Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Raven
Declan’s leg buckles and he goes down hard, crying out in pain.
Guilt washes through me, blunting my fury. He took that bullet protecting me, and I didn’t expect that blow to be as effective as it was.
Declan’s lying on his back in the hallway, gripping his leg with both hands, eyes screwed shut in agony. But I know that won’t last. He’ll be up in a minute, looking for his revenge. Warily, I take a pace back, waiting for his inevitable rage to manifest.
The elevator finally arrives, doors swishing open, and I retreat into it, watching him carefully.
“Raven…” It comes out as a gasp, not in anger, more with urgency. His eyes are tight with pain.
I hit the button for the lobby. He hasn’t tried to move toward me yet, and I’m not sure he’d make it now if he did.
He reaches out a hand toward me. “Wait, please.”
Please?
I just did him a serious injury, and he’s begging me to stay?
It’s a trap. He wants me close for when he’s recovered.
Fuck that, hard pass.
The doors begin to close, shuddering slowly like this elevator hasn’t been maintained in forever. They gradually block out Declan’s view of me, and their lack of speed is torture.
“Hellcat…” he says, barely a whisper, eyes locked on mine. He calls me that now? When I’ve caught him with a woman in his apartment? “…don’t leave. I’m sorry.”
He should be sorry, but he’s probably just sorry he was caught.
Yet that doesn’t match his tone. It’s full of feeling, but not defensive. It takes me a moment to put a name to it: grief. Like he thinks he’s lost something.
Me.
I slam my hand between the closing doors, and they make a half-assed attempt to gently crush my bones before shuddering open again.
“Who was your friend?” I still don’t forgive him, but I want to know.
“Someone from my past,” he says, pushing himself up awkwardly to sit on the floor, stretching his leg out as he does. “She is not—I repeat, not—anything even close to a friend.”
Not intimate, in other words.
Yet he hasn’t said it.
“Hate sex, then?” I ask, my tone cutting, even though I’m not trying to be a bitch; it’s the reassurance I want.
“I swear, we haven’t been intimate.” He gives a short, scoffing laugh. “Wouldn’t be if we were the last two people on the planet.”
So I’ve done it again. First, the woman in Thousand Oaks. Now, whoever the hell this was. Some past acquaintance from an old job, no love lost between them.
I want to ask him about the blond and the child I saw him with. The words are on the tip of my tongue before I remember I can’t, not without him knowing I followed him.
Fuck, I wish I never had.
The elevator doors begin closing again, and rather than hold them open, I walk through. Back into the hallway.
“How’s your leg?”
“Hurts quite a lot, thank you for asking.” His eyes widen as I step closer, running up my legs to my too-short coat, that now seems like the worst possible wardrobe choice. “Did you… come in a cab?”
“No, I rode,” I say sarcastically.
He shakes his head like that wasn’t what he meant. “Did… people… see you like… that?”
Or in other words, how many men have checked me out.
I just put him on the ground, and Declan’s being all possessive.
“The driver kept checking his mirror until I scared him off.”
Declan clenches his jaw, anger flicking across his expression. Not at me, I don’t think. At the nameless driver? Shit… he’s not just being possessive, he’s being protective. When I’ve just punched him in the leg.
Now I feel even worse.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” I say, my anger fading, and only my guilt left.
“Why did you?” He pushes himself up onto his good leg, hopping for balance, wincing as he does.
“Because…” I turn up wearing nothing but a goddamn raincoat to find you with another woman and I thought you were sleeping with her. “…you grabbed my arm.”
He stares at me. “You punched my leg because I grabbed your arm?”
“Uh…” When he puts it like that, it sounds even worse. “…sorry.”
“You really are a hellcat, Hellcat.”
Except that wasn’t the reason at all, and the actual reason was nothing but a mistake. I’ve hurt him—maybe badly—and for no reason. Shame, embarrassment and guilt fight for their share within me.
Declan tries to put his weight on his leg and hisses through his teeth. His apartment is ten paces away if he could walk, but it doesn’t look like he can.
“Do you… uh… need a hand?”
He shakes his head. “First you deck me then you offer to help me?”
I thought I couldn’t feel worse, but I was wrong. “I said sorry,” I mutter.
He tries to take a pace, pulling up short with a hiss of breath. “My fucking leg. Seriously.”
“I should… just leave.” I’ve completely screwed this up. I wanted to surprise him, not… put him in the hospital. The mood’s destroyed, and it’s all my fault. I take a pace back, turning.
And his hand closes on the belt of my raincoat. “You’re not going anywhere, Hellcat.”
I freeze, unable to move, because if he tugs that thing open, I’ll be naked. And I can’t hit him again. He pulls it far enough for the sides to start to slip, and I grab at the material. “Fine, I’ll stay,” I say hastily.
His lips twitch in amusement, and he starts half-limping, half-hopping in the direction of his door, one hand on the wall for support, the other keeping its grip on my belt. Like I’m a flight risk and he doesn’t trust me not to leave.
He’s not wrong there.
“I love your choice of evening wear, by the way.”
The blush that comes on is totally out of my control, and utterly stupid. I chose to be naked beneath a too-short rain-coat, and now I’m embarrassed by it? What happened to the calm, controlled, empowered woman that strutted along his hallway and knocked on this door?
Oh yeah. She thought he was seeing someone else then punched him in the gunshot wound he got while protecting her.
“It was a mistake,” I mutter. “I’m going to see you back into your apartment, then go home and forget this all happened.”
“No, you’re going to help me back into my apartment before I let go of this belt, and then I’m going to close the door, lock it, and offer to take your coat.”
Holy. Fuck.
My nipples harden against the material, and the arousal that had faded comes back in full force. If I thought I was blushing before, it’s nothing to now. My face is aflame, and I can’t look at him.
“There’s just enough skin on offer to hint at how far down your blush goes,” he says as he limps another step. “I really want to peel that coat off you and see what else I can make tinge red.”
That doesn’t help. Not one bit. It’s not my fault I blush like this; it’s his. I never used to, not before Declan fucking Hale came into my life.
“I’m not in the mood anymore,” I say, hearing the hint of petulance in my voice and hating it. “Besides, you can hardly walk.”
“Stronger with every step,” he contradicts, and to be fair, he is making better progress. “Also, you punched me in the leg for no reason.” He glances at me. “Do you really think I’m going to let you walk out of here without a punishment?”
Punishment? Shit.
The worst part is he doesn’t even sound angry. This isn’t revenge, this is sadism. I’m sure that makes it so much worse.
“I had a reason,” I try, even though I didn’t really. What I had was a misunderstanding.
“Because I grabbed your arm?” Declan sounds almost amused, like he knows that was never why. “Good thing I didn’t reach for your ass.”
I don’t have an answer to that. If he had, he’d known I was naked beneath this damn coat—like he hasn’t already figured that out.
His door’s on the latch, saving him having to fish for keys, and maybe releasing me in the process.
His fingers are still hooked inside the belt of my coat.
I suppose I could let him have it and slip away, but then I’d have to hold the damn thing closed all the way home.
It’s not designed to button up overlapping.
He tugs me forward, giving me a little push over the threshold before he releases me, his body blocking the exit. I’m in his apartment again, the potted plant he bought because I might like it still sitting there, waxy green leaves looking surprisingly healthy.
The door closes behind me, and the bolt slides across. Just like he promised.
“May I take your coat?” he asks, half civil, half teasing.
“Uh… I’m good.”
He smiles slowly. “I was hoping you’d say no,” he confides, limping toward me and away from the support of the wall. He has recovered. My chances of escaping are diminishing fast, unless I want to hit him again.
I don’t. I’m not sure he’d let me anyway.
And my punishment would be worse.
I retreat before him, the arm of the couch catching the back of my thighs, and before I can slip away, his hands close on the lapels of my coat.
“I insist,” he murmurs. “After all, you didn’t come all this way dressed like this to keep it on, did you?”
I no longer have any idea why I came all this way dressed like this, or why I’m even here at all.
All I know is that it was a really big mistake and the worst possible timing, finding him with company.
Compounded with the stupidest reaction, punching his wound.
I want to protest, but I can’t even think, held by those pale blue eyes and that aggravating, playful smirk.
His hands tug gently at my coat. “You’d be so much more comfortable without this.”
That, I very much doubt. “I don’t think this is a good—”
“We’re past that, Raven.” His voice is calm, not accepting my attempts to dissuade him. “Take it off.”
So not happening. It’s not just that I’m re-thinking this foolish idea, it’s that my courage has left me.
I wanted to be the one in control, teasing him with my body after so long without him.
Instead, all I feel now is guilt, warring with the shame of hurting him, overlaid with the presence of another woman in this apartment.
All the things I so don’t want to be thinking in this moment.