She swallowed, quite unable to move as Declan headed toward her. He even walked differently, with the smooth glide of a predator, and something dark and needy uncurled inside her. As he drew closer, she saw another change, and her breath caught in her throat. His right arm showed the red skin and black ink of a brand-new tattoo. That was more than a change of clothes. It was a declaration of … She wasn't sure, but she wanted to find out.
He halted in front of her, and his gaze searched her face. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"I don't know." She shook her head, forcing her brain to function. "I think I might be."
She needed to touch him, check he was real, run her hands over the smooth leather … But as she took a step closer, she became aware of a prickle of unease. It shivered down her spine and she looked around for the source. In the army she'd learned to listen to her hunches. But again, nothing seemed out of place. She found the bodyguards at the edge of the room, their attention fixed on Declan. Steve turned to her, gave a small thumbs-up. All was well. She was being paranoid.
Maybe they could leave now. Get away from this crowd.
Talk.
Do a whole load of other things.
She turned her attention to Declan.
…
She didn't look as though she'd gotten any more sleep last night than he had, with dark shadows under her eyes. But she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress and handed her one.
She took it but didn't drink.
They were in the middle of the floor, and he could feel a multitude of eyes watching him. He wanted to take her away, but wasn't at all sure that that wouldn't signal the end of the night for her and she would vanish, never to be seen again. So instead, he placed a hand on her waist and steered her into a dark corner behind one of the pillars.
Then he took the glass from her hand, put it down along with his on a nearby table, and pressed her up against the pillar. She didn't push him away, and hope rose inside him. Cupping her face in his hands he slanted his mouth over hers, sliding his tongue between her lips, tasting her. He was already painfully hard, and he pressed his hips against her belly, felt her push back and moan softly in her throat.
Finally, after long minutes, he drew back from the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. Her hands were under his T-shirt, around his waist, fingers digging into his skin.
Christ, he wished they were alone somewhere. He wanted to lose himself in her, bury himself deep inside. She was going to walk away.
He knew it, and a sense of powerlessness washed over him. He was unused to the feeling and had no clue how to combat it. He'd told himself that he would do whatever was right for Jess. He wouldn't push her. But how the hell was he supposed to let her go?
"How about we go get some fresh air?" he murmured against her skin. "I know of this great alley, just close by."
A smile flickered across her face, but then was gone. She shook her head. "We can't risk it. Too many people know your whereabouts tonight. We have to keep you in clear sight."
He took a deep breath. Perhaps it was time to come clean. "It doesn't matter."
She raised a brow. "I think I'll be the judge of that."
"No. Really. My father fixed the problem, used his old contacts to call them off."
Her eyes narrowed. "And this happened when?"
He gave a small shrug. "The morning before we met at the club for lunch."
She pursed her lips as she studied his face. "So all this"-she waved a hand toward his bodyguards-"was a waste of time. And money."
"Not entirely. There's still some doubt about who's responsible for the letter bomb … " Then he shrugged. "Actually, that was really nothing more than an excuse."
"An excuse for what?"
He took a deep breath. "To see you again."
He tried to read the emotions flashing across her face, but they were gone too quickly. Loosening her grip, she took a step back, then considered him, head cocked to one side. "Steve said you got drunk last night."
"Did he say anything else?"
"Just that you'd felt the need to hit something and he'd taken you to the gym." Her gaze wandered over him. "I like the new look."
"I couldn't think of any other way to show you I can change."
She nodded toward his tattoo. "Can I see it?"
He lifted his arm, and she trailed her fingers over the tender skin of his forearm. She peered closer to inspect it in the dim light and something flashed across her face. Sadness? Regret?
He wasn't sure, but nothing that boded well.
It was the design she'd chosen for him all those years ago, their names entwined, with bloodred roses. The skin was puffy around the edges, but it was still easy to read.