Page 23 of Bound

Declan steps to the counter and cups my face before placing a soft kiss on my lips and helping me to my feet. “Go get dressedwhile I make your eggs. Maybe put on some panties this time,” he instructs with a coy smile.

Idon’t hesitate todo as I’m told, eagerly looking forward to hiding in my room for a few minutes while I wait for my face to no longer be the same shade as a firetruck. After quickly cleaning up with a washcloth, I throw on a pair of leggings and a baggy shirt and head back into the living room to face the music.

Declan carries the plate of eggs to me, seemingly uncaring that he’s semi-hard in his boxer briefs in front of Layla and Jorge. “Eatup.” He hands me the plate and places a kiss on my forehead. “I’ve got to leave. Tristan called; he needs me over at the club.”

“Girl, you better spill it,” Jorge demands from the couch the second Declan disappears down the hall.

“Seriously!” Layla exclaims. “How didn’t you tell me?”

“There wasn’t anything totell.” I shovel eggs into my mouth to bide myself some time.

Declan returns from getting dressed and presses a kiss atop my head before whispering, “I wasn’t done, and I do plan to pick up where we left off later tonight.”

Layla and Jorge’s eyes stay locked on me as Declan crosses the room to say goodbye to Fiona, only giving him attention as they watch him walk toward the door to leave.

“Nothing to tell?” Jorgescoffs,“That didn’t look like nothing. And that gorgeous man had his whole face buried in your?—”

Layla smacks his arm to silence him as her eyes dart to Fiona who is laying on the floor, coloring quietly. “So, this is new?”

“Yes,” I answer between bites of food. “I mean, sort of.”

Fuck, why did I say that?

“What do you mean, sort of?” Layla asks.

Iproceed to spendthe next couple of hours giving them both theplay-by-playof my sordid history with Declan, the two of them hanging on every word as though they’re enthralled in a soap opera. After answering a barrage of questions, Layla and Jorge stay a little longer to watch Fiona while I take a much-needed shower to clean up.

My thoughts wander through the past twenty-four hours. So much has happened—it feels surreal. Too good to be true, even.

Don’t ruin this for yourself, Quinn.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

DECLAN

When I walk into the club, I find all my brothers waiting in the lounge.

“What the fuck was so important I had to get down here right away?”

“This.” Tris holds up a piece of paper with words scribbled across it in thick, black marker. Tristan hands it to me as I take a seat in the upholstered chair beside him.

You shouldn’t have killed my father. Unlike him, I won’t be stopping at the red-headed whore.

“Fuck!” I angrily crumple the paper into a tight ball and toss it across the room.

“Your reactions clears up a lot about the text I got as you pulled up.”

“The text?” I ask.

“So, Layla wasn’t fucking with him?” Liam blurts. “She reallydid walkin on you and Quinn.”

I shake my head. “Fucking death threats left on the door, and the lot of youare still entirely focusedon your unhealthy obsession with my sex life.”

“You did!” Conor exclaims. “You fucked Quinn.”

“It’s about fucking time the two of you got back together,” Finn announces, and jaws drop around the room as everyone falls silent. All eyes fixate on me before darting back to Finn. “You lot can’t be fucking serious!”

Everyone continues to stare at Finn in disbelief, me included. “AndI’mthe one that never knows what’s going on? Why do you think I always give you so much shit about her?” Finn asks rhetorically.

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