Page 87 of After Indigo Irish Nights
He cupped her arms softly. “Look at me. After this next fight—which the arts center needs, might I remind you—I’m done. I will never fight in another professional match. Yes, I will probably hang out some at the boxing club, but it won’t be like now. I only want to be with you and—”
The clarity was so strong it had rainbow prisms. He took a breath.
“I want you—and a family. Dammit, I want to get married. And live with you for the rest of my days.”
Her mouth parted and her arm tensed under his hand. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I mean every word.” He gripped her more tightly. “I’m not a man to say much, certainly not idle chitchat. When I said I love you, I meant it. I mean everything I’m saying now.”
She pulled back. “I want to believe you. Declan, if you want to do this, you have to share your heart with me.”
The words were like frigid water. She pulled the chain she wore around her neck and held it out. The silver Claddagh ring sparkled in the morning sunlight.
“I want a partner in life. Not a man who won’t tell me how he’s feeling and trust me with it. Do you think I don’t know how scary that is?” She pressed the ring to her heart. “I’d have preferred to go down a dark alley in Southie without my pepper spray than tell you how screwy I am over you. But we have to trust each other all the way, even when it’s messy, or this won’t work.”
He extended his hand to her and then let it fall. “That’s not easy for me. A man doesn’t like to talk about being a failure or a fool.”
She uttered a frustrated cry. “I know all this. I have seven of the toughest guys for brothers. But Declan… You aren’t a failure or a fool, although you’re as stubborn as they come. When you get negative about yourself, I’m going to tell you’re being stupid and slap you upside the head. Tell you to snap out of it. I’d want you to do the same for me. God, are you really serious about getting married?”
She stormed a few paces away, muttering to herself.
“Do you want me to get on my knee right now and ask you?”
“God, no!” She put her hands to her hips. “All right, let’s circle back. You want three weeks of us hiding our relationship.”
Hearing it that way made him wince. “To protect you,” he added softly.
“I can’t choke out those words, but I’ll be on guard, don’t you worry.”
He would worry. He loved her. There was no getting around it. “Thank you.”
“Three weeks!” She let out an aggravated sound in the quiet around them. “You train. I’ll work. We won’t tell anyone we’re together.”
He was glad his knees didn’t give out in relief. “Until after the fight. Then I plan to shout it from the rooftops.”
“I’ll buy the megaphone,” she said tartly.
He almost smiled. “You’re a good woman, Kathleen O’Connor.”
She stalked back to the open door and then swung around. “God! Is it any wonder I want to pour cold soup on you? Overprotective, aggravating—”
“Tell me you love me,” he called as she continued to mumble under her breath.
“I love you.” She glared at him. “But like I said, that makes me pretty screwy.”
She slammed the door in his face.
He blew out a breath. She would be safe from Jimmy and Owen. As for the rest of what she wanted… He probably needed to talk to Yoda about all this sharing. In all honesty, he’d rather she dumped soup over his head. Except she’d almost cried when she’d told him what she wanted.
More than anything, that made him want to lay his heart at her feet.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Bets couldn’t wait to leave.
And it wasn’t just over her excitement to visit France again and wine and dine a world-famous artist.
No, she wanted to get out of her house. She and Donal were bungling around this morning, trying to pretend nothing was wrong after he’d arrived early to assure her Kathleen’s shed was secure.
