.”
He smiles against my lips, a flash of satisfaction that I feel rather than see.
Then his mouth is moving along my jaw, down the column of my throat, finding the sensitive spot where my pulse hammers beneath my skin.
The gentle scrape of his teeth there makes me clutch at his shoulders, a soft moan escaping before I can swallow it back.
I should push him away, should maintain those professional boundaries I’m so desperate to keep.
Instead, I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him closer.
He groans against my lips, pressing me harder against the door.
His tongue slides against mine, and I forget everything—the community center, our arrangement, all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
All I can focus on is the heat of his body, the taste of his mouth, the way his hands slide down to grip my hips.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathes between kisses, even as his fingers slip under my blouse to stroke bare skin. “Tell me you don’t want this as badly as I do.”
I answer by nipping his lower lip, drawing a growl from deep in his chest. His hands tighten on my waist, lifting me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around him, gasping as he grinds against me.
“God, the things you do to me,” he murmurs, trailing hot kisses down my neck. “I can’t think straight when you’re near me. Can’t focus on anything but how badly I want you.”
His words send liquid heat pooling between my thighs. I arch against him, seeking more friction, more contact, more everything.
“Then show me just how much you want me.”
By the time we stumble into my bedroom, we’re both half-mad with wanting. The door slams shut behind us, and Declan spins me around, pinning me against it. His lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing my skin in a way that makes me moan.
“I need you, Maya,” he growls against my collarbone. “Now.”
“Yes,” I gasp, my hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
I need to feel his skin against mine, need to erase any space between us.
He helps me, shrugging out of his shirt, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.
His torso is a masterpiece of sculpted muscle, the planes and ridges of his abs glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.
I run my hands over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the rapid beat of his heart under my palm.
His hands are everywhere, deftly undoing my blouse, sliding it off my shoulders. He pauses to admire me, his eyes dark with desire. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the lace of my bra. I arch into his touch, craving more.
“Declan, please,” I beg, my voice a desperate whisper. He responds by lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bed, leaving a trail of discarded clothes in our wake.
As we tumble onto the bed, he kisses me deeply, his hands roaming over my bare skin, exploring every curve, every dip.
I arch against him, feeling the hard planes of his body against mine, the evidence of his desire pressing against me through his boxers.
His arousal is unmistakable, a hard length that makes me ache with need.
“You drive me crazy,” he groans, his lips moving to my breasts, teasing and tasting. I tangle my fingers in his hair, urging him on, lost in the sensations he’s creating. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of my panties, and I gasp as he touches me, his touch sure and skilled.
“Declan!” I cry out, my body trembling with need. He responds by sliding my panties off, his mouth following the path his hands have taken. I’m lost in a haze of pleasure, every touch, every kiss pushing me closer to the edge.
But it’s not enough. I need more, need all of him.
“Maya,” he whispers as he positions himself above me, his eyes locked on mine and I can see the raw need in his gaze. “I want you so much.”
“I want you too,” I confess, my hands gripping his shoulders. “Now, Declan. Please.”
He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He slides off his boxers, revealing his full arousal, hard and ready.
“Do you have protection?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper between ragged breaths.
His eyes never leave mine as he reaches for his discarded pants, retrieving his wallet.
The moonlight filtering through my curtains catches the flex of muscle across his back, casting shadows that accentuate every ridge and plane.
I watch, mesmerized, as he extracts a condom and tears it open with his teeth.
The sight of him sliding it on makes my breath catch.
He’s beautiful like this—completely exposed, vulnerable in his want, his eyes dark with desire as he returns to me.
I can’t help but stare, my breath catching at the sight of him.
He positions himself at my entrance, his tip teasing me, and I arch my hips, desperate for him.
“Look at me, Maya,” he commands, his voice husky. I meet his gaze as he slowly pushes inside me, inch by glorious inch. The sensation of him filling me, stretching me, is overwhelming. I moan, my nails digging into his shoulders as he seats himself fully inside me.
“You feel incredible,” he groans, his forehead resting against mine. He starts to move, slow and deep, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through me. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, urging him to go faster.