Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
County Kerry, Ireland—12 years ago
Not twenty minutes back on the road after their picnic, Rose had spotted a waterfall in the distance, and since Declan had already discovered he couldn’t say no to her if it put a smile on her face, they had parked and hiked to the top.
“Why would you ever leave here?” Rose asked, as she gazed out at the green hills. “No offense, Dublin is great, but this is…”
Declan drew her to stand in front of him, his arms looped loosely around her waist and kissed her temple. “I wish I could stay down here forever,” he admitted. “I never feel like myself as much as I do when I’m here.”
He rubbed a cheek against her hair, his nose filling with her scent. It was addictive, and for a moment, he wished he could freeze this perfect moment in time.
Dusk was falling by the time they made it back to the car.
“We'll have to stop at the pub for dinner,” Declan said, as they approached the outskirts of the town closest to his house. “I don't have anything at the cottage. I thought we’d get some pre-made meals, but someone wanted to hunt for a pot of gold,” he teased.
“If ever there was a pot of gold, it was in that forest,” she insisted. “The air was green. Green! Air isn’t supposed to have a color. It was definitely a sign that fairies were nearby.”
“Uh huh.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “Like any self-respecting fairy would show themselves to a tourist.”
Rose stuck her tongue out at him over the roof of the car. Declan shook his head and led her across the street to a pub. Each time the door opened lively Gaelic folk music spilled out into the night.
“How do you feel about fish and chips?”
“I thought that was a British thing.”
Declan widened his eyes in mock horror and said in a dramatic whisper. “Better not say that around here. You’ll get us run out of town.”
She mimed zipping her lips shut, and he laughed.
“Maggie’s Hearth has the best fish and chips in the world.” He stuck his lower lip out and batted his eyes. “You don’t want to be responsible for me being barred for life, do you?”
“Never.”
He winked and led her into the small building, choosing a table in the back while she visited the restroom to wash her hands.
“House special and a pint of Harp, please.” Declan was already salivating in anticipation of his all-time favorite meal.
“And for your wife?” the young server asked, as she glanced at Rose returning.
“She’ll have the same.” Declan didn’t know why he didn’t correct the woman’s mistake, but like everything else this week, he went with what felt right.
“I take it you’ve been here a lot,” Rose said, as the server returned with the beer.
He lifted his chin in thanks before taking a sip. “Not as much as I’d like. I try to get back here at least once a year, but it’s getting harder with work.”
The young woman returned with two steaming plates.
“Best fish and chips?” Rose lifted an eyebrow.
“Without a doubt,” he said, before proceeding to educate her on the virtues of salt and vinegar over tartar sauce.
They laughed and talked as they ate, but as they were finishing their meals Declan noticed several people in the pub continuously looked their way. When the older woman behind the bar caught his eye and smiled, cocking her head toward Rose, his stomach sank.
Fuck. What was he thinking bringing her here. He’d been coming to this pub since he was a child.
He swallowed a groan. And he’d let the server think they were married.
“All done?” he asked, pulling several bills from his wallet, and tossing them on the table.
Rose looked at him quizzically and grabbed her last two fries . He practically dragged her to the door. He needed to get out of there… fast.
If someone says something, she’ll know I lied about who I am.
Not that he was afraid she would be unforgivably angry about the different name. That misunderstanding could be explained. It was how she would feel finding out he was actually Declan Bloom: prep school graduate, billionaire heir apparent, and Irish mafia adjacent, rather than Declan Riordan who was free to laugh and talk and love…
“Was that Maggie?” she asked, swallowing her last bite.
“Who?” Declan opened her door, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had followed them onto the street.
“The lady behind the bar. The one who made you look like you’d seen a ghost.”
Declan started the car. “Well, if it had been Maggie, I would have. She’s been dead for years. That was her daughter, Claire. She doesn’t like me,” he lied. When Rose gave him a funny look, he knew she didn’t believe him.
By the time they pulled up to the cottage, Declan had relaxed. Odds were the server wouldn’t remember the whole wife thing, and his mother hadn’t been to the area in years. And if it became an issue, he would do what he’d been trained by his family to do—control the situation by hitting harder and faster at whatever came at him.
“Wait for me,” Declan said as he pulled to a stop, rocks crunching under his tires. “It’s dark. I don’t want you to trip.”
Rose peered through the windshield at the faint outline of the roof. There was no light except for the moon above, and for a split second, Declan worried Rose wouldn't enjoy the simplicity of the cottage.
He unlocked the front door, and told her to wait while he turned the lamps on. The second the space was illuminated, she gasped.
“I love it.” Bright eyes scanned the small room. The cottage consisted of one main room with a fireplace and a tiny kitchen, complete with a traditional Aga along the wall, and two small bedrooms.
In the glow of the lamps, Declan tried to see it as she would for the first time. Hard white plaster walls, rough-hewn timbers along the ceiling, and small windows that framed the hills of the Ring of Kerry. A chintz sofa and a faded wing-back chair, along with a small, scarred wooden table in front of a stone fireplace, were the entirety of the furnishings. He'd never bothered to update the kitchen because he was never there long, and the idea of cooking for one was mildly depressing.
“Your grandmother’s collection.” Rose spotted the rows of tiny decorated cups hanging from hooks beneath the kitchen cabinets.
“These are beautiful.” She lifted one down.
“I think some might have been my great-grandmother’s.” Declan shrugged. “I should have paid more attention to the stories.”
Rose inspected each cup, taking down another in the shape of a rose sitting atop a white saucer.
Her lips twitched. “Coincidence?”
No. None of this feels coincidental .
“She didn’t like to travel, so she always asked one of her sons or my mother to bring her cups from wherever they went.”
“You inherited it from her?”
He nodded. “I think she understood how much I needed this place. The excuse was my mother was the only girl.”
Rose frowned. “What about your brother, Seamus?”
Declan froze.
“At the Celtic Crown, your cousin Colum mentioned him.”
He ran a hand over the top of his head. “You don’t miss much, do you? To answer your question, I don’t know why she left me the cottage instead of him. Most of the other grandchildren got money.” A lot of money and the reins to the empire his grandmother and grandfather had built of bars and restaurants. But he couldn’t tell Rose that.
“After my grandfather died, she came here to live full time. She said she didn’t want to live in their home in Dublin without him.”
At the time, he’d thought it was ridiculous, but now… Declan was already having a hard time imagining what life would look like without Rose in it. Maybe it was a mistake to have brought her here. Where her presence would linger long after she was gone.
Declan carried in their bags and retrieved the small cup he’d purchased for her. “It’s not much, but you seemed to like it.”
Her eyes glistened as she gently unwrapped the tissue paper protecting the fragile cup. “I thought maybe as a souvenir…” He gave her a crooked smile, feeling suddenly, uncharacteristically unsure. “So, you could remember…”
“I love it.” Her smile was a little watery. “But I will never forget.”
“Tell me about this job you’re starting.” Declan wanted to know, but he also didn’t. He hated the thought of what was taking her away, but her eyes lit up every time she mentioned it, and he wanted every bit of information he could get about Rose—it was all he’d have to remember her by.
“It’s not that it’s so exciting,” she said, slightly out of breath after their climb up the hill. She leaned against the wall of the ruins to catch her breath. “But there is incredible opportunity to grow and actually make a difference within a company. I’m really lucky. Richard, that’s my friend Jessica’s uncle, is really taking a chance on me.”
Rose’s gaze grew vacant as she stared back the way they came. The constant drizzle hadn’t dissuaded her from exploring, though they were somewhat protected now by the stones. Her head was haloed by dark frizz, and Declan didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful.
“I can’t let him down. It’s too important.”
“To succeed?” Declan asked, moving closer. Her cheeks were pink from the exertion, and he had the sudden urge to kiss her.
“Yes. I have to prove that?—”
“It was all worth it,” he finished for her. Her surprised eyes met his, and for a moment he thought he could drown in them. Rose nodded.
“I get it. You want to prove to everyone that the sacrifices you made had a purpose.”
If anyone in the world could understand that drive, Declan could. He lifted a hand, and ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. “You will. You’ll be a star. I have no doubt.”
“I sound arrogant, don’t I?” She sighed.
He shook his head, suddenly fascinated by the drops of rain still clinging to the tendrils and smoothed her damp hair back off her face with his hand. “You sound like someone with ambition. Be proud of that. You have a goal, and you shouldn’t let anything or anyone get in the way.”
Her breath caught as his thumb dragged across her bottom lip, pulling it to one side.
“I don’t think I’m better than anyone. That’s not what it’s about.” Rose watched his mouth hovering inches above hers. Her lids grew heavy, and her pupils dilated so that the irises looked like midnight. Declan settled his hips against her, using his weight to press her into the wall. Her nipples hardened against his chest, and he let out a low growl of satisfaction.
“Is it okay if I think you are?” Declan’s teeth caught her lower lip, and then his tongue stroked over hers slowly, taking time to taste her.
Rose moaned into his mouth, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard, and she cast a quick glance around to ensure they were still alone.
But when her gaze returned to him, he saw her eyes were worried. “It’ll probably be so boring compared to…”
Understanding hit him. God, she was adorable. “Being a bouncer?” Declan’s lips quirked up, and her cheeks turned scarlet.
He laughed, and braced his hands on either side of her head, and gave her a little of the truth. “I'm not really a bouncer.”
“Right.” Her voice was slightly breathless, and her hips arched into him.
“I was only helping my cousin that night.”
“Mmhmm.” Rose slid her hands around to cup his ass, pulling him toward her. Lust shot through him like a lightning bolt, and he crushed her mouth with his. He kissed her until he couldn’t breathe, and she wore the dreamy expression he'd become addicted to.
“Technically, I work for my father.”
“Oh.” She lifted her head slightly off the wall. He wanted to smile as she blinked, trying to follow the conversation, but his own body was screaming at him to sink into her heat and lose himself.
“Family businesses are good,” she said huskily, and then planted her lips on him. This time, her urgency fueled his, and he was done teasing her.
Declan gripped her thighs and lifted, pressing her back to the stone wall of the ruin. Rose wrapped her legs around his waist, and when he rolled against her, she let out a needy whine, her hands tangling in the hair at his nape.
Pleasure zapped down his spine, and he felt his body grow almost painfully hard.
“Does he own a bar like your cousin?” Rose gasped as his lips found the pulse at the base of her neck and sucked.
“What?”
“Your father… oh god… yes, like that.” She cried out, as one hand found her breast and squeezed, rolling her nipple between his fingers.
“Never mind,” she panted as she ripped at his zipper, letting out an exhale when she wrapped her fingers around him. Her other hand frantically tugged at his waistband, but her own legs locked around his hips impeded the progress.
Lowering her feet to the ground, Declan’s jeans and boxer briefs fell to his feet, and then her hand was back. Declan’s chest heaved and his thoughts fractured, as her nails stroked him gently from the tip of his cock to the base, and back again. Her fingers worked over him, and his mouth fell open as he gasped for air. Declan was certain Rose could ask him anything she wanted… Hell he’d tell her state secrets if he had them.
Rose’s breath caught when he dipped his fingers into her leggings, and his brain almost short circuited at the feel of her, hot and wet, grinding against his hand. He pushed the fabric roughly to her ankles.
“Declan… please… I need.” Her hands reached for him as he lifted her again. She leaned back slightly, and ground against him. Declan slid his hand between them to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Rose whimpered and tilted her hips, causing the tip of his erection to nudge her entrance. His eyes rolled back at the sensation of her slick scalding flesh sliding against his cock.
Reality hit him.
Fuck, we’re out of condoms.
Declan had intended to stop at the shops, but Rose saw the castle ruins on the hill from the car window…
His brain melting down, Declan struggled to form words but her hips gyrated, and he slipped past her entrance, her body eagerly welcoming his. He groaned through gritted teeth, ordering his body to stay still.
“Rose, baby. I don’t have anything.”
She circled her hips, his hands supporting her weight. “I know I’m supposed to care, but I don’t think I do,” she whimpered, and moved so that he slipped in another inch.
“I’ve always worn condoms. Always… but…” All the blood that had rushed to his cock was impeding his normal brain function.
We can’t do this, his brain reminded him, even as he tried to rationalize it. He’d never had unprotected sex, not once. He trusted Rose when she said she hadn’t been with anyone in a long time… but there was always the chance…
An image of Rose, her belly swollen with his baby, filled his mind, and he groaned, his body drawing up tight. Not helping.
“Plans, Petal,” Declan gasped, trying to pull back. “You have big plans.”
“Fine.”
Declan had never heard such an unhappy sound, but then in direct opposition to her agreement, she locked her ankles behind his back and pushed up, sinking him almost all the way inside her.
“Fuck!” The word hissed out of him at the feel of her with no barrier. Rose gripped him like a vise, and when she moved again, his body reacted, flexing his hips to sink the final length.
“Yes,” Rose moaned, and opened her eyes to stare into his.
“You’re a witch.” He reached between their bodies to circle and press against her clit. “It’s the only explanation.”
A light sheen of sweat covered his body as he struggled not to give in to what his body was screaming at him to do.
“I’m so close,” Rose panted, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Please.”
A better man than he would tell her no, and he tried. He really did.
“I can’t come in you, baby. Ah!” He gasped when she rolled her hips against him.
Rose’s lids were heavy, and her tongue slicked across her lower lip before a wicked smile covered her face. “Then you’ll just have to come somewhere else.”
Fuck. Did she really just say that?
With a groan, Declan gave in to primal instinct, one hand thrust in her hair to prevent her from hurting herself when she threw her head back against the rough wall as his hips pistoned into her.
The muscles around his spine contracted as he drove into her, his mouth covering her cries as he found the rhythm that drove her wild.
“Perfect,” he grit his teeth, clinging to his control. “You feel so fucking perfect.”
A sharp cry tore from her throat, and Declan kept moving as she rode the waves of her pleasure.
Her eyes glazed, Rose unhooked her ankles and lowered her feet to the ground. Not breaking eye contact, she sank to her knees in front of him, and Declan barely had time to whisper her name like a plea before her mouth was on him.
“Jesus,” Declan hissed out a harsh breath, and fisted one hand in her hair as the other gripped at the stone wall in front of him for stability, while her lips and tongue drove him out of his mind. His breath came in short pants, and he forgot where he was. Who he was. His face tipped to the sky as his release ripped through him.
When his brain re-engaged, Declan bent, holding her leggings so that she could step into them, and slowly drew them up her legs. He held her face in his hands, his tone reverent. “You are everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”
Rose blushed, but her features were soft.
“I’m serious.” Declan stared into her eyes, wishing he knew how to put into words what she meant to him. “I love you.” He hadn’t meant to say it like that–a bald statement while they were both still breathing hard.
Rose took his hand in hers with trembling fingers. “I love you, Declan.”
Declan lowered himself until he was sitting with his back against the wall, and he tugged her down until she straddled him, their chests pressed together, feeling her heart beat against him. She lay her cheek on the top of his shoulder and sighed. “I really, really love you.”
His ribs crushed around his heart as he stared at the ruined walls rising above them. All Declan could do was wrap his arms around her and hold her close, their heartbeats slowing to the same pace.
“I really, really love you too.”
“It’s dumb to be so sad, isn’t it?” Rose sniffed. She’s crying . The pain in his chest was so sharp Declan thought for sure it had cracked wide open.
“Then I’m dumb too,” he said, burying his nose in her hair, ignoring the stinging in his eyes.
Rose hummed against his chest. “We need to enjoy the time we have. Right?”
Declan swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Right.” He held her closer. “And we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee.”
Rose was quiet for a moment. “Morbid. Isn’t he talking about his dead girlfriend in that poem?” she asked dryly. “Why is it always the women who have to die? Bambi’s mom, Dumbo’s mom, and now you're quoting Edgar Allen Poe?”
He smiled, hearing the humor in her voice. “You might need to study some more, Petal. Dumbo’s mom doesn’t die.”