Chapter 5 #3
“What? No way! I’m not going somewhere private with you.” Too bad my girly parts had a whole different answer in mind.
He snorts, like being alone with me is the last thing he wants. “I could’ve done a thousand depraved things to you by now.” He holds out his hands, gesturing to the emptiness around us.
A shiver slides down my spine. Depraved? Like what?
What the…did he hex my body when he sucked on my finger? My brain seems stuck on the idea of seeing what he looks like naked.
Stop it!
I bet he’s hard lines and carved muscle all over…and big…everywhere.
I blow out a breath and try to gain control over myself. He’s right. We haven’t run into another person. Not even a stray dog trotting by. Whether I want to admit it or not, he protected me from something in the cemetery.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns, jerking his head toward the brick buildings. He waits until I take a step forward, then turns and heads for one of the doors.
My pulse skips in confusion, indignation, and something hotter I refuse to acknowledge, as I follow him. He unlocks the door, holding it open.
I should run back to the inn, barricade myself in my room, and eat my feelings away in the form of the pound of maple walnut fudge I bought earlier.
Instead, my feet betray me. I march past him, head held high, deliberately not touching him as I pass to show him he has no effect on me whatsoever.
A narrow flight of stairs lays ahead of me. Since he said “upstairs” I keep right on walking without waiting for direction or an invitation. The heavy weight of Declan’s body shadows each step. At the top of the landing, I turn, colliding with his hard chest. Is the man made out of granite?
He slowly glances down, staring at my hands, braced against his abs. His lips twist with annoyance or smugness; it’s hard to tell with him.
“That way.” He lifts his hand and points in the opposite direction.
There’s only one door at the end of a long, narrow hallway. It’s painted black—of course it is—with an antique iron doorknocker dead center in the shape of a—is that a crow?
“You like crows too?” I ask, too pleased by the crow to remember that I’m annoyed with him ordering me around.
“Yes. Crows symbolize a dual nature.” He glances at the crow and strokes his fingers over the head. “Some cultures see them as omens of death. Others see them as a symbol of good fortune.”
“What do you see them as?”
“Cleansers of both land and mind.” He pushes the door open and glances down at me. “Some people believe they’re messengers of the dead and can carry messages back and forth from the afterlife.”
I follow him inside. “I’ve never heard that before. I love how intelligent they are. Did you know some can use tools and problem solve? They’re very playful and loyal to their families too.”
He lets out a distracted hum, his gaze searching the small apartment.
I open my mouth to dazzle him with more of my endless knowledge about crows, but he cuts me off before I get out a word.
“Sit,” he orders, pointing to the couch.
When I don’t move, his lips curl into an enticing smirk. “Go on,” he coaxes in a low, raspy voice. “Have a seat. If you’re a good girl, I’ll give you a treat.”
A rush of outrage flares, then quickly vanishes under the weight of arousal. “I’m not a dog,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster.
He stares at me.
I hate how much I very much want to be his good girl. I drop down onto one of the cushions and glare at him. “Happy now?”
“Delighted,” he answers in the least delighted tone ever.
He moves toward a simple black worktable scattered with sketches and scraps of metal.
While he’s occupied, I take in his apartment.
It’s spare but functional. Sketchpads and stacks of books on shelves.
This battered leather couch, an equally abused coffee table with iron hinges.
Absolutely no sign a woman spends any time here.
Why does that spark relief in my chest?
“Here.” Declan approaches me with what looks like a black skeleton key on a silver chain dangling from his fingers. “I want you to wear this.”
I jump off the couch and stare at him. “What is it?”
“An iron key pendant.” He stops in front of me, the pendant swinging between us. “I make different ones and sell them in the shop. You didn’t see the display?”
My throat goes dry. “How could I when you practically threw me out on my butt? After all that hostility, you’re giving me jewelry?”
“Calm yourself. It’s not an engagement ring.
” His gaze pins me in place, hot and unflinching.
“This isn’t about jewelry. It’s about protecting you when you’re determined to go where you don’t belong.
You can’t carry that nail around town and stab yourself every time you stick your hands in your pocket.
” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Wearing this around your neck will keep you safer than a nail in your pocket anyway.”
The key’s still swinging from his fingers, almost as if it’s reaching for me on its own.
He steps close enough that the heat of his body seeps through my sweatshirt. “Let me,” he says, voice low, rough.
I should tell him no. The chain is long enough for me to slip it over my head.
Instead, I tip my chin up, silently granting him permission.
He brushes my hair back, grazing my skin as he fastens the chain around my neck.
The iron key settles cold and heavy against my skin.
His touch is warm. The combination sends a shiver down my spine.
I pinch the key between my fingers and stare down at it. “So, what door does it open?”
“Emery.” He sighs, his gaze holding mine. “Not every door is meant to be unlocked.”