by B. Cranford
Declan knew it was because he actually couldn’t believe Brighton was his. It wasn’t an act or a ploy. Sebastian knew what it was like to lose and to lose big, and now that he’d won his girl back, he was doing everything he could to keep her.
As long as she wanted to be kept. Which, based on the fact that she’d put Seb’s ring on her third finger, she clearly did.
“Of course they do. It’s Brighton. Who doesn’t love her?”
“Good point. I tell you though, there’ve been a few single fathers and not-so-single fathers trying to chat her up. I’d bet good money that if I wasn’t there, they’d have been actively trying to get her to go out with them.”
“You’d bet?” Declan questioned his friend’s use of the common expression. After all, it was Sebastian’s gambling addiction that had broken up his relationship with Bright in the first place.
“Figure of speech, man. Come on.”
“Figures of speech?” Declan followed his pun with a laugh, while Sebastian groaned. With the last name Figures, Seb had been at the butt-end of many jokes over the years.
A lot of them were bad, bad jokes. And most of those were Declan’s.
“Whatever. Look, have fun tonight but remember—”
Declan cut him off as he pulled into the parking lot next to Jade’s apartment building. “If I fuck it up, you’ll punch me. I know.”
“Good chat. Later.” Sebastian hung up before Declan had a chance to reply, but he didn’t care. He was here. At her place. Ready to go pick her up at the door like the gentleman he hadn’t been last time. Ready to give her the night of her life.
Ready to prove that he was whatever the opposite of a jackass was.
A Jill-face?
Sounds like a masturbation technique.
Laughing a little at his ridiculous thoughts, Declan alighted from his Mustang and dropped his keys in the pocket of his black suit pants. He made his way into Jade’s building and took the stairs in lieu of the elevator in the hopes of burning some of the restless energy that had entered him since Sebastian’s phone call. He’d made it to her door a few minutes ahead of schedule, which was a damn sight better than not making it at all.
And let’s not think about that tonight.
He raised his hand to knock, sucking in a deep breath before rapping his knuckles against the wood. He heard footsteps, then silence.
A shadow moved over the peephole, telling him Jade was on the other side of the door, waiting to let him in. Most likely thinking about the night he was trying hard not to think of. Slowly, the door began to open and reveal Jade, looking at him with a mixture of pleasure and surprise on her face.
And when she opened her mouth to speak, he knew why.
“You actually came.”
Declan stared at her, making Jade feel more than a little self-conscious. Her black dress—which she and Brighton had consulted on over the phone and decided was a classic—hugged her body, potentially showing off every flaw. Normally, she wouldn’t care or give it much consideration, but with Declan standing in front of her in sleek black suit, crisp white shirt and a tie that matched perfectly with his slate gray eyes, she couldn’t help it.
And the longer he stared without saying anything, the more worried she became.
“Could you, maybe, ah, say something?” She didn’t want to ask, was honestly a little nervous of what his response would be. Which she hated.
Don’t be that girl, Jade. If he doesn’t like what he sees, then to hell with him.
She nodded decisively, her brain giving her good advice and a shot of self-confidence—for once. It seemed that they hadn’t been agreeing on much as of late, so it was a nice change.
Declan tilted his head slightly, probably wondering why she was nodding, but she opted not to explain herself. After all, since she’d opened the door, he’d not managed a single word for her.
Jackass.
“I’m fucking glad I’m here, Freckles,” he finally offered, reaching a hand out to perhaps touch her but pulling away before making contact. “You look . . .”
I look? Come on already. I look amazing. Incredible. Edible.
Say something, for the love of all that’s good and holy.
“Are those the shoes?” His gaze had trailed down her body, no doubt taking in the dress that she’d ummed and ahhed over with Brighton, and landing on the sunny yellow statement heels she’d slipped on.
She hadn’t been sure if he’d remember and the fact he did sent a shot of pleasure straight through her. She gave him a smile and a whispered, “You remember,” while she tried to control the blush that worked up her body.
“As if I could forget.” He met her smile with one of his own and a strange sort of moment passed between them. They weren’t bickering. She wasn’t being her usual defensive self, a persona she fell back on when she wanted or needed to protect herself, and he wasn’t trying to needle her into reacting to him.
They were two people, dressed for a night out, sharing a connection that seemed like . . .
Like maybe it was meant to be.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?
Ah, there it was. The return of her snarky inner voice.
“You’re beautiful, Jade,” Declan’s words were warm, breaking into her thoughts and making her smile widen further. She didn’t feel like Jade Miller, the woman abandoned by those who’d claimed to love her, in that moment. She wasn’t Jade Miller, the girl taunted and teased mercilessly by her classmates for being a freckle-faced, fatherless freak.
She was Jade Miller, the woman who made Declan Young forget his words for a moment.
And, damn, if that didn’t make her feel powerful.
“You’re all right,” she responded, not quite ready to let him off the hook, but wanting to keep the moment light. She held out her hand, palm down and shook it a little in a so-so gesture that made Declan roll his eyes at her.
“Thanks. I guess.”
“Like you don’t know you look handsome. Stop fishing for compliments. I’m fresh out.”
“Well, that’s a pity. There’s nothing I like more than a gorgeous woman paying me attention.”
The smile fell from Jade’s face, the moment of levity passing as he reminded her that she was, most likely, one of many. After all, the man had looks, money and connections. What woman wouldn’t want to pay him attention?
“Freckles, don’t look at me that way. Whatever you’re thinking, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s fine, lemme grab my purse and we can go.”
“You’re not going to let me in?”
“Why would I? We’re going to dinner. Besides, it’s not like you’ve never been here. It was Brighton’s before it was mine, remember?”
“Yeah, of course. But I want to see your place. Not the place that our friend used to live.” He took a step forward and, just as she suspected he wanted, Jade took a corresponding step back, opening the door a little further and allowing him to walk in.
“Still small,” he commented, “but it looks like you now.”
The simple words suffused her with something like pride. After ending things with Chris and moving back in with her mom, Jade hadn’t really had her own space. Now that she did, she’d worked hard to make it hers. Artworks that were a riot of colors hung from the wall above the brown couch she’d covered in a rainbow of throw pillows. Where she knew Brighton’s desk had once been, she’d set up her cello—an instrument she played not well, but loved nonetheless.
And on the opposite wall, black and white photographs were haphazardly hung from a string that she’d zig-zagged across and up and down the wall. They were all images she’d taken, memories of her sisters and nieces and nephews, surrounding one larger photograph, in the center, of her mother.
The center of their world.
It was that wall that Declan walked to, while Jade took a moment to hurry back to her bedroom to grab the small black clutch that she’d placed her phone, lipstick and other
necessities into before he’d arrived. When she returned to the room, she moved to stand next to Declan, accidentally brushing against his arm and reveling in the spark that she felt when his warmth met with her own.
“Your family.” It wasn’t a question. He, like everyone else, would have immediately recognized the family resemblance. It was in the shape of their eyes, the freckles that scattered across their cheeks. Her sisters all had the same identifying marks, but Jade’s were thicker, covered more space and had, for a time, been the one thing she’d hated most about herself.
Which is why, when Declan called her Freckles after leaving her waiting for him, it felt more like an ode to what made her different than an affectionate term.
“Yes, my sisters.” She pointed to one photo that had all four of them—her three sisters and herself, which she’d taken using a timer, managing to catch a moment where they were smiling and generally enjoying being around each other. She tapped the twins who were mirror images of one another, “Ebony and Ruby. They’re the oldest.” Then, sliding her finger over herself and landing on her other sister. “Ivy, the middle child.”
“Ebony, Ruby, Ivy and Jade.” Declan sounded slightly disbelieving, the colorful range of names a talking point whenever Jade or her sisters spoke of their family.
“Yep. My mama chose all our names. Wanna know our middle names?”
Declan nodded immediately.
“Rose.”
“Which one is Rose?”
“We all are. Named for our grandmother.” Jade shrugged, like all four siblings having the same middle name wasn’t in the least unusual. “I like that we share it. And Eb and Ivy gave their daughters the same. It’s a family thing.”
“Tell me something else about them.”
Jade shook her head. “If we don’t leave soon, won’t we be late?”
Declan didn’t care if they were late. For whatever reason, Jade was talking to him, telling him about herself and her sisters, and he was loathe to let the moment end. After months of nothing but barbs and retorts, the little spitfire wasn’t spitting fire but facts at him.
Jade Rose Miller. It suited her, her name matching her hair.
“Probably.” He smiled down at her, appreciating once again the yellow heels that he’d once felt digging in his ass as she let him take her, please her, make her come. “Does it matter?”
Instead of answering, Jade spun away from the wall of photographs and moved toward the front door. With no other choice, and more than happy to follow her anywhere—especially when she was wearing a dress that made her ass look biteable—he used his longer strides to catch up.
They took the elevator down and, by the time they reached his Mustang, the silence that had formed when they’d left the apartment had become thick. Almost uncomfortable.
Declan felt the need to fill it, to try and push the awkwardness away, but he wasn’t sure how to accomplish it. Instead, he walked her to the passenger side door and opened it for her.
Jade was the one to break the silence. “Not a dinosaur or noble steed in sight. I’m disappointed.”
He laughed, a mixture of relief that the silence was no longer and amusement at her words. They harked back to their earlier conversation and all the times past that she’d called him a caveman or claimed he had a white knight complex. It made Declan feel like they had a thing, an inside joke that was just theirs.
And that felt like another step forward.
Which was welcome after so long of nothing but stepping backward.
“I told you my dino was in the shop. But come on, my Mustang is totally a noble steed.” He waited for her to slide into the seat, then carefully closed the door. He jogged around the hood and was in the driver’s seat before she had time to buckle up. “See?” Pointing to the pony in motion on the steering wheel, he turned so he was fully facing Jade. “So now you can call me Sir Declan.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’d love it if I called you Sir.”
“Sorry, Daddy, did I stay out past my curfew?”
An echo of the last time Jade had been in his car—the only other time she’d been in it. They’d sparred that night, as he’d tried to rein in the emotions that had gone haywire at the sight of her soaking wet and bleeding on the side of the road.
But she hadn’t let that stop her from testing him, from giving as good as she got, and that, that was one of the things he liked most about this woman.
“Well, I mean, if you’re up for it . . .” He trailed off, letting Jade off the hook by starting the engine and backing out of the parking space he’d claimed when he’d arrived.
“I guess we’ll see by the end of your one night,” she retorted, seemingly not ready to end that line of conversation just yet. “Maybe you’ll be calling me Mistress instead.”
Jade stared across the table at the man currently talking to their waitress about the specials. He was being blatantly flirted with, and yet he seemed not to notice or care. Declan’s attention, instead of being drawn to the pushed up and out breasts of their server, was bouncing between the menu and the eyes of the waitress.
Jade couldn’t quite work out why that was so attractive.
Lies, her brain interrupted. It makes you hot because any other man—and even you—would be distracted by that display.
As much as she hated to admit it, her brain was right. The waitress was beautiful and she did have a nice chest, which Jade could appreciate despite not being on the receiving end of her show.
“Freckles.” Declan’s tone was gentle, careful, and it pulled Jade from her reverie. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat?”
Jade, having been lost in thought pretty much since they’d been seated and the waitress had materialized, took a cursory look down at the brown, leather-bound menu in her hands. “Ugh, I’ll have the . . .” She pointed to the menu, selecting a dish she couldn’t pronounce, hadn’t read about and hoped tasted good.
Not that she was going to be able to taste anything if she couldn’t concentrate.
Stop thinking about Declan and start interacting with him.
“Great choice,” the waitress, whose subtle name tag announced her name as Bree, praised her. A smile stretched across Bree’s tanned face and reaching her eyes, and Jade all but felt the weight of her appraisal. “You obviously have good taste.”
As Jade was about to accept the compliment, she noticed the side glance Bree gave Declan, a subtle lip bite accompanying the move. She couldn’t have helped her response if she’d tried. Which she hadn’t. “In some areas, yeah. But others . . .” Jade tilted her head in Declan’s direction, silently telling the waitress that something about her date was lacking. “Well, others have proven to be disappointing.” She threw in an eye roll to drive the point home, and watched as Bree’s eyes widened.
“Jesus, Jade.” Declan laughed, watching as Bree moved away from the table. “Why didn’t you just tell her my cock was smaller than my pinkie?” He held up a hand and wiggled his smallest finger at her.
“Considering your pinkie is weirdly long, it might not have been enough of a deterrent.” Jade leaned in closer, inspecting Declan’s hand where he still held it aloft. It was a strange thing, to be closely examining such an inane part of this man’s body, yet she couldn’t have predicted the whoosh of arousal that blew over her entire being.
I wonder if he’s as good with his hands as I remember.
“My pinkie is not weirdly long.” The look on Declan’s face was as amusing as it was sexy, his comical expression somehow making the lines of his handsome face more approachable and more untouchable all at once. “You’ve just got tiny hands.”
Jade held up her hand without thought, watching in wonder as Declan brought their palms together, then threaded their fingers. Suddenly, they were holding hands across the white clothed table and it felt right.
“They’re not so tiny,” Jade whispered into the shrinking space between them. Despite the table that separated them at that moment, with her hand linked
with Declan’s, Jade couldn’t help but feel bare. Exposed.
Turned on.
Needing to get back onto an even keel before she did something stupid like tell him how she was thinking about her hand wrapped around the maleness of him, while her eyes devoured the look she knew he got on his face when he was experiencing intense pleasure, she yanked her hand back. Drumming her fingers on the table, she cast in her mind for a topic, a tidbit, something, anything to say to move the conversation away from hands and fingers and other body parts that could be used for . . .
“Spoke to Sebastian on the way to your place.” Declan’s comment drew a sigh of relief from Jade, who was still stuck trying to think of what to say next. “He was worried about me and you. Did you—did you tell him about last year?”
Jade nodded, then shook her head. “Not exactly. I told Brighton.”
“Which is as good as telling Seb.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Want to know what he said to me?”
Did she? She wasn’t sure. It could have been anything from be nice to you could do better, though Sebastian wasn’t just a good boss, he was also a good person and she truly couldn’t picture him telling his friend—not even his best friend—that Jade wasn’t good enough. In the end, it didn’t matter what Jade wanted, because Declan told her regardless.
“He said if I mess up, he’ll punch me.” He said it with a self-effacing smile, but Jade could see that he was serious beneath that charming grin. “I promised him I wouldn’t.”
She didn’t know how to respond. She wanted to tell him he wasn’t messing up so far, but she also wanted to reserve judgment. Yeah, the first hour or so of their date was going well, but the night was still young.
There a plenty of ways to fuck something up, her inner voice helpfully supplied. You’d know.
“That was . . . I mean I . . . Oh.”
“I’m doing okay so far, right?”
She’d been a little lost for words after hearing that Sebastian was ready to defend her honor, but his question brought some of her signature fire back. “I mean, you showed up, so yeah, you’re doing okay.” Instead of feeling good about a shot fired and landed, Jade was a little disappointed in herself for bringing it up again.