No messy surprises. No broken promises. No vulnerability required.
That should be comforting. Reassuring, even. A clean transaction.
Instead, it feels…unsettling. A twisting ache deep in my chest, threaded with the sharp, electric awareness that this man—this moment—could undo me if I let it.
“You seem like you’re about to run.”
“I’m not,” I lie, laughing too loudly.
“Good.” He sets his glass down slowly, carefully. “Because I don’t chase.”
The air between us snaps tight, and I sit up straighter. Adjust the strap of my dress even though it’s already in place. Cross my legs way too fast and knock my knee into the underside of the table with a solid, echoingthunk.
“Ow! Shit.” I hiss in pain and slap a hand over my drink just in time to keep it from toppling.
Declan shifts toward me. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I blurt on a pained exhale. “Just a little blunt force trauma.”
His full lips twitch in a suggestion of a smile as he leans back, stretching one long arm across the back of the booth, relaxed and unreadable. I can’t tell if he’s being a gentleman and giving me space or a predator who enjoys watching injured prey limp closer on its own.
Does it matter?
Either way, I’m already caught.
Whatever this is, my body said yes long before my brain could weigh in. Now I just have to survive it.
I shift in my seat, run a hand over my throbbing knee, and take another sip of the cocktail that’s going straight to my head.
“You’re quiet,” I say, grasping for normal conversation even though nothing about any of this feels normal. “Is that part of the whole mysterious, velvet suit vibe, or are you just not an in-person conversationalist?”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Do you want me to talk more?”
“I don’tnotwant that.”
“What would you want me to say?” he asks, not missing a beat. “That I’m dangerous? That you should run? That this is a bad idea?”
“That feels like a lot for a first meetup.”
“You’re still here.” He lifts his drink again and takes a slow pull.
“I’m curious.”
“About me?” he asks, one brow lifting.
“About whether this…” I gesture vaguely between us. “…translates from screen to real life.”
Declan watches me carefully. “So far?”
“So far what?”
“Does it translate?”
I open my mouth. Close it again. “I don’t know yet. You’re…different in person.”
He nods once. “And you expected what, exactly?”
“Less brooding? More charming? Definitely more conversing and less intense staring.”
