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His finger traced the rim of his whiskey glass, the movement slow, deliberate.
I swallowed. “Maybe I should just go—”
He leaned even closer, whispering into my ear. “It might be too late for that, Wildflower.” His hand slid to my thigh, his touch sending sparks through my body.
I knew I should have pushed him away, should have stood up and walked out of the bar. But I was curious, and the thrill of the risk was too much to resist. I leaned in closer, my lips grazing his ear. “Oh?” I whispered back, feeling disbelief at my own audacity.
Declan’s eyes flashed with desire as he stood up. He tossed some cash on the bar top, then took my hand and led me out of the bar.
What had I gotten myself into? But there was something about Declan that made me feel alive, made me forget about all the responsibilities and worries that weighed me down.
The night outside was a stark contrast to the buzzing energy within the bar, the cool air and the twinkling stars offering a tranquil setting to our charged encounter. Declan and I left the dimmed lights behind, his grip on my hand firm yet gentle. “Let me walk you to Laura’s,” he suggested, his voice barely more than a murmur.
A ripple of apprehension washed over me as we approached his bike, a whisper of uncertainty tingling at the back of my mind. Yet, the idea of spending a few more moments with him was too enticing to pass up.
Just as I was about to agree, the intrusive chirping of his phone sliced through our intimate bubble. I felt him stiffen, the grip on my hand tightening momentarily. He cast a quick glance at the screen, his face contorting into a grimace, a visible storm brewing in his expression.
“I need to take this,” he declared, his voice an edge harder than it had been moments ago. There was a finality to his tone that belied his earlier warmth.
“But . . . ,” I started, confusion weaving through my surprise. The sudden shift in his demeanor was jarring.
He interrupted, his gaze locked on the phone. “It’s important. I can’t avoid this.” His words were clipped, laced with an underlying frustration that was tangible. His hand slowly slipped away from mine, the loss of contact leaving me feeling hollow.
There was an urgent edge to his demeanor now, a far cry from the man who’d just promised to walk me to Laura’s house. The tension from our conversation had given way to a different kind of pressure, the promise of our evening dissolving into a grim reality.
“Duty calls?” I threw at him, annoyance creeping into my tone. The connection we’d built was quickly being overshadowed by the specter of the Dust Devils and the reality of his other life.
His eyes met mine, a strange mix of regret and determination flickering in them. He reached out, pulling me closer to him. “Clover,” he began, his voice low, intimate. “Believe me when I say I’d rather be here with you. I want . . . to see where this goes.”
His words hung heavily between us, creating a heady atmosphere that sent a flutter of butterflies through my stomach. Yet, I couldn’t completely quell the doubt creeping into my thoughts. He was just passing through town, after all.
“Declan, I don’t want to be another nameless face in a town you’re passing through,” I confessed, my voice a mere whisper. “Another disappointment to add to my list.”
He cupped my face with one hand, his touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through me. “Clover,” he murmured, his gaze warm and sincere. “I can’t make promises about the future, but right now, in this moment, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you.”
With that, he leaned in, capturing my lips with his in a kiss that was gentle yet insistent. It was a kiss that spoke volumes about his intentions, a clear testament to the electric charge that had been building between us. It was a kiss that, despite my skepticism, left me breathless and wanting more.
The kiss was fleeting, a ghost of a promise brushed against my lips. His touch was soft yet demanding, just a taste of what we could share. It was a tease, a moment that was over before it truly began, leaving a lingering warmth that beckoned for more.
Declan pulled back, his gaze dark and intense. The ghost of his touch hovered on my lips, leaving me with the desire to close the distance once more, to seek out the heat that his quick kiss had promised. “I’ll take you to Laura’s.”
We hopped on his bike and he zipped down the block, practically skidding on the asphalt when he stopped. I quickly got off his bike and stared at him.
“Stay safe, Wildflower,” he said. “Or don’t. Seems I have a habit of saving you, and I’d love the opportunity to do it again.” He winked at me before revving his motorcycle. The sound of his revving engine and the vision of his shadowed form disappearing in the night lingered in my mind long after he was gone.
DECLAN
As I moved toward the hidden rodeo, the remote sounds of the crowd and the snap of a whip reverberating through the balmy air gave me a sense of unease. The cool breeze of the night seemed to do little to soothe my jumbled thoughts.
As I wove through the bustling crowd, past shouting spectators and hardened gamblers, my mind was elsewhere. I was accustomed to the rush of the arena, the hum of adrenaline, but tonight, it was eclipsed by thoughts of Clover.
I found Hank leaning against the railings, eyes trained on the spectacle below. It wasn’t until I stood beside him that he acknowledged my presence with a sidelong glance.
“Declan,” he barely murmured above the din of the crowd, “I’ve been hearing . . . things.”
A flicker of anger sparked within me, but I masked it with a neutral expression. “Things?” I asked, keeping my voice even, my gaze icy.
His eyes narrowed, adding weight to the silence between us. “You’ve been dawdling,” he growled, an undercurrent of menace in his tone. “Tell me, Declan, have you found your mark yet? Remember, this is no optional task.”
