Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

M iranda

All I can do is watch Declan walk away. My eyes are wide and unblinking until he disappears. The moment he's out of sight, I squeeze my eyes closed so tight they hurt. Oh dear god, what the hell am I going to do?

From far away, I hear water running. What?

I make my way to the door of the large room on unsteady legs. Not only is the door to his bedroom open, but from how clearly I can hear the shower, so is his bathroom door. Clothes litter his floor, a shirt only a few feet from pants, and then oh god. I slam my bedroom door closed. Thank god there's a lock—not that I truly believe it will stop him.

Backing away from the door, my back hits the bed, and I jump. This isn't happening. I cannot believe this is fucking happening. I'm not being kept here against my will by a gorgeous Irish mobster who wants to fuck me .

Doesn't simply want to fuck me, he's lusting after me as if I were some…I don't even fucking know—sex goddess out to tempt him. With his stupid winking and teasing before he left, I was sure it was a game. I was something he was going to play with for amusement. If I gave in to him, he'd have some fun. If I didn't, he'd shrug and move on to a woman who did.

But it isn't fun and games. He is serious as a fucking heart attack. And he's not going to give up until I give in. I saw it in his eyes. He's going to do whatever it takes.

Shame flares bright at how he knew what he was doing to me. I wanted to slap him for saying it out loud. For taunting me with how my body refused to obey my mind. Then he moved or did I? All I knew was my breasts brushed his chest, and I don't know how I didn't slide down the wall—my knees went so weak.

It's so damn embarrassing how well he knew me. Knew how Michael never gave me an orgasm, never made me feel wanted or desired. How I was grateful in the end for the divorce so I wouldn't have to lay under him counting down the time until he was done. And the one that made me hate him, that I wanted Declan to tie me down and take me without me giving in.

The sound of him closing his door yanks me out of my head. Staring at the door, I hold my breath until I hear him go downstairs. I'm relieved, glad he's leaving me alone—for now.

My attention is caught by the pile of bags on the huge bed. I'm stunned all over again. He bought me clothes. The bags come from a store on Michigan Avenue I've never been in before. It's why I was so shocked. I didn't think they had fat women's clothes.

Curiosity has me opening the closest bag and pulling out the boxes. With each one, I'm unable to contain my happiness and excitement to wear these beautiful clothes. There are four more sun dresses, two that go to my ankles and two that go mid-shin, two silky maxi dresses, six pretty tops to go with three long, silky skirts, and three plain black leggings. Except that's not all.

There are two beautiful nightgowns. Well, one is a nightgown, long white and almost virginal, going all the way down to my ankles. The other doesn't look like it's supposed to be worn for long. It's black and thin and a mix of sheer and silk. And I'm blushing at the beautiful matching bra and panty sets, seven total in a mix of colors and silk with chiffon that are all in my size.

This is wrong. I shouldn't accept this. Except I have to, or I'm stuck in my suit until I'm done. Once again, it hits me. He's not letting me go without me finishing the audit.

What worried me was that whoever it was was good. After almost three hours, I found only one entry that made me question it. I didn't fight him too hard on me not leaving until I was done because I was confident I would find whoever it is easily. Except now, I'm not sure I will. It would likely take at least a week per ledger.

I run a hand over the beautiful silk maxi dress in a soft pink and shake my head. Just because I take the clothes, it doesn't mean I'm taking Declan.

My stomach growls. Shit. No. I'm not hungry. Only my stomach growls again. Another reason I'm pissed my purse disappeared from his office somewhere between the time we went in to dinner and when I tried looking for it after I ate. I kept a protein bar in it in case I couldn't leave for lunch or hunger hit me on the way home from work.

I decide to get ready for bed. If I'm asleep, I can't be hungry .

In the bathroom, I find half-used expensive shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. It's clear this bathroom doesn't get used often. I'm in and out of the shower quickly because my growling stomach demands it.

Wrapped in the soft, fluffy bath sheet, I run my eyes over the items on the vanity and am relieved when I find body lotion. Too bad there's no toothbrush, even though there's toothpaste. I make use of a small, fluffy washcloth to clean my teeth with.

In the room, I apply the lotion and then try and figure out what to wear. I'm not going to be able to sleep in the black thing for sure. My growling stomach demands food, warning me I'm not going to be able to sleep at all.

Giving up, I pick the white nightgown. I'm grateful it's lined and thicker than I thought it was, and nothing can be seen through it. I go still at the creaking of the stairs. Once again, I hold my breath as I wait. When his door closes, I'm relieved. I really am.

I decide to give it as long as I can stand before going downstairs, hoping he'll fall asleep. Giving in when my stomach begins to ache, I slowly open the door to my bedroom. When there's no movement from his room, I step outside. There is a gorgeous chandelier hanging over the landing, so I can't tell if his light is on or not. Another jab from my stomach gets me moving.

The stairs creak but aren't too loud. I go deeper into the house in search of the kitchen. The lights are off down here. While the chandelier is bright, this far in the back of the house, I can barely see anything. I find the kitchen more with luck than anything.

Running my hands over the walls, I find the light and flip it on. What a beautiful kitchen.

"Need help?" Declan murmurs from behind me .

"Jesus, you scared the fuck out of me." I whirl around to find him in nothing more than silky black boxers.

Oh my fucking god. It's just not fair. My mouth is watering at how his body is utter perfection. He's like something out of an air-brushed beefcake calendar. Except he's real. He has tattoos on his arms and his chest I can see through the thick black hair across his chest. The hair also doesn't hide how taut his honey skin is stretched over muscle and sinew?—

"Miranda, if you keep eating me up with your eyes. I'm going to take it as permission to bend you over the island and fuck you until neither one of us can move." The words are soft. His body isn't—oh god, the boxers are tenting as I watch.

I whip around, not caring about how unsafe it is to turn my back on him. "I'm hungry." I force the words out of my tight throat.

"I'll make you something. Sit."

My weak knees take me to the nook in the corner of the room, where a smaller table and four chairs are. I sit heavily, unwilling to look his way.

Except I'm not able to keep my eyes from finding him, curious about him making me something to eat. Michael wouldn't even make me a glass of water. As far as Michael was concerned, I was there to serve him.

Declan moves around the kitchen easily. Cutting cheese and chicken and slicing a thick loaf of homemade bread. He adds it, along with some cherry tomatoes and red grapes, to a plate before bringing it to me.

He sets it on the table. "What would you like to drink? "

"Water is fine. Thanks." I murmur. "The cheese is so good. What kind is this?"

"Irish white cheddar. It's got a bit of a bite to it, but it's a favorite of mine." This time he leaves the sparkling water in the bottle, handing it to me. For a moment, he doesn't let go of the bottle.

I lift my eyes to him without thinking. "What?"

One side of his beautiful mouth tips up. "You're welcome."

This asshole. "Thank you for making me something to eat. It's so nice when kidnappers don't lock their victims in rooms with only bread and water to drink."

Throwing back his head, he laughs. God, I hate him so fucking much. It would be better if I hated him as much as I want to though. "Ah, Miranda, look at it as one of those vacations you take. Instead of traveling, you sit at home and enjoy being waited on."

"How the hell do you know so much about me?" I demand, remembering the file he mentioned.

"Knowledge is power. Even more than money at times. Combine the two and…" he lifts a broad shoulder. "I have a contact with amazing hackers able to infiltrate the most secure servers in the world."

"That's gross. People picking over an innocent person's life." It gives me the creeps.

A nod of concession. "He is never happy about digging into innocents. Valdez has a hard honor code. If he thought you would come to harm, he would have stepped in and protected you from me. As I said before, all I need is the audit complete to find who is stealing. It's unfortunate for the both of us that the moment I saw you, I wanted you something fierce. "

"Excuse me?" I'm not hurt he makes it sound like a bad thing for him. He gets to come and go as he pleases. I'm the one who can't leave and doesn't want to get involved with him. "How the hell is it a bad thing for you? Oh, let me guess, I'm not your normal type who doesn't just roll over and beg?—"

His hand is around my throat, cutting off my words and bringing me up to him. I blink, and his mouth comes crashing down on mine.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

An explosion with the strength of an atomic bomb destroys everything that came before this moment. It's what he told me an orgasm could be—every cell in my body explodes, consumed completely and utterly in the fire, then slowly building me back together.

It starts as angry and commanding as the hand around my throat. I taste the coolness of mint and the burn of passion. A heady, intoxicating mix shooting into my veins, turning my blood hot and sticky. Turning me into an addict for more, for all of this.

Yes, I was a virgin before I met and married Michael. But I've kissed other men before.

This is no kiss. It's no simple tasting and twisting of tongues. This is a mating of souls. A dragging down to the most basic of instinct—a ferocious need to mark each other.

I cling to him, desperately needing to hang onto something to keep from being swept away. He gentles and all I want to do is crawl into his skin so that there's nothing between us.

An angry howl comes from nowhere, followed by a hiss scaring the shit out of me. Declan groans as he lifts his head. Blue is glowing with heat burning into my soul .

"Emeralds." It's more of a whisper to himself than anything. I don't understand.

Another screech and I find the source. A large, smoky gray cat is staring me down with angry, eerie green eyes.

As suddenly as he touched me, Declan lets me go. "Banshee, what the hell? Couldn't you see I was busy?" He says to the cat.

She winds around his legs. Sighing, he picks her up. The cat meows loudly, with a creak in it—sounding nothing like the demon cat from a minute ago. She rubs her face against his cheek.

"You named your cat Banshee?" I'm not sure why the sight of him big and broad, cuddling the cat is turning my tummy soft and melty.

"Banshee isn't my cat. She's her own. Aoife named her Banshee because of all the screaming she does for food and attention. If I don't pick her up and cuddle her, she'll scream the house down."

The cat stares me down. Her green eyes are spooky against her dark gray coat. "Hi, Banshee."

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't for a cat to roll her eyes at me. "Did she roll her eyes?"

A chuckle fills the room. "She does. Banshee isn't shy about letting her feelings be known."

"I always wanted a cat. I'm allergic, though. Unfortunately, I didn't find out until my mom got me a cat. I tried to do allergy pills, but I couldn't keep her after all." I sigh.

His smile disappears. "I'm sorry. I'll put her outside."

An angry howl comes out of her. "Hush now, Banshee." He scolds her .

Another hiss and she jumps out of his arms onto the table before jumping down onto the floor. Tail flicking, she leaves out a small pet door.

"Your cat is as insane as you are," I mutter, grateful she's gone.

Declan laughs. "I told you. She's not my cat. One day, she showed up, and Aoife was daft enough to feed her. She comes and goes as she pleases. I tried giving her to one of my men. His girlfriend loves cats. But she ran off after only a week and found her way back. I'm sure she's fed by a dozen others in the neighborhood."

"So the pet door thing was here when you moved in?"

"If I didn't put the door in, she kept me up at all hours, ringing the bell to be let in. It was either the door or drop her off in another part of the state." He explains—like it's no big deal.

I can't help laughing. As I open my mouth to question a cat ringing the bell, the doorbell sounds. "Holy shit. She actually rings the doorbell."

He sighs. "Fucking hell. I'm going to go disengage the bell. She's mad and will be at it all night if I don't. I'll be right back."

Opening what I thought was a pantry or closet, he takes the stairs down into the basement.

A giggle slips out of me. The man is manipulated by a cat and isn't really bothered by it. It was obvious the cat adored him, the way she rubbed all over him.

I'm jealous. I often wondered about getting a pet after I divorced Michael because he refused us having any pets. But since I spent ten hours a day at work, plus the time commuting, it didn't feel right to get a dog when they needed so much time and attention. The doorbell is ringing again when it suddenly stops .

Only a minute later, Declan appears again. "I?—"

Banshee is back, yowling like a demon escaped from hell.

"Jesus, what is the matter with her?" She swipes at me and hisses again. Ouch, that fucking hurt .

Declan moves fast and has her by her scruff. "That's enough of that. Get on with you."

He opens the door and sets her outside. The second the door is closed, he leans down and flips something above the small pet door. Banshee howls again. Sighing, he shakes his head.

I check my leg, and it's bleeding from a thin scratch.

"Sonofabitch." Declan mutters as he goes down on one knee and grasps my leg in a firm hold.

His touch causes me to forget all about the scratch. All I can remember is what the cat interrupted—a kiss that rocked my entire world.

"Is she always like that?" I push the words out when he finally lets me go.

"No. Never. If women are here, she ignores them. She's even let a few of them hold her. I'll be right back. Let me get some things to clean this. I don't want it getting infected."

I get up to follow him.

"Don't move." It's an order.

Sighing, I sink back into the chair. I study the scratch. It's not too deep or long, but damn, it hurts like hell. I'm trying not to think of his mention of other women—or how easily I almost became one of them. If the cat hadn't appeared, I would have begged him to bend me over the island the way he threatened .

He's back with bandages, an antibiotic ointment, a large towel, and a smaller washcloth. Setting everything on the table, he goes to a cabinet and takes out a measuring cup. I can't take my eyes off the fluid, graceful way he moves. He opens a bottle of still water, adds it to the measuring cup, and shakes a little salt into it.

"Salt water?" The scratch already stings like hell.

A nod. "I'm sorry, darlin', it will be the best way. It's either this or soap and water. You aren't to rub it. It could push any bacteria into you instead of rinsing it away."

"She's scratched before then?" I'm thinking of the women she let hold her.

"Oh yes, she's scratched me more times than I could count in the beginning. She didn't like me putting her in a carrier to take her to the vet. After that, she wanted to let me know what she thought of me. One of the times left me needing an antibiotic." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. If I thought she would take a swipe at you, I wouldn't have let her get close to you."

She scratched him, and he still took care of her, getting a pet door for her and everything. "So she's only scratched me and you?"

"Hm, yes. Jealous thing." He murmurs as he goes down on his knees with the measuring cup in one hand. Setting it down beside my leg, he takes the large towel, folds it, and puts it on the floor. His strong hand grips my ankle gently. Picking up my foot, he places it on the towel.

"Why would she be jealous of me and not all the other women you've had in your home?"

That damn eyebrow goes up as his eyes meet mine. "It was maybe a half dozen women, and they weren't allowed to do more than sleepover. I've never been down in the kitchen in the middle of the night feeding them or taking care of them."

He's down on his knees for me. The cat he clearly cared for kicked out of the house because it hurt me. And he's never done any of this for anyone else.

"Not even for my wife." The words are soft and destroy me in a way I didn't think possible.