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Declan’s hand found its way onto mine, an unexpected gesture that caused a jolt of surprise. “Loss is hard,” he began, his voice carrying a hint of an unspoken past. “When you lose someone, it feels like you could lose everyone else, too. Then, when you feel like you’ve lost everything, you start losing yourself. Sometimes, surviving means accepting who grief makes you.”
I turned to look at him, a mix of surprise and curiosity bubbling within me. “Is it grief that got you tangled up with the Dust Devils?” I dared to ask, my words hushed in the dimly lit bar.
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth curving up slightly. “More like revenge,” he responded, lifting his glass for a drink.
I held his gaze, feeling the charged tension that buzzed between us. I swallowed hard, a knot of uncertainty in my throat. “I should probably head over to Laura’s place now . . .”
Declan signaled for the bartender, ordering another round of whiskey. He then turned back to me, his eyes filled with a familiar mischief. “You don’t have to rush off,” he murmured, his voice taking on a sultry tone. “Stay, have a drink with me. Unless you’re afraid of what might happen if you do . . .”
His implicit challenge sparked a wave of both annoyance and curiosity in me. I wasn’t one to be easily rattled, and his insinuation irked me. “I’m not scared,” I shot back, matching his edge as I finished off my whiskey.
He inched closer, and his voice dropped to a whisper, his words laced with a tantalizing energy. “Maybe you should be.”
The offhanded caution in his voice sent a jolt of apprehension through me. My heart thumped in my chest, and I found myself locked in the depths of his gaze. An enticing paradox of vulnerability and appeal, he was a puzzle I was afraid to solve, yet couldn’t resist.
However, I maintained my defiant stance, matching his lingering gaze with my own unwavering one. The whiskey was a warm, spreading courage within me, nudging me to teeter at the edge of the precipice.
Ignoring the voice in my head screaming caution, I mirrored his posture, leaning in just a bit closer, my voice a mere whisper. “And what makes you think I should be?”
Declan’s lips curled into a half-smile, his intense gaze holding mine captive. A charged silence hung in the air, pregnant with unspoken words and veiled promises. It wrapped around us, spinning a captivating web that quickened my breath. His hand reached out, fingertips barely brushing against mine in a gesture both audacious and subtle.
“Because, Wildflower,” he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper. A rush of exhilaration surged through me at the sound. “I’m not a man for half-measures.”
His gaze, usually lively and playful, took on a heavier, more serious tone. The ferocity in his eyes added weight to his words, the unsaid as potent as what was spoken. “When I decide I want something,” he continued, his voice dropping an octave, “I don’t just dip my toe in to test the waters. I dive in headfirst. I’m all in, come hell or high water.”
His words were a slow burn, a potent promise bundled with a cautionary note. The insinuation of his statement hung in the air, casting a shadow over the quiet camaraderie that had marked our evening.
His bold admission hung heavily between us, coaxing me to peel back layers of my own guarded heart. Emboldened by his openness, I found myself drawn into the conversation, our exchange evolving into a dance of vulnerability and revelation.
“I used to be like that too,” I admitted, the taste of nostalgia bitter on my tongue. I found myself staring into the amber liquid of my drink, my thoughts lost in a time when I had been wilder, more reckless. “I was always the extreme one. Felt things more deeply, took greater risks . . . dove headfirst into life.”
I paused, swallowing the lump of emotion that had welled up in my throat. “But then it all just . . . lost its shine, you know? The highs and the lows, the thrill of risk, even the feeling of the wind against my face on a fast ride . . . it just wasn’t the same anymore.”
Declan’s gaze on me was patient, understanding, as if he was privy to a secret I hadn’t yet discovered. “Maybe you’re just looking for something to make you feel again,” he suggested, his voice low and encouraging. “Something, or someone, to reignite that spark inside you.”
A flutter of interest washed over me, despite my attempts at resistance. The allure of Declan was potent. His audacity promised an untamed adventure, and I couldn’t deny the magnetic pull. “And Tara?” I found myself asking, regretting it the moment it slipped from my lips.
His brow furrowed, a picture of confusion. “Who?”
I cringed internally, having clearly stepped out of line. “The girl at your RV?” I tried to salvage.
A glint of amusement lit up his eyes. “Is that jealousy I detect, Clover?” His question sent a rush of heat to my cheeks.
I stumbled over my words, suddenly feeling defensive. “No, of course not.”
“I don’t mind jealousy,” he responded, leaning closer, his voice a hushed whisper in my ear. “I can be averyjealous man. When someone’s mine, I can be downright possessive.”
The words lingered in the silence, expanding the tension between us. I fought back the blush creeping up my neck. “Is Tara yours then?”
He shook his head, a firm no. And then his gaze settled on me again, probing. “And you, Clover? Is there someone claiming you?”
Caught off guard, I found myself shaking my head, a strange blend of exhilaration and relief bubbling up. “No. I don’t have someone like that.”
A grin spread across his face, a daring promise twinkling in his gaze. “Good,” he murmured. The force of his gaze was a jolt to my system, both daunting and enticing in equal measures. “Because, Wildflower, when I’m in, I’m all in.”
“But you’re not planning on sticking around,” I challenged, searching for a semblance of sanity amid the frenzy of emotions.
He chuckled, a rich, deep sound. “True,” he admitted, locking eyes with me once more. “But when I set my sights on something . . . or someone, I don’t hold back.”
