Chapter Ten

Sydney

This time it’s Rhodes holding the door as we get out of the car. Cameras outside click and flash, blinding me, and Declan holds me close under his arm as my eyes struggle to adjust going into the dark restaurant. This is a side I hadn’t expected. Will my dad see this? Selma? LeHavre?

Dinner is a stilted affair. I’m dressed to the nines in a black sheath that matches Declan’s suit. Jewelry provided winks refracted light from the cut stones hanging from my ears and the necklace that dips low between my breasts, a single ruby teardrop is the cherry on top of this outfit.

Several business associates approach our table in the back. Here I learn that Declan is fluent in Gaelic, Mandarin, and French. I didn’t know, and now I feel like I seriously underestimated him. Smart and sexy aren’t the usual adjectives one aligns with a criminal. By the third time we’re approached, Declan grouches at the wait staff, indicating we shouldn’t be bothered anymore. He pulls me flush alongside him in the horseshoe-shaped private dinner booth, flipping my dress up under the table.

“Declan?” I push his hands away but he grabs my wrist, insisting I let go.

“My hands are cold,” he swears.

“And the sky is green,” I mutter, making him bark out loud.

“It is during a tornado,” he says, winking before shoving them between my thighs.

This man is definitely the devil in sheep’s clothing, walking on earth, tormenting me.

“What’s wrong?” He gives me a sidelong glance while squeezing my inner thigh. His fingers do nothing more than stroke between my legs, leaving me restless, teased, and aching.

“Nothing.” I’ve already forgotten myself and the role I have to play. I couldn’t help but scan the file stickers inside the vault that was actually a secret room within his office. The damn papers were right there within my reach, clearly labeled for the waterfront property LeHavre is looking to seize. My hands sweat and itch since seeing the file. Guilt chokes me, along with this ruby necklace hanging heavy around my neck like a noose.

“Tell me,” he demands. There’s no other way to phrase it. Declan has this way about him that speaks volumes. He doesn’t have to threaten or get loud; it’s his mere presence. He’s a truth serum wrapped in a black suit and consequences that make my belly quiver and my core wet with anticipation.

“I swear, I’m fine.”

My hands smooth down the dress as far as I can tug it down without dislodging Declan’s hands. I fluff out imaginary wrinkles as I shift my weight.

“You don’t like the dress?” he accuses.

“It’s not the dress. The dress is…lovely.” I supply an answer I hope appeases him. The sheer lace I’m wearing underneath it—as if those strips of cloth would actually cover anything—doesn’t count. I’m probably lucky I even have a dress to wear right now.

“Well?” he probes verbally, with his sneaky finger inching between my thighs.

“This is so uncomfortable,” I mumble to myself, glancing at the tables of people who look at us between sips of wine and gluttonous forkfuls of Kobe steak that easily costs two hundred dollars a plate.

Declan pauses to look at me. I almost repeat myself, afraid he didn’t hear me the first time.

He leans in letting out a derisive huff, and I know he heard me.

“I can make this more uncomfortable if you like.”

My face heats and I peek back at the patrons of the Japanese steakhouse who stare boldly at us. I can’t hear their words, but I know something like, Declan’s new toy must be traveling quickly amid them. Shame has me hanging my head down low, and Declan merely picks up my chin.

“Chin up, princess. Can’t have your crown slipping.”

Ignoring him, I tear my chin from his light grasp. Shame fills me at the situation I’m in, but what options are left?

He clucks at me and speaks low. “If you don’t look at me, I may have to kiss the shit out of you right here right now.” His voice is low, making my eyes dart up into his chuckling expression.

“You wouldn’t.” Unsure, I back up in the booth with nowhere left to go, hesitating and nerves vibrating.

“Hell, why wouldn’t I kiss you? Is this any worse than sucking my cock in the confessional?” he taunts, tossing his napkin down.

I’m scared by how unpredictable he can be. He pulls me into his lap despite my meager protest. Onlookers raise their eyebrows, and before I can protest overly much, he kisses me senseless. Hands pull pins from my hair and I’m transported back to his office at the club. Anyone who didn’t know I belong to Declan before surely knows by now.

Dessert is merely a consolation after a dinner I can barely swallow. A little cake, coffee, and a dinner mint before my deflowerment. For a change, Declan is a perfect gentleman. Because my ankle is throbbing from when Jason kicked it the day before, he insists on carrying me to the room I occupy, promising to return after he makes a few phone calls. It’s all business, he says as he unclasps the straps on the ankles of my heels—silly things I could barely walk in, given the pain I’m in now. There is no way to hide the bruises that travel up my leg—or the rest of my body—from the encounter with LeHavre. This may be the only time I have with Declan.

Together.

Not together, because he isn’t mine. Not any more than I am his, despite what he claims.

I’m left alone with my thoughts for an hour, and lay my head down on the bedding, feeling sleepy, waiting. The alcohol from dinner helps me drift off, dreaming of a dark, mysterious man who is both my savior and the cause of my pain.

Warmth tickles me awake.

“There you are,” Declan murmurs, kissing my thigh and slipping his hand under the dress so he can drag it upward and part it wide.

I don’t know if I want this to be a dream or not. “Don’t you have your own room?” I speak into the pillow, hoping he’ll give me one last reprieve. He doesn’t.

“Sweet Sydney, we’ve been over this. You are in my room.”

I jolt up in the bed. My dress is high on my thighs and cool air hits my damp core, making me squirm. This doesn’t surprise me the way I suppose it should.

“I thought—”

“Stop thinking so much. That’s where your trouble begins.” His eyes are laser focused on mine and his chin rests on my knee.

I settle deeper into the comfort of bedding and watch the man trailing his hands over my needy skin.

“I don’t suppose you’ll stop?” I ask, wishing I could pull the pillow from behind my head and bury my face in it. Of all the things we’ve done together, or I’ve had done to me, this feels far too intimate.

“Not on your life. Debts must be paid, the devil appeased, and all that good stuff, my dear.” Declan crawls over me, turning me in his arms and pinning me down.

My heart pounds heavy beats, slamming into my chest, leaving me dizzy and breathless. Never in a million years could I have imagined feeling this way for a man so hard and ruthless. My parents taught me better. They expected better, and then one half of my world died, leaving me in abject limbo. I sought the sun, scraping by for a breath of fresh air while my father sought the darkness and drink to drown his sorrows.

“I swear if I had a penny for all the thoughts going on in that head of yours, Sydney.”

I clear my throat. “Bad pennies.”

Declan’s face falls with a strange look before he rucks my dress up over my body. “Come back to me then.”

I lay spread out for him, braless and wearing black panties which he quickly pulls off, tossing those to the floor.

“Too many clothes on you.” I try pulling his shirt out of his pants.

“Bossy girl.”

I’m feeling cheeky tonight after his teasing at dinner, a little drunk maybe, but still in control of my faculties.

“Spank me, Declan.” My hands hold onto his biceps, thick, tanned muscles that come from more than working out in a gym.

“As much as I like a good challenge, I think this evening will be enough.” He pulls his belt from the loops in his pants, tossing it to the floor in a loud clank of metal and leather on wood.

My mouth dries and my nails flex over his arms. “What should I do?”

“Don’t claw me to death for one, and secondly, try to relax. I’m not going to kill you.” Declan’s voice lowers and the serious tone is gone.

“The necklace?” I glance between us at the ruby between my breasts.

“It suits you, Sydney. Keep it on.”

I don’t move a muscle when Declan backtracks to the end of the bed, standing up. The vest comes off, landing on a chair. He untucks his shirt and slowly unbuttons it, popping the black discs through the sewn holes one by one. The shirt joins the vest and I swallow my breath. His chest is a perfect mosaic of muscle mixed with superficial scars, and a tattoo that covers his chest looking like a knight’s armor. He turns for a moment, reaching for his pants, and I glimpse another tattoo covering his shoulders: broken wings and feathers in black ink, marking him a fallen angel.

“Declan, your back…It’s incredible.” I lean up on my elbows as his pants drop, desperate to get a better view.

Declan has the grace to smirk. “It’s not my back that should impress you right now.”

He’s right—it isn’t the only impressive thing. His cock isn’t fully erect, but it stands heavy, bobbing against his stomach, rigid and thick. It’s thicker than three of his fingers, and heat suffuses through my body. I’m not only impressed but a little terrified, honestly, as he knees up on the bed and crawls over me, caging me in and spreading my legs out.

“So this is it?” I ask.

Declan leans his head down, sighing, and a grin spreads his face from ear to ear.

“No. Not at all.” He lowers his hips against me, fitting his cock at the juncture of my thighs. He pumps his dick a few times, rubbing fluid over his member.

I watch him move as he grinds against my folds until they spread from the friction, exposing my clit. The pressure makes my hips buck. I whine with want, feeling my skin go dewy with sweat.

“I’m taking you, Sydney, but I want you with me.” He’s on his forearms now, big hands playing with my breasts, pinching and rolling my nipples into sharp points.

I’m panting. My hips shift, unable to get closer, weighted down into the bedding. Declan’s hips match mine thrust for thrust, and each movement makes the bed squeak and jump as he gets closer to pushing through.

“Oh, Declan.” I know what I’m asking for and it isn’t gentle. I want the promise of a rough fucking by this man who swears he’ll forget me, because I know I won’t forget him as long as I live. I’ll take whatever he has to offer.

“Sydney,” he releases a breath.

His hands leave my breasts and move to my face, holding me still, tangling in my hair, anchoring me. My legs part as wide as possible, making room for him to fill me. I smell the sharp tang of our arousal and it drugs me. My hands snake around his shoulders and back, nails raking against ink and history I desperately want to be a part of.

Breathlessly I whisper into his open mouth, his thrusting hips bruising my own. “I want this. I want you, Declan.”

His cock punches through, impaling deep inside me. There’s pain, vague memories of remorse that dissolve into my all-consuming need to let Declan have this part of me with my permission as he kisses the tears away.

Warmth suffuses my skin but does little to take away the chill. Declan is awake and grumbling under the canopy of our bed. Even saying “our” bed is a shock to me; the man who swore he wouldn’t make love to me or cuddle afterward hasn’t let go of me in the week I’ve been in his bed. His chest presses against my back in a solid heavy way, comforting me. His hand snakes around my middle, pulling me flush against him. My hand covers his and I feel the delicate lines of scars slashed into his hand from a knife fight a decade ago. He feels too good to be true, with his strength and his need for me, protecting me. Morning sex is how he starts our day, and today is no different with his hot breath coating my neck and ear, cranking up the temperature of the room to an impossible degree.

“Open your legs, Sydney.”

A shiver runs over my body and I squeeze my eyes shut, flattening my body to the bed, doing as Declan demands. His leg, rough with hair, rubs my inner thigh as he pushes me wide from behind. A hand lays flat against my belly, pressing up and pushing my ass back against his ramrod steel cock. He fits himself between my globes, pressing deep. Moisture dots the back of my spine with his pre-cum and I claw the sheets, giving him unfettered access to my body. I’ve submitted everything to this man, except my honesty, and the guilt burns me from within.

My nerves are shot, because today is the last day I have to follow through on delivering the property deed to LeHavre. Without the deed, my father will be shot and left on the steps of his precinct for everyone to see his shame. I’ll be orphaned; the daughter of a dirty cop. But perhaps the biggest loss will be Declan. He’ll know it was me who betrayed him either way, and I won’t be exempt from his punishment.

Me.

The good girl gone to hell.

I’ve stolen this time with him as my own because god only knows what comes next for either of us. Declan’s large hand cups my hip, thumb rubbing the ridge of bone under my skin. He slides me up and down against his thick cock. His rod is hot like a bolt of lightning zinging me. He doesn’t wear a condom—he won’t with me—and I secretly dream of having his babies, even though I have the birth control implant. A little boy dark like his daddy, and maybe a little girl with his soulful eyes to wrap him around her little baby fingers. The thought makes me smile into the silky bedding, shuddering with need.

“Relax, pretty girl.” His gravelly morning voice makes my insides clench tighter. It always pinches the first thrust, and I wonder if that’s something that will change in time. Right now I revel in the feeling, hearing him strain to fill me. Maybe I’m as sick as he is, but knowing I have his undivided attention for the next hour is a secret thrill. No club bunny or second in command will take him away from me. Sadly, by this afternoon, I will have done that all by myself. The playful spankings will turn into something violent, and my stomach cramps. What does he do to women who not only break the rules but betray his trust? I know what he does to men, even if I’ve never seen it.

People get hurt.

People disappear.

The rumors are real.

I push myself up, prepared to give him everything he wants from me as if I’m saying goodbye. This could be our last everything. It is our last everything—my one moment to cherish in the dark when he finds out my deception. His hand travels back to my ass, shaping it under his calloused fingers, molding it to his grip. I take a deep breath as his finger circles the tight skin around my star, flexing the tissues.

“Not today, baby.” He laughs and grazes the skin, gently probing but nothing more. I can’t stop my panting breaths, and I wonder if I’ll ever fully trust him. Probably not, and the thought makes me sad.

We never had a chance, did we?

“I love fucking this pussy that’s mine.” He covers me and presses deep in a singular thrust, pinning me to the bedding in a long grunt of slapping skin and whooshing breaths.

I shut my eyes, blocking out the redemption of a new day and the morning sun. My tears fall, staining the four-hundred count Egyptian cotton with regret.