Stripped by Edie Harris Read Free Book Online Page B

harsh perspective.  
    He wanted her. He wanted her like crazy, with her stern face and her caramel candies and her whatever-it-was with Wes and the craving . The craving in her eyes, as if she longed for what that almost-kiss might have led to, had they not been interrupted.  
    Had they not been interrupted, Declan had a feeling his whole world could have burned to ash. As it stood, every moment after that had simply added another layer, heat over heat, want on top of want. He knew what her breath felt like, puffing against his ear, just as he knew the softness of her fingers, lightly stroking beneath his chin. He knew the feel of her hands clenched in his hair, her thumb dragging along his bottom lip…but he didn’t know the taste of her mouth.
    The intimacy building between them staggered him, and yet there was no end or relief in sight. Except…
    You’re loud to me.
    Loud, and he’d told her he wanted to kiss her. Hell, he wanted to do far more than kiss her, but they could start there and begin stripping away those layers of heat and want. No more hiding behind the mask she helped him don each morning in order to avoid the swift deathblow a direct rejection would deliver his unwise crush.  
    Several other couples spun and swayed on the dance floor, bathed in the glow of the red and yellow lights framing the stage, on which sat a nine-piece salsa band complete with horns, guitars, and a drum set that made his fingers twitch for want of a set of sticks. Off to the left of the stage was a darkened hallway, presumably leading to the restrooms, and swinging doors from which bled the fluorescent kitchen lighting every time a server pushed through. To the right of the main entrance, where Declan still stood, was a well-stocked bar manned by two tee-shirted staff. Every other square foot was covered with four-top tables, some pushed together to accommodate larger parties.
    It was at one of those sets of tables, situated relatively close to the dance floor and band, that Declan spotted the familiar faces he was looking for: Rick, Wes, Ryan, Marta, Joanne, and five or six other crew members. Nodding politely to the hostess, he ambled through the sea of tables until he reached his destination, noting several clear plastic pitchers filled with pale green liquid.  
    “Did you see Jones go down last night in the seventh?” Rick asked the group at large as Declan dropped into the empty seat across from the costume designer.
    “Yeah.” Wes fiddled with the black metal case of his electronic cigarettes. A brooding expression was fixed firmly in place as his director’s gaze darted around the room, halting momentarily on a wall-mounted television in the corner before coming back around to the table. “Looked like he was hurting.”  
    “Read in the Times today that the first baseman said he heard a snap.”
    Sadie’s Ryan winced sympathetically as he tapped out a quick text message on his phone before setting it on the table in front of him. “Jeez. But he didn’t go into surgery, right?”
    It was Rick who answered. “Nah. Sounds like the docs are assessing damage, but he’s definitely out for a while.”
    Wes sighed. “And that game was shaping up to be a no-hitter.”
    “Jones was having a good season out in Chicago,” Rick dipped a tortilla chip into the earthenware bowl filled with salsa as he shook his head, “but man, I wish he were still here. Don’t know what the club was thinking, letting his contract run out.” Raising his eyebrow, he used his salsa-laden chip to gesture at Declan. “Know anything about baseball?”
    Declan helped himself to a chip. “Not a damn thing.”
    “What a shame.” The gray-haired man lifted one of the half-full pitchers of green stuff. “Margarita?” When Declan nodded, Rick grabbed one of the short, salt-rimmed tumblers from a serving tray at the center of the tables, filling it nearly to the brim. “Drink up.”
    “Thanks.” For several minutes, Declan sat in