1. Declan
DECLAN
She was going to be the death of me. I was lying in bed at two o'clock in the morning, and my neighbor was listening to music.
Elizabeth Watson—Liz—wasn't technically my neighbor.
She was renting the guest house on my property, and I needed to find a loophole in that contract, because these sleepless nights were getting to me.
I rose from the bed, putting on jeans and a shirt before heading downstairs.
I’d had a difficult day. A client's husband was fighting dirty in their divorce proceedings, and I'd stayed up late, prepping the case against that asshole. I’d promised her the best deal possible, and I was determined to deliver. I never made a promise I couldn’t keep.
It was one of the reasons I was the most sought-after attorney in Chicago.
My job came with a hell of a lot of responsibility. I balanced that by relaxing when I came home.
My neighbor was making the latter impossible. Why did she have to turn the volume up so loud?
I walked across the yard to the guest house. When I reached the front door, I banged loudly a couple times, then waited.
The woman who sold me the property did so under the condition that I allowed Liz to continue renting the guest house until her contract ended in five months. I’d only agreed because I liked the place so much.
When my parents saw it, Mom immediately remarked that it was the perfect place to raise kids.
That had been the last thing on my mind when I bought it.
As a lawyer, I’d seen enough divorces to know that most marriages weren’t happy like my parents’.
Personally, I bought this house because I liked the neighborhood and the architecture.
It was huge at six thousand square feet, but I loved having my space.
Dad said my niece would like it. He was right. The house was a hit with Paisley. She was welcome here anytime, as were my five brothers. I loved having my family around—they grounded me.
Liz didn't answer. I banged again even louder so she could hear me. That time she did open the door. She was wearing a red tank top, her blonde hair was up in a ponytail, and sweat dotted her temples and neck. She was gorgeous. Yeah, I noticed.
"Liz," I said in a measured voice.
"Declan," she replied. "I hope you're not here again for the music."
"Why else would I be at your door at two o'clock in the morning?"
She folded her arms over her chest, keeping her chin high. "You tell me."
"We've had this conversation before," I said. I forced myself to maintain eye contact and not check her out.
"I'm doing my workout. I need music, and it's not that loud."
"Then how come I hear it from inside my bedroom?"
"Dancing helps me relax," she said, putting her hands on her hips. She was ignoring my question and shifting focus. I knew that tactic from the courtroom.
"You know what helps me relax? Sleeping through the night."
She pressed her palm to her forehead, shaking her head. "Oh, Declan. We've been through this a couple times."
"I know."
"I have turned the music down.”
“Not enough."
This woman was a spitfire. I was used to opponents balking at my mere presence in the courtroom, but she didn't seem fazed at all. In fact, she seemed to enjoy this.
"I told you I want to have a cordial relationship," I told her.
"Yes, so very cordial. That's why you show up in the middle of the night at my door. You aren't hoping I’ll invite you in, are you?"
"I just want to sleep." I said every word calmly, even though I was feeling anything but. I needed my sleep. I had a big court case later this week, and I had to be in top shape to prepare for it. I cared about every case, and I always gave 100 percent to my clients.
Liz looked at me like this was all a big joke. She was exasperating. And far too sexy.
It had been a while since I’d been on a date, and I had way too much tension bottled up. Seeing her wearing the tight workout clothes made my imagination run wild, and I now had other ideas about how I could make her relax.
Liz
His annoyance amused me. I wondered how someone could perpetually have a stick up their ass. Tension radiated off him. Even though he was an asshat, I couldn't deny that he was also incredibly attractive.
He had muscles that went on for days, and his blue eyes seemed unreal. They were so intense. I could feel a blush creeping up my chest, the warmth making me want to fan myself. He'd probably chalk it up to the fierce cardio movements I was doing during my dance workout though.
"We're at an impasse," I said. "I like to dance when I get home from work, and you can hear across a huge yard and through two sets of windows."
"Buy headphones," he said in that low, rich voice that seemed even sexier in the evening.
This was the third middle-of-the-night visit I’d received from him this week.
My music was not loud. I’d tested this by stepping out of the house while it was playing, and I could only faintly hear it.
I had no idea how he heard it through his closed window.
He ran a hand through his short, dark hair.
"Buy earplugs," I replied, smiling sweetly, then decided to give in. I wanted to wave the white flag. I was bone-tired from work, and I had no energy to keep fighting with him. "I promise I’ll turn down the volume even more. How’s that?"
"Thank you. Have a pleasant evening," he said before turning around and leaving.
“Have a pleasant evening”? Who says that? It sounded so formal. Then again, he was a lawyer. I could imagine that formality came with the job description.
Closing the door, I leaned against it, sighing before heading to my phone and turning the volume down a bit. Then I began swinging my hips again. Even though I was tired, I needed a way to blow off steam when I came home from work.
I’d moved from a tiny town in Illinois—Sunnyvale—to Chicago to fulfill my dream: to open a bakery.
But until that happened, I needed to hustle and build up my savings.
I was working two and a half jobs: From eight in the morning to noon, I worked for a catering company.
From one to four, I helped the same company prep events when they needed me.
And from six to midnight, I worked as a bartender at a swanky bar where the tips were amazing.
My sleep hours were crazy, but hey, you had to do what you had to do to get what you wanted.
I rented this place seven months ago when I first moved to Chicago.
My landlord had been this cute old lady, Helen.
She reminded me of Mom. She was so outspoken and friendly and loved to bake.
The guest house wasn’t as nearly as big as the main house.
It seemed to be a later addition to the property.
The big house, where my new stubborn and insufferable landlord lived, was built in the 1900s and had an entry staircase that seemed straight out of a fairy tale. It led to a porch that looked a bit like a balcony, and the windows had intricate carvings surrounding them.
The guest house was small and modern, with one bedroom and a big kitchen.
I loved it. We were in the Gold Coast, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Chicago.
The rent had been so incredibly low I’d been a bit suspicious at first. When I asked Helen about the price, she insisted that she just wanted someone to live in the guest house because if it were empty, it would deteriorate.
As soon as I moved in, it became obvious that Helen wanted company.
It wasn't unusual for her to wait for me to come back from one of my night shifts.
She hadn't minded my dancing either, though her hearing might not have been as sharp as Declan's.
But Helen and I often stayed up late chatting for hours, and she'd tell me about her youth and her family.
Sadly, my sweet Helen got sick a few months after I moved in. She didn't have any family nearby, so one day, she informed me that she was moving into a senior care home. I'd been shell- shocked. She also said she'd put the house up for sale, but not to worry, she'd take care of me.
And then this tyrant bought the house. This infuriating but sexy-as-hell tyrant.
He didn’t move in right away. Instead, he’d renovated the house for a couple months and only moved in last week.
Helen insisted he was a sweet guy from a renowned family in Chicago, but to me, he seemed to always be in a bad mood—or maybe I brought out that side of him.
True to her word, Helen sold the house with the condition that he allowed me to continue renting at the price she gave me .
So this was a steal. I could put up with a difficult neighbor if it helped me reach my dream faster.
It wasn't a hardship. I'd been through rough times, and I knew what hard meant.
I absentmindedly touched the scar on my abdomen, my constant reminder of days gone by.
After I finished my dance routine, I collapsed on the couch. The problem with working late was that I had too much adrenaline to sleep now, but I had to, because in five hours, I’d be up and running again.
The other problem with working odd hours was that I was awake when everyone was asleep.
I couldn't text my friends, or my sister, or my mom. They were all back home. Mom was temporarily staying with my sister, who recently gave birth to the most beautiful baby girl. I went to visit and almost didn’t want to come back.
I missed my family so much that my chest ached.
Thinking of my family got me to wondering…. My sister was up late sometimes, feeding my niece. I picked up my phone and texted her on the off chance she was awake.
Liz: How is the best mom in the world doing?
She responded immediately, probably up for a feeding.
Rose: Hanging in there. I miss you.
Liz: Aww, I miss you too.
Rose: How are you holding up? Your schedule is so crazy.
Liz: I’m getting used to it. Guess who showed up on my doorstep just now?
Rose: A tall, handsome stranger wanting to have his wicked way with you?
I burst out laughing, nearly dropping my phone.
Liz: Close. It WAS a tall, handsome stranger. My hot landlord from hell.
Rose: Do tell.
Liz: It was about the music again.
Rose: Hmm… and here I thought you had a steamy story for me.
I laughed again, knowing Rose was only semi-joking.
She’d looked Declan up online and declared he was hot enough to warrant jumping his bones if he paid me another midnight visit.
When I told her about Helen selling the place, Rose immediately did her investigative work and updated me on the history of the Maxwells. My sister was very thorough.
Liz: Sorry to disappoint. It’s all work for me. No fun. Especially not with my annoying (though gorgeous) landlord.
Rose: Some fun is good from time to time. You need balance.
Liz: That’s why I dance :-)
I knew what she meant though. I was burning the candle at both ends, but I didn’t plan on doing it forever.
I wanted to save up as much as possible before I opened my bakery, which could be any day now—as soon as my realtor found the perfect spot.
Because once I did open it, I would focus on it 100 percent, and I knew it would take a while to break even, so the more cash I had, the better.
Rose: If that doesn’t work out, maybe you should visit your landlord.
Liz: The late feedings are affecting you, Rose. Go to sleep.
Rose: Hehe, your cute niece is the boss of me, and she says no. But it’s late for you. Sleep tight. Love you.
Liz: Love you too.
I was still chuckling as I went off to bed. Rose always had a vivid imagination, but staying up late was making her extra creative.
Was my landlord sexy? Yes.
Was jumping his bones completely out of the question? Hell yes.
I’d be lucky if Declan didn’t end up evicting me. He was a lawyer, so he could probably find a way to get out of the contract Helen made him sign. I wouldn’t put it past him.