TWELVE
Declan’s grin is much too wide. Smug already and this date hasn’t even started.
“Ms. Weasley,” he says and I instantly laugh.
“Mr. Potter.”
Halloween hadn’t met with Sayo’s expectations. We won the costume contest, but the victory didn’t extend to my friends. Declan and I secured the trophy as “Steampunk Harry and Ginny” and when the DJ announced the winners, my best friend’s face contorted into a near pink flush and her head landed on the table in defeat.
Declan returns my grin as my gaze scans up and down his large body. He looks far too good for a casual date. Dark jeans, those constant Chucks and a fitted, long sleeve green button up that narrows at the waist. He wears a thin leather jacket and a black hemp necklace that is tucked beneath his white undershirt. His hand rubs against the back of his head and I notice that he’s actually made an effort with his hair. It is short and styled with thick curls that lay against his forehead. He reclines against the doorframe with that too wide grin and a bundle of KitKats in his hand.
“Do you know how many carbs are in those things? Have you not seen my ass?”
“In fact, I have. It’s a lovely arse.”
My lips work into a disapproving line. “You want it to get bigger?”
“This is a test,” he says nodding toward the chocolate. “Will she pass or fail?”
Chocolate is my downfall. Always has been and as Declan waves the red-wrapped candy in front of me, taunting, teasing, my eyes slip closed and I manage to lift my chin, squashing away the desire to snatch the Kit Kats out of his hand. “It’s a nice gesture, but I can’t take the chocolate.”
From behind him he pulls out a huge bottle of Whey and Soy powdered protein shakes and I can’t help the smile that stretches my lips. “Oh, Declan!”
He laughs as I hug him, the vibration in his chest makes my arms tighten around his waist. He walks through the threshold of my door and he glances around my apartment. Setting the powder on the countertop, he eyes the wrapped assortment of cookies that I still haven’t managed to get rid of. He nods to them and I sigh.
“Go ahead,” I say. “You at least aren’t training like a maniac.”
He picks up a cookie from the platter and pops it in his mouth, his eyes slamming shut as he chews. “I think you missed your calling, McShane. These are brilliant.”
“My mom’s recipe. She was the best cook ever. Hence the ass I can’t seem to get rid of.”
The look he gives me isn’t gentlemanly. I guess my Mr. Books is gone forever. “Nothing to complain about, love.”
I disregard his lecherous stare and turn to pick up my bag. “So, where are we off to? I’d like to get this over with as painlessly as possible.”
When I turn around, he is standing in front of me. “Convinced that our little date will be a bore, are you?” I narrow my eyes at him, disbelieving, but he isn’t rebuffed. “Ever hear of a backwards date?”
“No.” I have no clue what he’s talking about, but then again, it’s been a long, long time since I was on a date. There could be new and varied discoveries that I’ve completely missed out on during my self-imposed celibacy.
“Ah, well, you simply start at the end and work your way back.” He takes my hand and walks me to the front door. I stand outside and pull it close at his nod. “Lock it.” Sighing, I do as he asks and cross my arms, waiting for his next bossy command. He presses against me, my back at the door, and his arm rests above my head. “Goodnight, McShane.”
I can’t help but smile. My fears of this date, of me liking him too much disappear as he edges in. He smells delicious, the lovely cedar, masculine smell but I tense when he hovers close to my face. “What are you—?”
“‘Night,’ I said.”
His face is inches from mine, his breath crosses over my forehead and already the butterflies have emerged, having their way, swirling in my stomach. When he remains silent I lick my dry lips and decide to heed Sayo’s advice. “Night, Declan.” Before I can close my mouth, his lips touch down, flick across my lips and I am overtaken by his smell, by the fearsome demand of his kiss. My shock prevents me from responding immediately, but when his freehand cups my cheek and his tongue glides against my lips, an uninhibited moan escapes my throat and I am powerless to stop him. His mouth is probing, firm and I relax against him, enjoying the feel of him melting me to the door. The kiss lingers and the unbidden thought of opening my door, making him come in, settles in my mind. Just as the idea pops into my head, he pulls away from me, stares at my mouth, then catches my eyes, the smirk returns and I feel heat race through my body.
“Backwards, you see. Goodnight kiss and now we revert.” One finger drifts across my forehead and his eyes follow the movement. “Besides, I never did get that kiss on Halloween, did I? I felt cheated.”
“That wasn’t a date.”
“This is.”
“Well, that’s an awfully impressive start. You think the rest of the night can compare?”
“I think I can manage. Come on, let’s go.”
The season has been a bit bipolar. We have shifted from cool to humid, to brisk and freezing and the flowers and trees haven’t quite turned gold. The crickets still chirp and the fish still shoot in and out of the river seeking fat insects to feast upon. Declan holds my hand as we walk near the lake. It is still, quiet, and only a few stragglers walk around it.
He directs me to an incline of rocks near the bank. In his hands, he holds a brown paper bag, but I don’t ask him what he’s planning. I’m trying my best not to overthink anything and though that is innately hard for a control freak like me, I have at least refrained from uttering a single question. Occasionally, he turns to check on me and throws me a smile. That expression always makes me nervous. It’s been my experience that when Declan wears that expression the result will be either a great swell of annoyance on my part or something truly inappropriate on his.
We come to a small embankment clustered with smooth, brown rocks. The lake isn’t deep, but it flows from the mountain and the water is clear and cold. I congratulate myself on wearing my Keds instead of wedges. The trek up here would have been ridiculously painful on my ankles.
Declan jumps down to the bank and sets his bag on a dry spot of the ground. He holds out his hand for me to grab and I take it, landing nearly on top of his feet. His Chuck’s are muddy from my inadvertent splatter of water and Declan shakes his foot to clean away most of the muck.
“Sorry,” I say and he nods, dismissing my apology.
When he rolls up his sleeves and squats down, fishing in the brown bag to retrieve two large mason jars, the tattoos become visible; all intricate and colorful and I don’t know what it is about seeing his skin marked up that makes my stomach twist, that has me moving my collar off my neck.
“At the end of the date, a bloke would want to take his lady to some place romantic, no?” He smiles at me, his head nodding toward the lake around us.
“I suppose. If he wanted to impress her.”
“He does, trust me.”
I am clueless, completely ignorant of what he’s planning when he unseals the lids from the jars. “Are you thirsty or something? I wouldn’t advise drinking the lake water.”
“Just wait.” He hands me a jar and the lid and nods for me to follow him down the bank. He squints across the lake and I watch him focus, concentrate on whatever it is he’s looking for until a bright light drifts in front of him and he slaps the lid onto the jar. “There now. Simple, isn’t it?” A small firefly bounces within the jar, bumping against the glass. “When I first came here, these little buggers were everywhere. We don’t have these creatures back home and, well, I like them.” Declan watches the bug bouncing around the jar, eyes focused and moving before he releases it. We both watch it zoom into the night, zipping from us into the black sky above. “Can you catch one, do you think?”
“Declan, I’ve lived here my whole life. Of course I can catch a firefly.”
My efforts are just sad. I’m sorely out of practice and being here on the lake, these flickering creatures peppering the sky with yellow light, reminds me of times my father would take me fishing. We’d spend the day here, hooking and releasing fish because I couldn’t bear to keep any of them. Then, when the sun was setting, Joe would snatch the low flying fireflies in his hand and I’d peek through his cupped fingers. That was a long time ago, and when I miss three small bugs that zip in front of my face, Declan stands behind me, moves my wrists once, twice, until finally, I’m able to capture the little insect.
“That’s it, McShane,” he says, but I can’t concentrate on the game. He smells too good and I’m too comfortable with his long arms around my body, his wide chest rubbing against my shoulders.
At my side, Declan holds up the jar, squints as he watches the firefly zooming around the glass and I notice his eyes are brighter tonight, likely set off by the green color of his shirt. He must notice my scrutiny, because his eyes slide to my face and his mouth quirks up. I blink twice at the jar.
“You know, in late spring, there is a group of synchrony fireflies that swarm in the Smokies,” I say. “It’s beautiful. There are six seconds of total darkness and then in perfect synchrony, thousands of bugs light up six times in a three second period before going dark for six more seconds. You can actually take a tour up the mountain to watch it happen.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“When I was a kid. It’s been a long time, but they’re still there, every June.”
He isn’t staring at the jar anymore. Instead, his eyes lower to my mouth, then back up and he bites his lip. “Well then, McShane, maybe next spring you can show me.”
“Maybe.” He hasn’t moved, hasn’t taken his arms from my body or lowered the jar. I can feel the small thump of the firefly against the glass. “So. Do you want to catch another one?” He shakes his head and I finally can no longer take the way he watches me or the soft light of the bug reflecting in Declan’s beautiful green eyes. A step back and I pull the jar away from him, releasing the firefly.
Declan bends to my feet to retrieve a smooth rock from the bank and then turns to the lake, extending his wrist to skip the pebble against the nearly still current. It jumps over the surface of the water, bounces three, four times before it disappears beneath the dark river.
“Beat that,” he says, nodding to my hand.
“Fine then.” I take my turn and my rock skips twice before it disappears. The competitive streak in me flares and I grab another rock. He watches me as the rock zings from my hand and skips, two, three, but not four times.
“You have to relax your wrist.”
“I know how to skip rocks, Declan.”
“Quit arguing with me. Here,” he comes behind me, moves against my body and takes my wrist. His long fingers drape over my hand and guides the direction. The rock leaves my grip and this time it skips five times before it disappears. “Watch me,” he says, picking up another rock. Five, six, seven. He’s good at this. Too good, I think and I instantly grab another rock, slapping his hand away when he tries to help me once more. “Stubborn.”
“Shh.” Finally, I think, as my rocks skids at least five times to the other side of the lake.
“Ah, see then, McShane. You’ve got it now.” He hasn’t moved from behind me. The heat his body generates surrounds me, his warm breath is against my hair, skirting up my neck. I bend over again for a rock and my body brushes against his thighs. I can’t help but enjoy the sensation of him so close to me. I fling the rock out into the water, but it falls short when Declan’s hand touches my waist.
“You did that on purpose.”
He nods, but doesn’t speak. His eyes run over my face, but I try to ignore how there is no expression bending his mouth or how intently he stares at me. “Can you ever not cheat?”
“That’s not cheating, love. That’s distraction.”
I turn around. “What’s the difference?”
“Intention. Calculated intention.”
It is too much; his nearness, the still, cool night, the smell of his skin whipping on the quick breeze. I return to the rocks, deciding distraction would alleviate the steady climb of my thumping heart, but I know he watches me. I know he moves closer, his shoes crunching against the rocks and sand at our feet. Declan is like a lion, fierce and calculating, but I have no intention of being a gazelle. I’m no prey.
Sayo’s words come back to me, and I did mind them, but it’s only been an hour and he’s already kissed me. My eyes glance to his and I can see in his expression that one kiss will not be enough for him. Still, I have no plans to let this be the gist of our night together. I want him to talk. I want him to ask me questions. I want him to, for now at least, stop leering at me as though my body is a delicious feast and he’s a hungry predator waiting to pounce.
He takes another step, but I keep my attention on the lake, on the quick skips of my rock over the water. “You look beautiful, here in the moonlight with your hair moving over your face.”
My smile is quick, barely a quirk. “Thanks,” I manage, stepping to my left. When he continues to stare, his feet moving him closer, I clear my throat with my eyes focused on the fireflies and on water in front of me. “You know, I thought you’d have more planned.”
“I do.”
“Really?” Finally, I face him. “So this date will consist more of skipping rocks and catching fireflies and you gawking at me like you want to devour me?”
He’s caught off guard by my accusation and his expression is jumbled with surprise, guilt and finally humor. “I’m sorry, McShane. You’re beautiful. I told you, I don’t hold back when I like something.” My cheeks burn at his compliment and he notices, touches my face with feather light fingers. “But yes, I have other things planned.” When my eyes narrow, he laughs. “None of which include laying you flat on your back. Unless of course—”
“There will be none of that, Mr. Fraser.”
“Ah well.” He runs his fingers through his hair and holds out his hand for me to take. “Nearing the end of the date, a fella might treat his lady to an after dinner snack.”
“We haven’t eaten dinner though.”
Declan touches the side of his nose to emphasis his point. “Exactly. Backwards date, remember?” He picks up the jars and the paper bag, and I follow him away from the quiet lake.
Downtown Cavanagh is busy tonight. There is a fall festival being held in the main square. Streets are blocked off for dozens of vendors selling crafts and homemade wares. The smell of fried pastries and cakes hang in the air, mixing with the sweet whiff of beer and cocoa. Declan takes my hand as we weave through the crowd. Children scatter around us, running, chasing one another with painted faces snuggled against scarves and wool hats. We pass a cart selling apple tarts and I think I catch a glimpse of Joe, but the crowd is thick and there are more gingers among the townsfolk than scarves and beer, and I keep my head straight, not bothering to confirm my suspicion. Besides, I’d really hate to introduce Joe to Declan and experience lingering minutes of awkwardness. My father doesn’t see me as a woman and he’s already told me a half dozen times since hearing Tucker and me argue in front of my building that no man will ever be good enough for me.
I follow Declan away from the crowd and he leads me into a small yogurt shop free from the lingering festival goers.
We stand in front of the counter and his usual smirk twists his mouth upward. “What are you plotting?” I say.
“You’re always so suspicious. Relax a bit, will you?”
“You’re seriously trying to fatten me up. I’m not a waif. It takes work to keep my weight down, you know.”
“Jaysus, why is that so important? I like the way you look, woman.”
“Yeah, well, since I graduated I haven’t had to keep myself in competition shape. Thanks to my parents, my metabolism isn’t wonderful. Also? Hello, training.”
Declan orders a small cup of yogurt with lots of nuts and sprinkles and I sit across from him in a booth near the back of the shop. He dips the long plastic spoon into the bowl and waves it in front of my mouth.
“I’m not eating that,” I say, jerking back away from the spoon. “That would be an extra mile run tomorrow.”
“Fine then. I reckon another wager is in order.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.”
Declan’s lowered eyes and grin are immediately replaced with an expression of mock offense. “Miss McShane, do not besmirch my honor,” he says, copying my little joke from the day he cheated me into this date. When I don’t readily agree to yet another one of his rigged bets, he shrugs. “Ah, fine. No wager.” His eye light up. “Ever play ‘I’ve never?’”
Well. This could be interesting. It could be severely dangerous, but interesting nonetheless. I haven’t played the game since my friends and I were teenagers. Sayo had never heard of it, but when I explained that true statements that begin with “I never…” lead to players drinking when they’ve actually done the ‘never’ statement resulted in a lot of honesty and far too much drinking, she was game. But Declan and I playing? I’m not so sure about that.
“Of course I’ve played,” I tell him, “but I think you’ll agree you and I and alcohol don’t mix.”
“I say we mix fine, love, but let’s alter the rules.” Declan folds his long legs out of the booth and grabs another spoon from the counter. “We’ll forego the liquor.” He hands me the spoon then pushes the bowl of yogurt to the middle of the table. “Would you like to start then?”
I hate that my stomach flutters when he smiles at me. I hate that he wants to toy with me. I hate that I am a little worried about what statements he might make and which of my past experiences would match to his. But he licks his lips and taps the end of his spoon against the table and my curiosity vanquishes any worry from my mind. He’ll play hard ball. I can play harder.
“Sure.” There are a thousand things I could admit to, none of which I’m eager for Declan to know. So I start off with a trifle, an inconsequential thing that will relax him before I go for his throat. “I’ve never…stayed up all night to finish a book.”
We both dip our spoons into the yogurt.
“Yawn, McShane. How are we going to get to know each other if you keep things so vanilla?’
Ah yes, get comfortable, Mr. Fraser. “Fine then, smartass, you go.”
Smirk face again. That man needs a new expression. “I’ve never…snogged someone on a dare.”
Declan eats.
“I’ve never…cheated on a partner.”
Neither one of us take a bite of yogurt and a little worry that shouldn’t settle in my chest, eases. I don’t know where that fear came from.
His grin deepens the dimples on his cheeks and he rests his elbows on the table. When he speaks, his voice is so low I think he’s about to tell me a dirty little joke. “I’ve never…had sex at work.”
Declan’s spoon descends first, his eyes focused on my fingers and when my spoon joins his in the bowl, his eyebrow lifts as though I’ve just impressed him.
I bite my lip, wondering if I should even venture in this uncharted territory, but the game is fun and I liked seeing the small surprise that moved Declan’s features when I shattered whatever misconception he had about me. “I’ve never…had sex on the rugby pitch.”
“Which rugby pitch?” he says.
“Our rugby pitch.” We stare at each other, then at the spoons, before Declan dips his in the yogurt.
“Dirty, Mr. Fraser.”
“You’ve no idea.”
“I’ve never…rubbed one off in the shower.”
I hesitate, but then quickly dig my spoon in the bowl before Declan’s follows. His smile is so wide now that I can clearly see his straight, top molars.
“I’ve never…lied about getting laid,” I say, shaking my head when Declan spoon remains in his hand. “Liar. All guys lie about that.”
He still doesn’t scoop the yogurt. “Never had to, McShane.” He isn’t smug or bragging. He says this with a nonchalance that brokers nothing but fact. “I’ve never…had sex with a friend.”
Both our spoons remain in our hands.
“I’ve never had children,” I say and relax in my seat when Declan doesn’t take any of the yogurt.
“I’ve never done a body shot.”
We both have a spoonful and as the yogurt hits my tongue, Declan pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. He wants to know, I’m sure, but that’s a story he won’t hear tonight.
“I’ve never asked to be spanked.” I don’t wait for his spoon to descend at my statement. I simply scoop up some yogurt, which he mimics, and I enjoy the how Declan chokes on his yogurt when I waggle my eyebrows at him.
He pauses, his eyes wide, then clears his throat. “I’ve never lied about wanting someone,” he says. A reluctant silence and then our spoons connect in the bowl. “I’ve never…”
“Not your turn,” I say before he can finish his statement.
“Slytherin, remember?” he says, as though that would explain him jumping the game. “I’ve never lied about wanting to be with Declan Fraser.”
He angles back, his arms crossing over his chest as he waits for my reaction. If I don’t dip my spoon into that Pandora ‘s Box yogurt, he’ll know I’m a liar. If I do, he’ll act on it. I have no doubt of that. But he’s kissed me a lot. He’s heard my low moans when his mouth descended over mine in the basement, at the club and again tonight. There’s no way I can deny the truth and the expression on his face tells me he’s aware of my answer. He just wants me to admit it right now. Releasing a breath and avoiding his stare, I slip my spoon into the bowl and try to ignore his low, lewd laughter.