Claiming Amelia

by Jessica Blake

  How far was it going to go?

  And a better question was, how were we going to stop it?

  ***

  It was Friday afternoon, and JJ and I were finishing up a few things in Pop’s office. I’d invited him to join me every day that week and had been turned down, but he finally surprised me that morning by showing up. He even bought me a coffee too.

  It was progress, and while I knew my brother and I would probably never be best friends like we’d been as kids, I thought that if we started working together, we could get through whatever nonsense he’d gotten himself into.

  I just needed him to confide in me.

  Finishing the final invoice for the quarter, the last account that needed to be paid, I closed Pop’s computer and smiled. Things were going to be okay, for now at least.

  “Plans for the weekend?” I asked, just trying to make conversation and get him to open up a little. Despite being there to help me, he was still closed off and gave me mostly one word answers.

  “Not really,” he said. “You?”

  I stretched and rolled my aching shoulders. “I have the weekend off. Not sure what I’m getting into.”

  The truth was, I was excited as hell because Declan had asked me to pack a suitcase for the weekend, though he wouldn’t tell me where we were going. He had two meetings on his calendar that couldn’t be rescheduled, and we’d be leaving when he was finished.

  I stared at my brother, wondering if I should tell him that I was going away. As nice as it was to have my brother ask me a question for once, I didn’t trust him at all. The less he knew about what I was doing and Declan’s movements, the better, even if I was still holding out a small hope that I could clear JJ’s name from whatever he was doing.

  JJ was deep into something on his laptop when he looked over at me. “Can you grab me the folders on my front seat real quick? I’m on hold.” His cell was pressed to his ear, the charger plugged into the wall.

  I stood, and he tossed me his keys. Outside, I rushed to his truck and retrieved the folders, being sure to lock it back before heading inside.

  “Here you go,” I said, dropping them on his desk. His gave me a thumbs-up but didn’t say a word. Asshole.

  Before I could settle back into my workspace, he was off the phone and packing up his things.

  “You’re done?” I asked.

  He flicked me a look. “Yeah, I am now.”

  I frowned, and suspicion made my heart giving a hard little thump. “Why did you need the folders?”

  Had he just sent me out to grab them to see if I would? Or to say or do something while I was gone.

  He scoffed. “I needed a price estimate off of one.”

  Because I couldn’t prove that he wasn’t telling the truth, and because I wasn’t sure that I wasn’t just being overly suspicious, I let it go and turned back to my work.

  “Talk later,” he said as he left, giving me an overly friendly wave. I gave him a small wave in return and watched him leave.

  “Weird,” I muttered to myself.

  But the gnawing suspicion wouldn’t leave me even as I tried to focus on work and my surprise mini-vacation with Declan in a few short hours.

  ***

  “You rented a private jet?” I asked in disbelief, taking in the buttery leather and sleek design details of the aircraft. “You seriously rented a jet? What are you, a Kardashian?”

  Beside me, Declan chuckled at my joke, but I was seriously having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he’d booked us a private jet and still hadn’t told me where we were going.

  “You’re terrible at surprises, you know,” he teased as I bothered him for the fifth time about our destination. “I bet you were a kid who snuck around and tried to guess your Christmas presents when nobody was home.”

  It was true. I was nosy and bad at being surprised.

  But Declan was very good at surprising people, so when the plane touched down more than three and a half hours later, I still didn’t know where the hell we were. It wasn’t like I had a compass, and Declan forced me to keep the window shade down so I couldn’t sneak a peek outside.

  But as soon as the plane door opened, I knew we weren’t on the East Coast anymore. The air was heavy with heat and humidity, and it tasted like the ocean.

  Holy crap. We’d gone somewhere tropical. Puerto Rico, it turned out.

  “Where have you taken me, Casey?” I asked, my voice a whisper as I tried not to gawk at the palm trees as we deplaned.

  “Far away from the bullshit for seventy-two hours,” he said, taking my hand and leading me to a waiting car.

  A half hour later, we arrived at a resort and were escorted from the car straight to one of the biggest hotel rooms I’d ever seen in my life.

  “The Presidente Suite,” Declan explained as I oohed and aahed over the giant marble spa tub situated in the living area.

  The plush bed was bigger than a king and full of soft pillows. There was even a long-stemmed rose in the center and a bottle of champagne on ice.

  “You’re a wizard, Declan,” I said in my best Haggrid voice. “How did you get all this done without me noticing? Or guessing?”

  He put our luggage into the huge closet and returned to drag me into his arms, his fingers snaking through the hair at the back of my head. After squeezing me against his chest, he tilted my head up and kissed me.

  “You’ve been focused on putting out every potential fire in the greater Boston area these past two weeks,” he said between kisses. I tried to follow his words, but his lips were pulling me into his spell like they always did. “It wasn’t that hard, to be honest.”

  He was teasing me.

  “I’m very happy to be here,” I said, lifting up to my tiptoes and wrapping my arms around his neck. And it was true. I was very happy. For the first time in weeks, it felt like I could take a deep breath and just be.

  For a few minutes, anyway. As soon as I started nudging Declan toward the bed, he chuckled and wrangled us toward the door.

  “Plenty of time, baby.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “We have dinner reservations, and I heard your stomach growling on the plane. Let’s feed you.”

  I couldn’t argue with that — I was starving.

  ***

  The table was against a wall of windows and had a perfect candle glow. And the food? I’d had a snapper done in a lemon and pico de gallo sauce and was sure I could eat that every single day of my life for my remaining years and be just fine.

  And the most surprising thing? Declan ordered fish tacos.

  Fish tacos.

  I tried not to react too much when the words were out of his mouth, but as soon as the waiter was out of earshot, I raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re messing with me, right?”

  He played dumb for a moment before laughing. “What can I say, Amelia? You’re pushing me to be a better person.”

  He was teasing me, of course, but there was a little bit of weight behind his words that made me smile while a few butterflies of nerves fluttered in my stomach. “How long have you been trying new things?”

  I expected him to say something like a few weeks, a few days. Something like that.

  “Right now. First time,” he said instead, and I nearly snorted my drink.

  “No pressure or anything, right?” I shook my head. “What if I just cursed you into ruining our first meal here with something you hate?”

  It turned out that Declan loved the fish tacos, but I thought he loved being teased by me even more. I hadn’t been in the lightest of moods lately and had taken on more work at Pop’s office and the restaurant, likely to compensate for how out of control I felt.

  For his part, Declan had been nothing but supportive. But I thought this trip was a small hint that he missed me.

  I was definitely flattered.

  More than that, probably.

  Later, we went down a stone path to the beachfront the resort owned. It was dark out, but a few tiki torches had been lit. We
wandered up and down the length of the water for a while, our toes in the surf before sitting down next to a torch and watching the tide roll in and out.

  “Wonder how Boston’s holding up without you,” I said, elbowing him lightly in the side.

  “Probably on fire and spinning out of control,” he joked. It sounded like life in general lately.

  “Have you always been this good under pressure?” I asked, trying to remember what he was like as a boy. “You were a few years ahead of me in school, and I didn’t see you guys much outside of church, so I felt like I never really knew you like I knew your brothers.”

  Declan’s arms were propped on his knees as he watched the water.

  “I think so,” he said. “I was the oldest of five and given some of my father’s business practices, especially in his younger days. I was raised to be ready to take control of my siblings if something happened. I don’t even know if it was on purpose, to be honest. I just knew my mom was the kind to just fall apart and if Dad was gone, the younger ones would need me.”

  I couldn’t imagine. My mother, while a little sentimental and chock-full of bad dance moves, was just as much a rock in our family as my father.

  “So no one’s ever been able to rattle you? Must be nice.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t say that. You rattle me all the time.”

  I laughed and waved a hand in dismissal.

  “I’m serious,” he pressed. “These little looks you give when you’re frustrated or mad or concentrating nearly undo me. That never happens. I can’t wait to see what you do next or how you react. You’re definitely a distraction.”

  Was that good or bad?

  “Umm, thanks?” I shook my head and looked away. “You’re the one who demanded we go out the first seven times, in case you forgot.”

  My tone was light, but damn it, I was a little offended. I didn’t exactly think distraction was some sort of term of endearment.

  “You got me all wrong, baby,” he said, his husky voice back and his big arm pulling me against him. “I needed a distraction. I was going to bore myself and everyone around me to death if someone like you didn’t come along and shake me up ass over tea kettle like you did.”

  That was better. Much better.

  “You certainly weren’t what I had on my agenda, either, if it makes you feel better,” I said. “I was here for a short time, no attachments, nothing like that.”

  “Good thing I’m a charming bastard, isn’t it?”

  I laughed and snuggled closer. “You’re something alright.”

  The sound of the surf and the breeze coming off the ocean made the lull in conversation peaceful and not a bit awkward.

  “What do you want next, Amelia?” His question was quiet, contemplative.

  I took in a deep breath and really thought about it, going with the first thing that came to mind.

  “In a perfect world, I’d have my own restaurant,” I said, a little wistfully. “I make the menu. I make the décor decisions. All that goofy stuff. I’ve never really gotten to make those kinds of choices, and I know I’d be good at it. I know my food is good enough too.”

  “But…?” he pressed.

  “But that kind of thing takes a lot of capital,” I answered. “It takes investors and banks and all sorts of nightmares like that. But if we’re dreaming, it would be to have my own place where I could serve all the sea-to-table dishes I wanted.”

  “Still out West?” he asked.

  My heart squeezed and the thought wasn’t exciting as it had been a few weeks ago. “Yes.”

  “Why California?”

  I told him about Chef Santiago, and how amazing it would be to study under her. “I want the knowledge she’s offering, really. She’s a superstar in the food world, but more than that, the woman’s a genius. She’s from the Mediterranean and learned to cook in Greece and Spain — a background I can try to replicate from books, but I think if I could just learn from her firsthand, something in me will just click.”

  “Like what?”

  I grinned. “All sorts of things, really.” I considered the question more carefully. “I think the biggest thing it would give me is a bit more range in my personal and flavor profile. Kind of help me tweak my voice as a chef just a little more. Plus, I want her as a mentor. I hear really good things from graduates of her program. I want to make that connection, learn from her, and then make it my own.”

  He didn’t speak, but his eyes were warm and his expression unguarded. I had a feeling if we stayed out here much longer, the wine I’d had with dinner would make me a lot more brazen in a public place than I probably wanted to be.

  I cherished this side of Declan. Normally, the man was in business mode, always assessing threats and making decisions in his mind. But with me, he was more this. Open. Warm. Maybe even a little vulnerable?

  “What about you? What do you want next?”

  “A couple things. One thing in particular,” he said absentmindedly before blinking and looking over at me. “But it’s like I’ve told you… I want that neighborhood to shine. I want it to be a beacon for visitors and residents, and I want people to be proud of it. I want the development projects at Columbia Point and the wharf there to get off the ground in the next year, and I’ll see where it goes from there.”

  “Did you always want to be in real estate?” I couldn’t imagine a kid growing up wanting to buy and sell plots of land, but Declan was definitely unlike any other man I’d met, so there was no telling.

  “No,” he said. “I wanted to play quarterback for the New England Patriots, marry some bubble-headed blonde cheerleader, and live in a gated community where my family never visited me.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Wow. Sounds lovely.”

  He laughed. “You asked. I was being honest. What about you?”

  “For a few years there, I wanted to be an astronaut, but then I helped my grandmother bake four hundred Christmas cookies one year, and I knew at that moment that I wanted to make people happy with food. To experience new things with their taste buds. To evoke emotion and memory with their sense of taste.”

  I knew I sounded like a hopeless romantic about it, but it was the truth. Food had always played such a huge role in our lives. Dinner was always at six p.m., and we always ate together. On Sundays, we went to my grandparents’ house for spaghetti and whatever Nan had whipped up for dessert. Food was in my blood from the time I was in kindergarten on.

  “Silly, right?” I asked, knowing I was probably blushing.

  “Perfect,” he said before he leaned in and kissed me.

  A few minutes later, he pulled me to my feet. As we headed back to our suite, we wasted no time as we maneuvered through the lobby and around the people sipping drinks on the sofas and chairs.

  Declan and I didn’t go through a long, detailed schedule of foreplay that night. For some reason, the energy between us was already thrumming, and he seemed to be on the same wavelength as me — he wanted us together now.

  We were less communicative too. Normally, there was a little dirty talk back and forth, some whispers and promises of things to come. But that night, we just wanted.

  He shut the door behind us and backed me up to the bed, his mouth not leaving mine. The kissing intensified, and I pressed into Declan as he slanted his mouth over mine, his tongue taking my mouth with a force I loved.

  My shirt was up and over my head, and my bra was off in a matter of seconds, all while I was pulling at his shirt and messing with his belt, trying to get his pants open. In less than a minute, we were completely undressed, and Declan had me in the center of the bed, his body over mine, not a single point of contact left untouched.

  Then he was inside me, making me suck in a breath and arch my back at the sudden intrusion.

  Missionary wasn’t one of our normal positions, so it was novel and hot and provided so much face-to-face time that I found myself fascinated as he moved up and down over me. The look of pleasure on his face was intoxic
ating, and when he caught me watching him, he leaned down and kissed me again.

  One of his hands captured both of my wrists and pinned them above my head, something I had no idea could be so damn hot. His hold on my wrists was strong yet gentle at the same time. He wasn’t hurting me. He was forcing me to surrender and to let him. Let him lead the way. Let him make me feel good. Let him show me what he wanted from me.

  With his free arm, he slipped a hand under my ass and hiked my hips up, changing the angle, and I bit down on his lip as the sensation that Declan was building in my very core intensified. He worked us hard, pushing me into the mattress with his weight, my legs wrapped around his waist as I anchored to him.

  “I fucking love you,” he whispered, just as he sent me into orbit, and as my body exploded, I wondered if I heard it correctly.

  Love?

  Did he mean it? Or was it something said in the heat of the moment?

  I didn’t know.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Declan

  I meant every one of those words. I just hadn’t meant to say them right as I was having the most explosive orgasm of my life.

  The entire night had been one giant buildup to that, and it turned out to be only round one of three total. But the words felt so right as I pushed harder into her, trying to bury myself in her damn soul.

  I loved Amelia Byrne.

  And the funny thing was, I had no memory of when it started. To me, despite knowing it sounded insane, I felt like I’d loved her from the moment I met her in Sunday School.

  I knew better, of course, but that’s just how it felt now.

  When the words came out, I’d panicked just a bit, unsure if I’d just ruined the whole fucking thing with my big mouth. They weren’t words I was good with, having said them to no one beyond family. And even then, I’d used them sparingly.

  I loved her. I fucking loved her.

  And the craziest thing was that I hadn’t expected her to say a damn thing back to me. True, I’d been worried that she might fire a straight right at me and try to knock my jaw off for being presumptuous or something, but I honestly didn’t expect her to love me back. Yet.

  She didn’t bring it up, either. Not right away, anyway. Not after we took a shower together or when I kissed her goodnight for the last time that night. She smiled and snuggled against me as she fell asleep but didn’t say anything about the fact that I’d confessed my feelings, and in that particular way.