Page 57 of Taking A Chance

I press my eyes shut, trying to imagine him walking down the halls of some school, lockers on both walls. Little Declan, sure of himself in an environment that tried very hard to break him down and make him something else. It’s a plague, really.

“I would’ve been your friend,” I say, giving him a knowing look.

His eyebrow raises, a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, yeah?” He takes two long strides and places his hand on the small of my back. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be your friend,” he whispers.

“Why not?” I protest.

“Because my teenage hormones wouldn’t have let me stop thinking about kissing you,” he admits, bending down and pressing his lips to mine. My arms wrap around him, pulling him to my body. Or pulling me to his. His sheer size alone makes this so.

“Well, I might have let you do that, too,” I say, breathy and low. “Especially if you were this good at it. My teenage heart wouldn’t have been able to resist.”

A low groan comes from the back of Declan’s throat as he kisses me once more. “Do you want to make out on my little teenage bed?” he asks, as he backs me up toward it.

I giggle, stepping backward to keep his pace. “Oh my god, what if your parents walk in?”

“Then they’ll get a show before dinner,” he growls into my ear, “and it’ll make the experience more authentic.”

My legs hit the edge of the bed and I sink down into the fluffy comforter. Declan lies next to me, half his body on top of me, pressing me down. Just when I think he’s about to lean in and kiss me, his head pulls back a fraction, his eyes searching my face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his fingertip grazing my forehead and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Everything about you is so beautiful.”

Warmth radiates over my cheeks, my throat tight with emotion. “Thank you,” I manage. “You’re beautiful, too.” And I’m not just saying that to him as a forced returned compliment. I mean it. From his thick black hair to his coal eyes, to the dimple that forms on his left cheek when he smiles. From his large, calloused hands to his broad shoulders and the trail of hair from his chest all the way down. The man is a sculpture, something that belongs in a museum.

His lips meet mine, coaxing my mouth open immediately, his tongue exploring and teasing. His kisses are perfection. He’s mastered the art of using his tongue. I could do this all day.

“Honey, dinner is ready,” Judy’s voice calls up the stairs, startling me, causing Declan to laugh.

“See,” I say. “We’re caught. No way do they think you’re still showing me the house.”

“Nah,” he says. “We’re fine.”

Back downstairs, with his hand in mine, Declan leads me to the table, depositing me onto a chair across from his parents who are already seated.

“Sorry, Mom,” he says. “We were making out.”

Oh. My. God.He did not just say that to his mother. I squeeze his thigh under the table while simultaneously covering as much of my face as I can with my other hand.

Judy laughs. “Well, you’re nothing if not honest.”

What the hell is happening here?

Declan pats my thigh in return, as if to say, “See, it’s fine,” but I still want to die. I know my face is beyond red, the heat radiating all the way down my chest. I’m probably splotchy as fuck.Awesome.

I concentrate instead on the meal in front of me. Roast beef and onion with roasted potatoes and carrots fill my plate. It looks delicious.

“Oh, and here,” Declan says, handing me two warm slices of bread from the basket in the center of the table. He winks and I could kiss the man all over again. He doesn’t judge my bread addiction.

“So, Cora,” Eben says. “Declan says you own your own company?”

“Yes, sir,” I say. “That’s right. I have four employees at the moment. We’re small but mighty.”

“That’s quite impressive,” Judy says. “And at such a young age too.”

I smile. “Thank you, yes. I started it nearly fresh out of college. Been building it ever since.”

“Do you think you’ll still work once you have a family?” Judy asks, and I nearly choke on my roasted potato.

“Mother,” Declan warns.

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