Page 83 of Wicked Ruin

DECLAN

I got here as soon as I could, which wasn’t soon enough. I had to talk to Seamus, only to discover he was out with his Zoya and the kids. Maybe it’s… fuck it. Maybe it’s for the best.

As much as Seamus loves me like a brother, I know his allegiance to his family comes first, no matter the cost. I'm not sure he won't kill me yet for breaking the alliance with the Espositos.

So I caved and told Valentina the tailor could use my measurements they have on file. I've bought enough suits over the years—my measurements should be up to date. If they're not, what do I care? They're for a tuxedo I never plan to wear.

Bridget’s light is still on when I get to her. I sit outside for a moment, check my mirrors, check the street. Fuck, I hate being discreet and sneaky like this, especially to see Bridget.

I get out and find her guard at his post near the entrance. He straightens when he sees me.

“Sir.”

“You didn't see me tonight,” I tell him, holding out a folded stack of bills. “I'm going to be here regularly. I need you to say nothing to anyone. Not Cavin, not Seamus. Nobody. Do you understand me?”

“Of course, sir.” Not a flicker of surprise. These are the men who saved my life. I compensated them well for it, and their loyalty has never been in question. But I make a note to myself—there's going to come a time when I'll have to compensate them again, differently, for a different kind of silence. “Give us some privacy tonight,” I say. He nods once and steps back.

I'm wearing my hood pulled up, coming here like a fucking criminal. For now, we’ll play it safe. I don't need anyone knowing I'm here—not yet, not until I've sorted what needs sorting.

Bridget answers the door in an oversized jumper, her hair loose, a book still in her hand, with her finger marking the page, like she wasn't quite sure I was coming and decided not to wait to find out. I want to kiss her right there in the doorway. She takes one look at my face and steps back without a word, letting me in. I close the door behind me.

“How was⁠—”

“Come here,” I say—not a question.

She comes.

That's the thing about Bridget—beneath the lifted chin, the sharp edges, and the I'm not yours, Declan—when I tell her to come to me, she comes. Every single time, like her body decided ahead of her brain and the brain is still catching up.

She knows this is where she belongs. And god help me, she loves it when I tell her what to do. I can see it in the way she moves, in the particular quality of her surrender, easy and complete and absolutely chosen.

I take the book out of her hand, find a scrap of paper on the side table, slide it between the pages to mark her place, and set it down. I want her to know I'm in no hurry.

Then I take her face in my hand, cupping that stubborn jaw of hers, and tilt her chin up to look at me. I take my time looking. I don't always let myself do that, but I'm in a savoring mood tonight, and she's here, and she's warm, and the light is catching the edge of her in ways I've been telling myself not to notice for longer than I care to admit.

“Hi,” she says, a little breathless.

“Hi,” I say back, because she’s so damn cute, and two can play at this game. “Got you a little something.”

I open the paper bag and hand her her gift.

“Ohhh,” she says, immediately hugging the lavender-colored elephant to her chest. “It smells so nice.”

“Guess it gets warm when you put it in the microwave? So if you’re not feeling good, you can hug it in bed, and it just… It seemed really sweet and comforting, and I thought you’d like it.”

“Like it?” She closes her eyes as she inhales. “I love it, Dec.”

I brush my thumb along her jaw, slow, watching her eyes go soft at the edges before she can stop them. That's the thing about her—she tries, she genuinely tries, but her face always tells the truth a half second before she can catch it. I've made a study of those half seconds.

“You were reading,” I say.

“I was.”

“And now?”

Her throat moves. “And now I'm being looked at and smelling the softest little elephant.”

“That bother you?”