Page 35 of Declan

Still feeling this.

And so am I.

“I’m gonna hit the dance floor for a bit,” I say suddenly, my feet already moving.

I need to get away before I do something stupid like touch him again. Like, ask him to come with me.

“Be careful,” Wesley says behind me.

But I’m not careful.

Not when I know Declan’s eyes are burning into my back as I walk away.

The bass pulses through my chest, vibrating up my legs as I weave through the crowd. Lights strobe above, casting everything in this almost calming glow. It’s loud, bodies moving in rhythm all around me, and still, I feel him behind me.

I haven’t looked back. I won’t.

But I can feel his eyes on me, like heat licking up my spine.

“Lee!” Jeanne’s arms wrap around me, pulling me into her orbit on the dance floor. Her smile is wide, eyes sparkling like she has already had two too many shots. “I didn’t think you were coming back!”

“Didn’t think I was either.”

She moves effortlessly, all hips and carefree energy, and I follow suit, forcing my body to surrender to the rhythm.

Just dance, I tell myself. Forget everything for a second. Forget him.

But that’s the problem. I can’t.

His face is burned into my mind. The bruises. The cut on his cheek. The tension in his jaw when he saw me. That look in his eyes like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Or wouldn’t.

Jeanne nudges me, her lips near my ear as she shouts over the music, “You okay? You’ve got that ‘I just saw the devil and I wanted to kiss him’ look again.”

I laugh, a short, breathless sound, but it dies quick. “Something like that.”

Her eyes narrow, playful but probing. “Let me guess. Tall, dark, dangerous, and standing at the bar brooding?”

I glance over my shoulder before I can stop myself.

And there he is.

He hasn’t moved. Still leaning against the bar, nursing that beer like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He’s watching me, eyes shadowed and unreadable. And yet, it’s all there.

The want.

The guilt.

The storm.

“I should hate him,” I say, more to myself than her.

“But you don’t,” Jeanne says, not missing a beat. “And maybe that’s what pisses you off the most.”

I press my lips together, trying not to admit she’s right.

“He looks like he walked through hell tonight,” she adds softly.

“He did.” My voice is low, bitter. “And he brought some of it with him.”

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