“You done lecturing me?” I asked. It came out sharper than I meant it to.
“For now.”
“Good. Because I don't remember asking for your opinion.”
“You never do. Doesn't stop me from having one.”
“Yeah, well. Your opinions don't mean shit to me.”
Something flashed in his eyes. Hurt, maybe. Or anger. Hard to tell when we were this close and my brain was scrambling from the feel of his hands on my skin.
“Right,” he said quietly. “Good to know where I stand.”
“Declan—”
My phone rang.
The sound cut through the moment like a knife. Loud and sharp and perfectly timed to ruin everything.
We both froze and stared at each other across two inches of space that might as well have been miles.
The phone kept ringing.
“You should get that,” Declan said finally. His voice was wrecked. Rough in ways that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with restraint.
“Yeah.” I didn't move. Couldn't make myself pull away yet.
Declan stepped back and put space between us. His hand dropped from my face and I felt the loss of contact like a physical ache.
I grabbed my phone from where I'd left it on the counter. Luka's name was on the screen.
I answered. “Yeah.”
“Troy. Good, you're alive.” Luka's voice was all business. “I need you to meet me tomorrow. There's a hotel in River North. The Drake. Two o'clock.”
“What's going on?”
“I'll explain when you get there. Just be there.”
The call ended before I could ask what the hell that meant.
I set the phone down and looked at Declan standing there with his hands still hovering near me like he had forgotten what to do with them.
“Luka wants to meet tomorrow,” I said.
Declan's brow furrowed. “Who's Luka?”
“Someone I work with,” I said, keeping it vague. “He's in town. Wants to talk.”
Declan studied me for a long moment, like he was trying to decide whether to push for more information. Then he cleared his throat and stepped back into clinical mode. “Let me finish checking you over. Make sure there's nothing else I missed.”
I nodded and didn't trust my voice.
Declan moved closer again, all business now. His hands went to my ribs again. I focused on breathing through the pain instead of the heat building in my stomach every time he touched me.
“Turn slightly,” he said. “Need to check your lower back.”
I shifted. His hand slid around my side, fingers splaying across my hip to steady me while he examined the bruising that wrapped around to my spine.
