Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
No wonder he’s so good with his hands.
Stop it! It’s not like he owns a strip club, for god’s sake. I shake my head, hoping to silence the jealous commentary and stop the obscenely delicious images from last night replaying in my mind.
A woman walks out of the back hallway—short, dark pixie cut that emphasizes her high cheekbones, wine-red lips, confidence overflowing. She blinks and frowns at me, then quickly offers a friendly smile.
“Hi, can I help you?”
“Hi.” I clutch the bag of fudge tighter in my fist. “I’m…I’m looking for Declan.”
What am I so nervous about? He spent the night with me. I have every right to show up out of the blue and demand to see him. Right? That’s how this works, isn’t it?
Her gaze drops to a wide book on the counter. “He’s busy right now. Do you have an appointment?”
I open my mouth to tell her where to shove her appointment book, but Declan steps into view.
His eyes widen when he sees me, then his face softens into a pleased smile. “Emery, I didn’t think you’d—”
“I was in the neighborhood.” I hold up the bag. “I brought fudge.”
The woman smirks and pats Declan’s stomach, fingers lingering far too long. “Big D doesn’t eat sugar.”
Big D? My brain short-circuits.
Why is she touching him so intimately? Jealous rage washes over me in a powerful wave, drowning out my common sense and the sounds of the shop for a moment.
Why would he touch me last night, if he’s with someone else? Why’d he take me to his family home and give me a glimpse into his life?
My pendant hangs heavy around my neck. Jealousy wars with logic as I battle the urge to rip off the iron key and throw it across the room.
Slowly, I claw my way back to sanity. My gaze skips to Declan in time to catch his frown and the subtle way he brushes off the woman’s touch.
Declan’s smile vanishes. “Emery,” he says, loud enough to get my attention. “This is my assistant, Lucy.”
Lucy laughs and gives his side a playful slap. “I’m more than your assistant, you asshat.”
I swallow hard, heat burning behind my eyes. Absolutely not! I will not cry over a guy I barely know.
So what if he forgot to mention the girlfriend-slash-assistant before he finger-fucked me into an orgasmic stupor?
That’s what I get for believing a guy who talks about curses and marks and then makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world.
“Nice to meet you,” I manage, my voice steady enough. I turn toward the door. “I’ll, uh, see you later, Declan.”
The bell jingles again as I push outside, choking on the metallic bite of humiliation.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Declan
“Dammit, Lucy. Why’d you do that?” I snarl, already moving toward the door.
She crosses her arms, unbothered. “How was I supposed to know she’s not just one of your ink groupies?”
“She’s not.”
I’m out the door before Lucy can say another word. The bell slams against the glass as I step outside. Emery’s already half a block away, marching toward the cemetery, shoulders stiff.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
My longer stride eats up the distance. I hook an arm around her waist from behind and lift her clean off her feet.
She yelps, kicking midair. “Let go!”
“Stop fighting me.”
“Put me down!” She struggles even harder.
“Have it your way.” I band my arms around her tighter and haul her toward my shop. People stare at us with open mouths, but folks know me around here and won’t interfere.
“Declan! Put me down.” She goes boneless, turning herself into dead weight. Damn stubborn woman. I set her down carefully, keeping my hands on her waist to steady her. She whirls on me, eyes blazing with accusations.
“Promise you’ll listen?” I hold up my hands in surrender. “It’s not what you think. Lucy’s only a friend. We’ve known each other since we were kids. She works in the shop with me part-time.”
“Does she know you’re only friends?” Emery sneers.
Is she jealous?
“Yes. Of course she does.” I hesitate, jaw tight. “She’s like a little sister to me.”
My chest aches when I say it—maybe because the word sister still stings to use.
“Oh, please! Who calls their brother Big D?” Emery snaps.
I snort, then full-out laugh. “Lucy. She couldn’t say my name when we were kids. I was the biggest kid in our school.” I shrug. “She started calling me that and it stuck. Eddie down at the weed shop calls me that too.”
She frowns and glances in the direction I’m pointing. “Eddie at the weed shop, huh? That’s your alibi?”
“I don’t need an alibi.” Dammit. Should I really be sharing this with Emery? Lucy’s the one who put me in this position in the first place. No, it doesn’t matter, it’s not my secret to share.
Emery’s glare could melt steel. “So why’d she act like a wolverine marking her territory?”