She had placed herself between her father and her sisters—repeatedly. And between Jones and them at Maxim's. But they didn't need that anymore. Starr had Nathan, and Luna would soon find someone, too. Then what would she do? Keep deflecting Declan?
Go somewhere else, her brain screamed. For the love of God, why hadn’t she just left when she announced it last week? Her limbs felt heavy even thinking about starting over.
Ever the gentleman, Declan laid her coat over her shoulders.
She took in a long breath. “Thank you.”
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”
“No, you shouldn't have.” When his hands fell to her shoulders, she yanked herself free and nearly toppled, but he grabbed her arms.
She turned awkwardly, given her crutches and the slick concrete. He dropped his arms, stuffing his hands into his coat.
She might leave Shakedown for good, but Declan might follow her, still not give up. So, she had to end this, and she knew how.
He thought she was damaged? How about beyond it? “You don't know me. Not really. But, whatever. Want to fuck? Let's go fuck. Then maybe you can get me out of your system.”
His face hardened. “You don't mean that. It's not what you want.”
“Who cares what I want? When has it ever mattered? You want what you want and—”
“Enough.” His bark made her seal her lips. “A man has limits. You're trying to reach mine, force me to do something. But you haven't even touched my limits, sweetheart. And you will never be out of my system.” His gaze raked over her.
“I'm just the unattainable one. The one you could never have.”
“Once more, thinking so little of yourself. Not a single woman in the world compares to you. I'm not talking about your looks, which are spectacular, by the way. It's your spirit. So what if you have some damage? We all do. It's what makes us interesting.” He inched closer. “I'm going to risk this next bit because you're worth it and I want you to consider it, really think about it. No knee jerk reaction. What would you do if I kissed you?”
This man did not play by the rules. He was to take her up on fucking, not kissing. “What do you mean… kiss me?” She scoffed.
“Exactly what I said. And I'll stop the second you tell me to.”
Her throat moved in a swallow. “I won't have children.” Her words came out in a rush. “I… I won't do that.”
“Who says I want them? A kiss would suffice.”
She sniffed and huffed. “Sure, you don't. Doesn't every man want to make sure his name goes on?”
“Not necessarily. I'd rather be the man to make sure you don't ever have to be closest to the door to save someone else ever again.” He was so close to her she could smell the wet wool of his coat. “And I promise you that you never have to do anything like that again. Kiss or no kiss.”
She swallowed hard at that statement.
“Because I won't let it.”
Her crutches nearly slipped as she'd been leaning toward him. His coat brushed her nipples as he righted her. His hands were so large they wrapped around her biceps. With his cane hooked over his elbow, he held her there, gazing down with those silvery-blue eyes, as determined as she'd ever seen him. “No. I will make sure you are never presented with that choice again.”
She grasped one of his hands and brought it over her breastbone. “You need to stop trying to save me, Declan.” This man was good. He deserved someone good.
“Not trying to save you. I'm trying to love you.” His hot breath moved over her face, and a tingle cascaded through her entire body.
Then he doesn’t know what love is. But then again, did she? “Why?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Most people would.”
He rested his forehead against hers, his large hand held between hers, keeping space between them. “I'm not most people.”
No, he wasn't. He was remarkable and infuriating and as stubborn as her cat. “I've given you nothing.”
“You've given me everything.” Now he held both of her hands in his between them.
He must not want much then. The cool breeze kicked up, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his skin. Insects droned in the trees around them and sirens were going off in the distance. But his eyes glittered in the dark, and that’s when her resolve slithered to the concrete like a sail deflating in dying wind. He had always looked at her like that—like she was someone to him. Like she mattered.
His thumbs moved over her knuckles. “You and I are the same in many ways. But your strength makes me stronger. Makes me want to fight harder.” He pulled her closer. One of the crutches clattered to the concrete. Neither of them moved to get it. “You make me want to be worthy of you.”
Worthy? Her eyes pricked. “I don't deserve that.” God, could she hear herself?
His cane slipped down his arm and dropped over his wrist to land in one hand. His other hand—the rogue—moved up to cradle her cheek. “Oh, yes, you do. I'd say we deserve each other—and the world that doesn't want us to be happy? It can go to hell.”
She glanced at his lips. “You want to kiss me.” It wasn't a question or a statement. More like utter disbelief this man would settle for just a kiss—from her.
“I do. But I won't. You have to kiss me now.” One side of his mouth inched upward. “For making me wait six years.”
A slight laugh cut through her chest and up her throat. “You wish.”
He sobered. “I do wish.”
Her hands made their way to his pecs, the cashmere of his overcoat soft under her palms, his muscle hard underneath. “There can't be more.”
He nodded once.
So, she rose up on her one good foot and placed her lips on his. Her hand curled around his lapels as his arms banded around her and crushed him to her. His lips moved, slow and strong, for a long minute. And then his tongue dipped inside. He wasn't polite or urgent—just one hundred percent in control. She got the sense he enjoyed her mouth, exploring with his tongue, slow and sure yet not fully devouring her.
She pulled back, shocked at herself and the kiss. It wasn't bad. On the contrary, it was great. She stared into his eyes, and good thing for him he didn't adopt a smug I-told-you face. Rather, he was unreadable.
He held out his elbow. “Now, let me get you home.”
Maybe it wasn't perfect for him? Maybe that really was all he wanted? Turns out she was wrong on all accounts.
At her front door, he kissed her again. The second time, it was even better. There was no gentleman in that second kiss—dead opposite. His lips took over her mouth—sure and strong and better than she'd expected. It was not like any kiss she'd ever been subjected to. His whole body pressed her against her front door, and they'd fit like two puzzle pieces designed for one another. She lost herself—everything around her and inside her fell away.
When he broke contact, his eyes locked on hers. “Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better,” he rasped.
“Olivia. Twelfth Night,” she whispered back.
“And like her, you were meant for great things, Phoenix Rising. Take it.”
He then freed himself from her arms that had wrapped around his body—the only man she’d willingly touched in years. After kissing the back of her hand, he opened her front door and gestured for her to step inside.
She backed herself inside. He pulled the door closed, separating them. She pressed her ear to her side of the door and listened until his footfalls and that telltale punch of his cane faded away.
Her mind couldn’t get a lock on anything. Huh. This is what bewilderment felt like.
It wasn't until three in the morning, as she studied the long crack in her ceiling, that she knew what was different about Declan and his desire for her. There was no subjecting herself to anything. He didn’t want her to change or do anything different. He’d just wanted her to stay. He'd fought for her—and somehow, she’d won.
Love sought, love unsought. They’d collided tonight.
&
nbsp; 29
Tomas wasn't hard to pick out. Hair a deep silver gray with no trace of his natural-born black. The casual way he sat in his chair, his hand resting around a coffee cup, the other lazily draped over the back of the empty chair beside him. The scars on his neck.
The fact his back was to the parking lot and he gazed over the water wasn't lost on Declan. The man showed all the signs of someone whose worries were far behind him. Declan knew otherwise. Inside, the man must be strung tighter than a drum if he was still attempting to control every molecule that swam around him at age seventy.
“You're late.” Tomas hadn't turned to see who approached.
Declan scraped back a chair and set his cane against the table. “Oh?”
Tomas' dark eyes slid his way. “Yes.”
“I suppose this is the part where you tell me that's not a good way to start off a meeting.”
“Is that what this is? A meeting?”
“Two men, sitting by the waterfront for a talk?” Declan gazed over the metallic gray water. “I'd say that constitutes.”
Tomas murmured and took a sip of his coffee.
They sat like that—two men staring out over the waterfront.
“What do you think, Declan?” He inched his chin up toward the water. “My son tells me this waterfront and all these properties that line it are a good investment. Do you agree?”
“No. I do not.”
Tomas chuffed. “Is that because your club is one of them? Or do you honestly believe that?”
“I honestly believe that.”
Tomas finally twisted in his chair, set both forearms on the table. “I don't believe you. But it doesn't really matter. I don't think developing this land is a good idea, either. All that Chesapeake Bay watershed nonsense. So, let’s get to it. Why did you want to meet? You seemed hellbent on staying away.”
“That hasn't changed. Under no circumstances am I going into business with you or anyone else in your family.” Phoenix had softened toward him, to say the least. Now, with a shot at something real with her? Nothing mattered more than ridding himself of the MacKennas’ interest for good.
The man gave off a familiar patronizing sigh. “Tell me, Declan. Why do you think I've been so successful?”
“I'd say we have different definitions of success.”
“Family doesn't matter to you?”
Declan gritted his teeth but didn't say anything. He wouldn't take any chum this man threw down.
“To me, success is ensuring my progeny are taken care of and kept close. I've built quite an empire, but if there isn't anyone to take it, well, one day no one will even remember I was alive.”
Ah, so the man craved immortality. “That so important to you?”
“It's not to you?”
“I hadn't really thought about it. I understand your son is seeking to buy real estate up and down the waterfront without you.”
The man flinched. Yet another suspicion nailed into reality. Carragh was most definitely operating without his father.
“My son has many interests, as do I.” Tomas took a sip of his coffee.
“And Ruark? What are his interests? I mean, now that you’ve arranged for his early release.” It was the only explanation for him coming up for parole a year early. Declan might as well push the man’s law-bending antics into the light. “Make sure you have a strong leash handy for him.”
The man chuffed. “Ruark has made his bed. I'm afraid he's breached enough family etiquette that I am no longer interested.”
So, the man was going to let his rogue son re-enter the world to seek any revenge he might have planned? “You want me to kill him for you, don't you? Let him try something again and have me do your dirty work? Not happening. And you can call off Carragh.”
“Ah, Carragh.” Tomas twisted his cup in the saucer.
Interesting how the man skipped right over Declan’s words about Ruark. He was getting damned tired of his suspicions turning out to be the real deal.
“My eldest son is another matter altogether. He seems hell-bent on hanging around you for some reason. And he wants to make his own way. I can respect that. So, I'll let him think he is for a while longer, but then arrangements will need to be made.”
This man would harm his own son? Why did Declan think time would change this man? Losing Daniel, his wife—which rumor has it was a revenge killing—none of that made him rethink his choices over the years? The family was rife with sociopaths.
“You want me to kill both your sons for you.” Jesus. It made sense. Remove any obstacle at any cost.
“No.” The man dramatically sighed. “Family is important, Declan, and my family will always be safe. But if you have no stake in the family, what's to say you won't work against us? Something tells me you have a moral righteousness that, quite frankly, could be… inconvenient.”
“The fact I have a moral compass at all threatens you? The fact I know what you do and you can't control me makes me a liability? You'd have to take down the better part of this city. Most people wouldn't agree with what you do.”
Tomas swung his gaze to Declan, his ice-blue eyes boring down on him. “Always jumping to conclusions. Just like your mother.”
“I don’t have to jump to anything. I have my mother's diaries. She kept a lot of them.”
The man's nostrils flared. “Writings of a dead woman don't count for much.”
“You'd be surprised how much they count when presented to people who've wanted to nail you for years.”
“Anything my sister may have written down is merely the musings of an overly romantic girl. The law is the law, my friend.”
Declan had had enough. He came and said his piece, and he’d warned Tomas, which felt damned good after being on the receiving end of so many threats. “You would do well to remember the law, Tomas.”
“What? No Uncle honorific?” he laughed.
Declan rose. “Stay out of my business and I'll stay out of yours. Keep Ruark, Carragh, and the rest of your damned progeny away from me and my staff, and I'll keep those diaries to myself.”
The man’s face stilled. His eyes fired, however. Tomas had enjoyed this exchange, which chilled Declan to the bone.
Declan may have unwittingly started a war.
He left. What was done was done. But he’d be damned if he’d go down without a fight.
30
“Why do all baby stores look like candy stores?” Luna held up a baby blanket covered in pastel rainbows. “So we can't resist?”
“Maybe mothers are afraid of bright colors?” Phoenix had never been surrounded with as many pastels as inside Bloom and Blossom Babies. Pink, baby blue, soft yellow, and don't get her started on the ugly organic section with all its unbleached tan cotton.
Luna checked the price on the blanket. “Well, my children are each going to get a signature color that isn't so…”
“Predictable?”
Luna pointed at her. “Bingo.”
Phee knew her sister well. She touched a pair of yellow crocheted booties. They were adorable but did little to distract the bizarre anxiety she felt. Or perhaps her heart jitters were from the fact she couldn't stop herself from looking at her phone for the hundredth time. Declan would be meeting with Tomas MacKenna right about now. Her ears strained for sounds of sirens—as if they meant anything about Declan’s current scenario.
She'd stewed all day at his pure stupidity—and fought the urge to call him to find out what happened even though she was justified in knowing the outcome. Her sisters’ welfare was at stake.
Why did he have to admit he loved her? They were doing just fine dancing around that not-so-secret secret. And then there were those kisses. That damnable, fabulous kissing. Sure, at 3 a.m. her heart did funny dancing things inside her chest, but the light of day had sobered her right up.
“Are you looking for something for a boy or a girl?” the clerk asked.
“Boy. Shower gift.” Phee lifted the price tag of the onesie. Twenty-five
dollars for something the kid was going to poop in or throw up on?
Luna held up a frothy pink dress with tiny rosebuds floating inside the tulle of the layers. “Look how tiny! It's like a doll's dress.” She ran her fingers through the hundred-or-so layers with so much glee on her face Phoenix was concerned her sister got pregnant just holding it.
“The baby would be lost in all that,” Phee laughed. “I think Rachel's little boy would rather be wearing a pair of overalls. Look at these.” She held up a tiny pair of dungarees with a train applique across the chest.
Luna cocked her head. “That could work.” She abandoned the dress fit for a Quinceañera and took the miniature overalls from Phee. “Oh, it's on sale, too. Only $50.”
Only? All these miniature clothes with designer price tags were making Phoenix rethink her career choice.
Luna sighed. “Starr should be here.”
Their sister really did have the flu, which hopefully, they wouldn't get.
Luna's eyes widened. “Don't you wish she really had been pregnant?”
“No,” Phoenix scoffed.
“Why not? Babies are cute.”
“Who do nothing but throw up, scream, and poop.”
She peeked inside the overalls. “It’s machine washable, not hand wash. And all that diaper stuff is only the first two years or so.”
Again with the only? “Now who's being naïve?”
“Well, I think it'd be nice for the three of us to have kids—at the same time so they can grow up together.”
Luna and her romantic notions. It would be nice for a tight-knit group, but her having kids? Not in the cards, which Luna well knew about her.
“So, about Thanksgiving. It’s coming up.” Luna picked up a pair of tiny cowboy boots and handed them to the clerk. “We need to get these, too.”
Of course, they did.
“Mmhhmmm. Cherry's coming, right?” The queen insisted she make the turkey with stuffing. She really did have a mother complex, which Phee hoped she never dropped.
“Yeah, so, since we now have so many of us coming—Nathan, Cherry, Max—I think we should invite Amos, too.”
Tough Break (The Shakedown Series Book 2) Page 13