With Steve, I kept thinking all those years that if I could “just” change enough to stop his newest criticism, then I’d be perfect. If I could “just” be on edge all the time and try to guess what my next misstep would be in his eyes and stop myself before I transgressed, then he would be happy with me.
If I could “just” learn to live life according to mixed signals and constantly shifting expectations …which meant I would never, ever be good enough.
Ever.
A jumble inside me feels like shattered glass being moved and realigned with great care, like reassembling a broken mosaic to put it back in place with the least damage possible. Declan has armor I cannot imagine wearing. He has a core that knows who he is and what he wants without the reflection of others. No mirrors pointed back at him telling him to internalize what everyone else thinks of him.
If I hadn’t touched him, kissed him, joked and teased and played with him, I would think he was a god. But no…he’s flesh and bone and real and authentic and…
Mine.
And I am enough for him. Enough as is.
More than enough.
And that is true even without Declan.
“I—” Steve is speechless. Declan’s godlike status just went up a notch, because Steve’s bloviating is hard to stop, like trying to stop Mom from getting up at 2:30 a.m. on Black Friday to stand in line at a big-box store and come home with a television bigger than the height of our house because “It was only $39.97! and they gave me a free coffee!”
“Come here,” Declan says, pulling on my hand. He’s crossed oceans for me. Cut meetings short. Slept in airplane seats designed for children who aren’t tall enough to ride rollercoasters. His pull leaves no question, no opportunity to argue. I’m going with him, and Steve’s nostrils flare.
“What are you doing?” Steve asks. He doesn’t ask, though—the words come out in a livid monotone. Years of dating and he’d never shown jealousy toward any other guy, even when we’d been at nightclubs and someone grabbed my ass. No protectiveness, no possessiveness, no sense that he was upset that I was someone else’s hand candy, objectified and easy for a grab that meant nothing and everything at the same time.
All those years of being his…what? What was I to him?
“I’m taking Shannon,” Declan says in a tone that is the mirror opposite of Steve’s—full of passion and infused with feeling. His words are measured but the meaning behind them isn’t.
She’s mine. You f**ked up. Go away.
Wait. Those were the meanings behind my words, actually.
Declan pulls a wallet out of his back pocket, his other hand firmly holding my elbow with a grip that is not unpleasant. He tosses two twenties on the table and with a gentle nudge turns me away from Steve, who sits there, impotent, staring gape-mouthed at the cash.
Declan’s steps eat the floor between where I’d been sitting and the main door, my legs like tingling rubber bands as I work to match him. The way he just treated Steve makes my brain buzz. It was so…rude. So…macho.
So…right.
Chapter Five
“Thank you,” I say as he pushes the door open and a burst of sunset explodes before my eyes, feeling returning to my legs, my lips, my body. As the steps take me away from a man who had never cherished me, never seen me as anything more than a tool, I feel my body fill in.
Like a paint-by-numbers project, here comes my dignity in a lovely shade of purple. Blue stands for confidence. Rich red for clarity. A sedate adobe represents patience, and green is the color of hope.
Declan’s eyes.
“For what?” he asks as he holds the car door open for the (of course) waiting limo outside the restaurant.
“For that.” I thumb toward the restaurant, half expecting to see Steve’s distorted face pressed against the plate-glass window. “Um, how much did you hear?”
“You mean the part about his tiny penith and his huge ego? Because that was great.” A half-grin and hearty laugh follow. “‘Penith’ will never not be funny.”
Declan’s hand is on the limo handle when I realize—my car!
“Wait. I drove here,” I explain, a sinking feeling hitting me at once. Practical Shannon. How would I get home if Price Charming sweeps me away on his mechanical steed?
“Turdmobile?” he asks. A passerby gives him a funny look, staring at the limo with one eyebrow cocked.
“Yep.” I look over at the parking lot where I stashed the damn thing. Even mixed in with a bunch of late-’90s junkers, the car stands out like my mom at a Submissive Wives conference.
“I’ll bring you back,” he says, opening the door. Declan slides in next to me, shutting the door with a sound that sends a thrill through me. We are hermetically sealed in the cool leather, the divider firmly up so that all we are is a man, a woman, and a bunch of alcohol in the back of a car bigger than most dorm rooms.
“Thank you again.”
“That was nothing.”
“That was everything.”
The ferocious, feral nature of the kiss he gives me before I can finish saying the final word tears away at any restraint I pretend to have. As his mouth devours mine, his hand slides up under the thin cotton skirt I’m wearing.
“Mmmm, skirt,” he says against my lips. Apparently my flesh has the ability to make him lose entire grades of vocabulary. Who knew? His fingers take advantage and slide right up my quivering thigh. He’s not teasing.
He’s very, very serious.
Today is not supposed to be the day. That day is supposed to be carefully planned, with roses and good food and wine and a carefully manicured Shannon. That day should involve a giant full-body waxing session, a few pokes in the eye with Mom’s mascara wand, and a trip to a lingerie shop filled with self-loathing and best-friend reassurance that spending $200 on pieces of silk Declan will tear off my body in seconds is totally worth it.
Right now? Here? I have leg stubble that is coarser than snapped pine trees after an ice storm. My lady place hasn’t been trimmed in so long it looks like Malcolm Gladwell’s hair. Small woodland creatures probably make their home in there, and while I did (thank God) shower this morning, it’s not like I thought my cobwebs would need to be cleaned out today.
Of all days.
He’s breathing slowly against me, body curled up and over mine, hovering and so…male. Being wanted like this by a man who is the undisputed leader in any given room full of penises is a turn-on, and my mind shuts off as the body takes over, his fingers making that all too easy as he finds my throbbing center.