Regrets: Short, Steamy, Curvy Girl, Instalove, Age Gap Romance (Meet The O'Malleys) by Imani Jay

Author:Imani Jay [Jay, Imani]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2022-05-30T16:00:00+00:00

Six

Declan -Thirty-Eight

I keep my hands tight on the steering wheel and fight to maintain my gaze on the road. Each glance at Rashida melts my resolve. This is not the way I envisioned our first encounter after all those years apart. Not how I imagined I’d talk to her. Fuck, I’m a moron. You’ll have no one to blame but yourself if she doesn’t want to have anything to do with your grumpy old ass, O’Malley.

“Declan, what’s happening? I don’t understand.”

I clear my throat. All at once, understanding and accepting the time for secrets and hesitation is long gone.

“I’m back.”

“You’re… back?”

“In town. I moved back to Monterey. Well, Salinas. You know what I mean. I’m not in Nevada anymore,” I ramble.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I chance a quick glance and see her gorgeous dark brown eyes are round with surprise, confusion… and maybe, hopefully, something that resembles interest.

“You… you moved back here?”

I can almost hear her swallow the lump in her throat. I know the one in mine isn’t going anywhere any time soon. At least, not till we’ve talked and I get an idea where she’s standing about us.

Feeling her eyes still on me, burning a hole in the side of my face, I pair my hum with a nod.

“P… permanently?” she allows herself to ask.

this time I turn my gaze to her, looking straight into her eyes when I respond, “for good.”

Rashida lets out a breathy, “I see.”

“I don’t think you do, baby.”

I catch her movement of surprise at my use of the endearment.

“I came back for you. For us,” I add.

“W… what?”

“We’ll talk at my house.”

“What?” she asks again.

Poor baby, I’m sorry.

“I didn’t mean to spring this on you. I was going to…”

“What do you mean, we’ll talk at your house?” She interrupts.

“Almost there,” is all I say, turning into my private driveway.

Rashida is too busy gaping at me and stuttering, so I take advantage of her momentary stupor and raise her hand to my mouth for a light kiss over her knuckles.

“We’re here, love.”

I park in front of my three-thousand square feet ranch style home, built on my hectares wide property. Before Rashida has time to climb out, I’m at her door, helping her to her feet. She looks from me to the tall, extensive building, eyes round, tongue tied. Her expression would be funny if there wasn’t so much at stake.

I wrap the fingers of one hand around hers and gently tug.

“Come on in.”

She bats her long eyelashes with incomprehension, looking cute enough to swallow whole. Fuck, I can’t wait to take her in my arms again.

Rashida follows me stiffly as I unlock the door, disable the alarm, then walk us to the spacious family room. She’s looking around, eyes still as wide as saucers. Her grip unconsciously tight on my fingers. I wonder what she thinks of the warm, cozy decor. The thick, off-white. The furniture is heavy, wooden and comfortable. There are warm throws laying on the couches and armchairs. I have a few pieces of art lying around and hanging on the walls.

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