Page 19 of Double Play

God, I’ve missed that spark in his eyes. Especially when it’s directed at me.

I chuckle. “It’s hard to turn off the reporter.”

“Try,” he whispers.

My hackles rise. Triggers activate. My ex and his accusations. His irritation with my career choice. “Why? Are you threatened by a woman in the profession?”

“No.” Declan’s brows lift. “I just miss⁠—”

He glances back toward the setting sun, and I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees, holding my wineglass with both my hands. Holding my breath for his answer.

“What?” I soften my tone.

His head whips back in my direction. “That.” He tips his chin, and it takes me a minute to realize what he means.

He misses the gentle plea in my voice. The same one I’m certain I used when I begged him to touch me, to fuck me. When I told him I needed him. That I was convinced only he could ever satisfy the tornado of desire swirling inside me whenever he was near me.

“You never talked to me,” I state, strengthening my voice and sitting up straighter.

“After you married Malakai?”

Well, there’s that too. “No, when I arrived in Nashville. When I started working for The Den.”

“You didn’t talk to me either,” he scoffs, his voice rising and his position matching mine but sitting even taller than me. “You acted like you’d never met me before.”

“Well, I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with The Den. Plus, I didn’t want anyone to think you got me the job.”

“Why the hell would they think that? You’re a qualified field reporter.”

I huff. “Have you met my father?”

“What’s he have to do with anything?”

Once upon a time, Richard Baker got me—no, demanded I take—the job I had with the Vegas Victors. But, thankfully, he had . . . “Nothing.” I exhale deeply. “Dad has nothing to do with The Den.”

Declan stares at me a long minute, eyes squinting before he says, “So that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re here because your new job has nothing to do with Richard.”

“Damn straight,” I state, holding my head up even higher. I earned my new position. On my own.

Slowly, Declan’s mouth curls. His eyes twinkle a bit in the late evening sunlight.

“Damn straight,” he whispers, his voice full of pride, like he knows standing up to my dad took strength and courage and was necessary in order to leave Vegas.

My decision had so many layers. Standing up to my father was secondary to getting divorced.

“And you haven’t answered my question about why Nashville? Why the Terrors?”

Declan gazes off the roof once more before aiming his eyes back on me, fire flickering that blue color from gemstones to flames. “Because it was time for me.”

My breath hitches.

The affirmation is familiar. It’s the same reason I’m here.

And for half a second, I wonder if timing is finally on my side when it comes to Declan Wylde.