Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Emery
Something sweet hits my nose before consciousness does.
Warm. Rich. Chocolatey.
My eyes blink open to a blur of weak sunlight cutting through unfamiliar curtains. After a slow, lazy beat, my memory kicks in.
Declan’s bed.
Declan’s chest.
Declan’s hands.
Declan’s everything.
Oh God.
Declan’s pierced dick!
That really happened. Heat rushes up my neck so fast my skin practically sizzles. I stretch, a sleepy yawn leaking out of me. Parts that haven’t ached in way too long wake up to remind me of all the things Declan and I did in his bed.
“Morning, little crow. How curious are you today?” Declan’s rich, rumbling voice greets me.
I blink my eyes open. Declan’s sitting on the edge of the bed holding the takeout box from the restaurant and a plastic fork like he’s my own personal tattooed chocolate-cake-for-breakfast angel.
I sit up, letting the sheet fall to the side. “I totally forgot about the cake.”
“Seems like a compliment.” He spears a chunk of the cake and holds the fork out to me. “I made you forget about dessert.”
“Yes, you did.” I scoot closer to him and open my mouth. He slides the fork between my lips, and the chocolatey goodness floods my mouth. “Oh my.” I meet Declan’s heated gaze and slowly lick the last bits of frosting from the tines.
“Still good?” he asks, dipping his fork back into the box.
“Mm-hmm.” I scoot closer and tease my fingers over the waistband of his shorts. “Why are you clothed?”
He slips a bite of cake into his mouth then offers me another one.
I slide my hand lower, touching his knee.
An image of the cemetery fires in my mind. Then the Widow statue. Not more visions. Memories.
The cake’s good but it’s not orgasmic enough to trigger the flashes I had last night. Why now? Can’t I enjoy a quiet morning with Declan?
Last night, we were as connected as two people could be so it made sense the curse might try to use that connection. Today, I need to figure out why it happened at all.
Whatever the reason, I’m too unsettled to keep flirting.
“I need to get to the shop,” Declan says.
“Right. Work. Yup. I should go back to the inn.” Heat fans over my cheeks. “Mrs. Applewood is going to wonder about me.”
“Then what are your plans?” he asks.
“Uh.” I glance down at my naked body. “Change clothes. Do a little research.” I can’t tell him about the images I saw. What if they mean nothing? Or worse, what if he tries to stop me from learning more?
Declan’s gaze flicks to my face like he can read every nervous thought tumbling around in my head. He brushes his thumb against my knee.
“What kind of research?” His voice is low and curious but not demanding.
A tiny pulse of heat flares under the mark on my arm. I swallow. “Just…following some threads I didn’t finish yesterday.”
He studies me for so long my skin prickles. But he doesn’t push. Or maybe he doesn’t want to know.
“All right, little crow.” He nudges my chin up with one knuckle. “Please be careful.”
“It’s daylight.” I nod to the weak light curling around the edges of the heavy black curtains covering the window. “I’ll be fine.”
He doesn’t seem convinced. “You’d be surprised how quick things can change.”
He holds the box and fork out to me and I take them, quickly stuffing my mouth full of cake so I don’t break down and admit what I saw and where I’m planning to go today.
While I finish the cake, he pads over to the closet and pulls a black—what else—sweatshirt off of a hanger and tosses it on the bed. “It’s pretty cold out. And your coat’s still a little wet.”
I scoop up the sweatshirt. It’s heavier than it looks, with a Carhartt logo stitched on the chest and a small hole in one sleeve. I hold it up to my nose, inhaling the scent of detergent and Declan.
“Thanks.”
He leans over the bed and kisses my cheek. “I should be thanking you. You look good in my shirts.”
Thank God I’m sitting down or I might melt into a puddle.
Who is this sweet man, who only a few days ago was grumpy as hell and kicked me out of his shop?
“You look even better in them,” I say.
It’s not until we’re both dressed and headed downstairs that last night’s visions nudge me again.
A door closing.
Wet grass.
I stop and grip the handrail.
Flash of metal.
I bite the inside of my cheek and shove the memory down deep, where I can deal with it later.
Declan stops at the bottom of the stairs, turns, and frowns. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I force a bright smile and continue down the stairs. “Too much sugar, too early in the morning.”
His lips turn down with regret. “Sorry, I should’ve fed you a proper breakfast.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure Mrs. Applewood will have some nice greasy bacon waiting for me.”
“That she probably will.” He grabs my hand, pulling me closer. “Come by this afternoon when you’re done.”
It’s more a statement than an invitation. My stomach flips. There’s no awkwardness of a one-night stand or guessing with Declan. He wants to see me again later and says so plainly.
A girl could get used to this.
“I can do that.”
He holds my gaze for a beat, jaw flexing like he wants to say more. Maybe warn me to be careful. Avoid the cemetery. Or maybe he doesn’t want to say goodbye either?
Then he squeezes my hand and pushes the back door open, holding it for me. Cold air immediately wallops me in the face.
“Ooof, you weren’t kidding.” I shiver and hug my damp coat to my chest.
“That’s not warm enough for you.” He quickly shrugs out of his heavy flannel shirt and drapes it over my shoulders, leaving him in a long-sleeve T-shirt that fits him like a sexy second skin.
“What about you? Now you’ll be cold.”
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I can always run upstairs and grab something else.” He bites his lip and frowns. “I should give you a ride to—”
“I’m fine,” I assure him and shove my arms into the flannel. Over the sweatshirt, it’s bulky.
He helps me button it up to my chin.
“I’m going to look like a sentient marshmallow waddling around out there,” I joke, holding my arms out and swaying from side to side.
He leans in, brushing his lips against my ear. “A sexy marshmallow I’d like to eat later.”
Instant heat fans over every inch of my skin. “You…you are very talented at that,” I answer with zero chill.
“I don’t feel like I did my best work in the shower. I need a do-over.”
“You were excellent.” I clear my throat and flash a more confident smile. “But I won’t say no to a do-over.”
“Looking forward to it.” He kisses my cheek. “I don’t want to let you go but I have a session I need to get ready for.”
“I’d love to see pictures later.”
He nods, brushing a knuckle down my jaw in a way that should be illegal before nine in the morning. “I’ll text you when I’m done. But you can come into the shop anytime you want. Lucy will be here later.”
“Okay.”
More heat creeps up my cheeks. I need to get out of here before I embarrass myself by asking him to lock me in his room like some sort of Victorian attic bride.
He opens the back door again, letting another blast of cold air wash over us. I suck in a sharp breath and brace myself. Declan frowns like the weather personally offends him.
“Text me when you get to the inn,” he says. “Just so I know you made it.”
I’m not used to checking in with anyone else but Wren. But I don’t hate the idea. “I will.”
“Let me know what you get for breakfast,” he says. “Reassure me that you had something more substantial than cake.”
“Best cake I’ve ever had.”
He huffs out a short laugh—why do I love that sound so much—and opens the door wider.
I step outside and the cold slaps me awake, scrambling my thoughts just enough that I don’t turn back and climb him like a tree.
“Em,” he calls.
I look over my shoulder.
His gaze tracks down my borrowed layers, lingering on my face. “You look good like that,” he says, voice lower than before. “In my clothes.”
The words hit me like a spark dropped on dry tinder.
Gathering all my confidence and sass, I lower my lashes. “They’re going to look even better on your floor later.”
He bites his bottom lip like he’s picturing me naked right now. “Looking forward to it.”
I force my feet to move, waving once over my shoulder. The cold nips at my nose, my cheeks, my thighs—nothing the sweatshirt, the flannel, and the memory of Declan’s mouth can’t fight off.
Snow crunches under my boots, my breath fogging in front of me as the inn comes into view. I tug the flannel tighter around my shoulders, warmth lingering as if his hands are still there.