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“You’re not much older.”
You aren’t either.
I deadpanned. It was almost... insulting. “I am twenty-two.”
“Your point?”
My jaw almost hit the ground. Choosing to ignore his total disregard that I was already, technically, recognized as a woman in society and not a teenager, I fired on. “My point is the lad can’t like me.”
I saw the curve of Declan’s lips even more clearly now, and it was more enchanting than I thought.
“Honestly?” He raised a brow. “I don’t ...” He sighed and closed the magazine, placed it on his thighs, and folded his arms. “I don’t see why he can’t like you when you are, in fact, one of the few likable women I’ve met. And trust me, I’ve met lots of women.”
He didn’t have to remind me. The memories of the red-haired stripper touching him between his legs had scarred me for life. But knowing he was no saint didn’t stop me from reacting to his compliment very positively.
Tugging on the hem of my Lady Liberty branded crop shirt, I tried to think of how to respond to that. That was the most we had said to each other for the last year after we met. He was walking out of Dad’s office in what I’d assumed to be an intense meeting—judging by the grim look he had plastered on his face—and I’d bumped into him.
Besides my father, Declan was the only man I knew who had as busy a schedule as he did. He was constantly in and out of the house, taking care of several businesses at once. It was admirable, and even when he came back into the house with blood on his shirt and a black pistol in his grip, he remained fascinating in my eyes.
“My father,” I managed to say. “You know how he is. He gets fiercely overprotective.”
“You mean caring.”
I rolled my eyes. Leave it to him to take Dad’s side. “I’m under surveillance 24/7, I don’t have friends anymore, and I can’t go back to my old job.”
“Aye, but you have me.”
My jaw slacked and I stared at him wide-eyed. “My point exactly.”
He smiled and combed his fingers through his hair. “It’s not that bad. Your father loves you, and that's saying a lot for a man with a heart carved from the hardest ice in the Arctic.”
I should have gotten used to it, the new norm with my father and Declan. They expected me to adapt to what my life had become. It wasn’t hard; I adapted quickly. But sometimes I wished I didn’t have to cut my travels short because my dad wanted me to.
Which led me to the next question.
I put two grapes in my mouth and leaned back in my chair. “Why did he call me back?”
All the playful hints in his eyes and smile vanished. “Trust me, it’s for your safety,” he said with a tone of finality. That meant no more questions. Suddenly the magazine was more interesting than talking to me.
I did not press. There would have been no point either. If Dad was a man with a heart of ice, Declan was a brick wall. His no was a no, and his yes was just as rigid. The two of them made a very good—or rather mean-ass—pair of steel. No wonder Dad made him his second-in-command.
Soon the pilot announced that we were landing, and the steward came forward to help us with our luggage, which was practically mine anyway. I felt sorry for the lad. Whatever he had for me, he had it bad. The red heat had spread to his ears, and it shimmered in the bright sun as he rolled the suitcases.
Shaking my head, I walked next to Declan to the black Ashton Martin sitting prettily in front of a line-up of black Audis behind them. We exchanged a look, and I rolled my eyes. He seemed amused.
“What?”
I got into the passenger seat, fastened my seatbelt, and stared at him as he got in. My mouth fell open as he closed the door. “We couldn’t be more obvious, could we?”
He chuckled and the rich sound sent a tingle down my spine. The engine purred and we drove off while the rest of the cars followed behind us. “You deserve the best. And your father would rip my head off if I did anything less.”
I propped my elbow against the window and stared at the blur of buildings as we drove to the O’Sullivan estate. It was pointless, and he was right that his head would be ripped off if he didn’t organize adequate protection. No exaggeration there.
The ride was quiet and at some point, I thought I’d dozed off. My head slipped from the window and dropped with a nod. I stretched out my arms and yawned wildly before snapping my mouth shut again. Embarrassed, I turned my head slowly toward the driver’s seat, thinking he’d seen that. But Declan’s eyes were rock hard fixed on something else; his jaw was locked tight, and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
I followed his murderous gaze past the windows, and when I saw the scene with the black Mercedes Benz surrounding us on the country road, my heart dropped into my stomach.
“Ava.” I turned my head toward him. The murderous look had not left his eyes. An eerie darkness swam in the depths of the icy blue.
