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"The entire chain actually."
"H-h-h-h-how?"
"I’ll tell you in the car, okay? Let’s go now… Please?"
The p-word seems to do it, for she nods and strides forward. I follow her through the shop to the exit at the back. We walk out and head toward the idling limo. Good man, Rick. He’s kept the engine running. A flash goes off—of course, there's always that one photographer who breaks away from the pack and takes a risk.
She falters, but I head past her and toward the back door. "Get in."
To my relief, Solene obeys. Rick opens the door for her, and she slides in. I shove the first two baskets inside, then the next two. A couple of books fall out.
"Leave them," Solene cries.
I bend and pick up the books, and more flashes go off. I throw the books inside the car and straighten to find there are now five paps. All clicking away and, moving closer by the minute.
"Are you buying books for your new lady love, Declan?"
"Who is your new girlfriend, Declan?"
"Is it true she’s an up-and-coming singer?"
"Is she an old flame?"
“Is it true you have a piercing on your unmentionable?”
I scowl, then realize they’re probably throwing out all of their hypotheses in the hope of getting a rise out of me. It’s how they push us to react, so they can carry the outburst as a news item.
I turn my back on them, and one of them jeers, "You moving onto ugly waifs who look like they’ve never had a decent meal in their life?"
Anger sizzles through my veins, and tension builds in my muscles so fast, spots of black spark in my line of sight. He’s trying to get me to make a move; he’s taunting me to take a bait.
I begin to slide in, when the same guy laughs. "Lost your balls?"
My vision tunnels. He's so close now, I think I can feel his breath on my neck.
"You’re an action star on screen, but in real life, you’re unable to come to the defense of your lady love, eh, you—"
I turn around and smash my fist into his nose. Blood blooms from his face. Flashbulbs go off. I grab his collar, pull back my arm again, but Solene yells, "Stop, Declan!" She throws herself across the seat and grabs at my shirt. "Please, let’s go."
More flashbulbs go off.
I release my hold on the man, who stumbles back, then slide inside the car.
Before I’ve shut the door, Rick accelerates and drives away. No one breathes a word. I lean back against the back of the seat, when she leans toward me. "You have a piercing?"
19
Solene
He definitely didn’t have piercings at twenty-one. Not that I remember. Not that I saw him completely naked then to draw that conclusion, but it didn’t seem possible that gorgeous, wholesome-looking man could have piercings. This growling, grumpy—still achingly handsome, but also slightly older and scarred male, though? Yeah, he could have a piercing. Or several. But I didn’t notice any that day at the Club. But then I didn’t get a full-frontal view of his cock, either. I wasn’t standing that close, and his body was wreathed in shadows.
"Where is it?" I burst out.
"I’ve no idea what you’re talking about."
"That journalist, he said you had a—"
"He’s not a journalist." His jaw tics. "He’s a celebrity-baiting, privacy-invading gutter guppy who’s on the lowest pecking order of the food chain. He’s worse than a cockroach; he survives on other people’s misfortunes; he thrives on their anger and outbursts. I fucking hate him and his ilk."
