Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

P iper leaned back from the computer, unable to stop thinking about the kiss with Declan earlier.

The many kisses. The dance. Declan's smile. His protectiveness when they'd run into Clark.

Declan made her feel again. He made her want again. He made her soft.

She didn't want to be soft.

She had a goal. A goal she'd fought her entire life for. A goal that kept her mother's dream alive, which made her feel close to her. And now, she was on the verge of losing it forever. She had to stay focused. Not trapped. Not derailed. Not distracted by a man.

But the way he kissed…

The way he made her feel…

No.

It had all been for show anyway. There were no feelings involved. Just acting.

So, she had nothing to worry about, and she needed to focus.

Piper cleared her throat, sat back up, and refreshed the society page in the local paper again, looking to see who was dating, who had recently become engaged, who she might be able to secure as a client for her firm .

But she couldn't focus.

Dammit.

She shoved back from the desk and stood up. She was freaking out, and she didn't have time for that. She needed to calm down. Her yoga mat was upstairs, and she was afraid if she went up there, she'd just crawl into her bed.

She didn't have time to crawl into her bed and hide from life. She'd allow five minutes of meditation on the kitchen floor, which was just uncomfortable enough that she wouldn't fall asleep for hours and wake up at four in the morning, stiff, cranky, and unproductive.

Yes, she'd done that. Many times. Meditation was helpful, but it led to a long nap more often than she liked, so she'd learned to manage her meditation challenges.

She grabbed a dishtowel as a pillow for her head, stretched out on the unforgiving, hard floor, and closed her eyes.

The tile was cool, but the night was warm enough that it felt good.

She took a deep breath, then wiggled herself more comfortably onto the tile.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

She focused on her breath, and her hands fell to her side limply. Her belly began to loosen, and she pictured herself sinking into the tile, her body so relaxed?—

The front door slammed open, and she bolted upright as Declan came racing in, panic in his face. "Piper!" he shouted.

"What? Holy crap! What?" She jumped to her feet, grabbed a wooden spoon, and held it up, ready to fight. "What's going on? Who's after us? Serial killer? What?"

Declan skidded to a stop, staring at her as his breath heaved in his chest. "What the fuck?"

"What? What is it?" She spun around, her heart hammering. "Watch out!" she shouted to the unseen danger. "I'm armed! "

Declan put his hands on his knees, staring at her, disbelief on his face.

She was starting to freak out. "What is it!" She grabbed the electric can opener from the counter and held it up. "I swear, Declan, if you don't tell me?—"

"I thought you were dead."

"What?" The can opener still above her shoulder, she stared at him. "Who was dead?"

"You!" He started laughing. "Hell, Piper. Why were you lying on the floor like that?"

"I was meditating." She lowered the can opener. "Wait a sec. Nothing's wrong?"

"No. Because you're not dead. Hell. Don't do that again."

"Lie on my own floor?" She was still trying to recover from the panic he'd thrust her into. "Why were you spying on me?"

"I wasn't spying." He sat down on a bar stool, still laughing. Or crying. It was unclear through her subsiding freak-out. "I came over to talk to you, and then I saw your feet sticking out from behind the island. I thought you were dead. Fucking meditation? Hell, Piper, on the tile floor? You haven't heard of a yoga mat?"

She set down the can opener. "I have my reasons." She held up her hands, which were now shaking. "I was meditating to relieve stress, and you just sent it through the roof."

"Well, you freaked me out, so we're even."

"Even? How are we even? I was minding my own business in my own home, and you broke in, shouting like a wild man, scaring the piccalilli out of me!"

"Piccalilli?"

"Yes!" She pointed the spoon at him. "Go away. You are not wanted."

He didn't move. "I was protecting you."

"I don't need protection." She held up the can opener. "Obviously."

He cocked an eyebrow. "What were you going to do with that? "

"Throw it."

A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "Really?"

She narrowed her eyes. "The level to which I abhor your skepticism is immeasurable. Follow me." She headed for the back patio, not even waiting to see if he was coming.

He did. Because he was a man, and men couldn't deal with being wrong.

She got to the patio. "Pick a target."

He raised his brows. "All right, I recant my skepticism with the can opener. You don't need to?—"

"Pick one."

He sighed and pointed to the lamppost about ten feet away, about four inches wide. "That."

"You'll buy me a new can opener and fix the lamppost when I hit it?" She knew she could be overreacting, but stress did that to her. He'd terrified her, and then had made her want to feel all warm and snuggly when he'd said he was protecting her.

She loved that he was protecting her. Absolutely freaking loved it. Which is why she had to end that nonsense now. Because she was also pissed that he'd run into her home, uninvited, and scared the daylights out of her.

Declan grinned. "Sure. I'll take care of it all."

Oh…that arrogant, attractive man. He didn't believe she could do it. "Okay." She turned toward the lamppost, hefted the can opener, took aim, and then hurled it.

It smashed into the lamppost and exploded into itty bitty can opener parts all over the patio with an extremely satisfying crash. Wow. What a brilliant throw. She was so impressed with herself. That could easily have ended in a complete miss, but she'd nailed it.

Yay for Piper.

Declan stared at the carnage. "Damn."

Exactly. "Yes. If an intruder ever shows up, he'll be the one who needs protecting." She glared at him. "Now go away." She turned and headed back inside .

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"Softball. And brothers." She walked inside and shut the door.

He opened it and followed her in. "You threw can openers at your brothers? Are they all dead now?"

She tossed him a grin over her shoulder. "It was impressive, wasn't it?" Honestly, it had been a bit of a crap shoot about whether she would actually hit the lamppost. It had been a while since she'd used that particular skill. Plus, can openers were tricky little things, and the lamppost had been pretty narrow. If she'd missed, Declan would have gotten to run home feeling all smug in his manly superiority.

But she'd been mad, the can opener had been handy, and she'd aced it.

"How'd you get shot? Your brothers?"

She laid back down on the floor and closed her eyes. "I'm meditating."

He crouched next to her. "I need to know why you got shot."

"I'm sorry. Did I not tell you that I'm meditating now? That means I'm not available for talking."

He sat down. "Piper. I need to know why you got shot."

Something about his tone caught her attention, and she opened one eye. He was leaning back against a cabinet, his arms draped over his knees, his gazed hooded and tense. "What's wrong with you?"

He rubbed his jaw. "My wife Diana was a cop. She was undercover. We raided the place. She got shot. Died in my arms."

Holy crap. Piper sat up quickly. "I'm so sorry, Declan."

He waved off her sympathy. "I'm edgy when it comes to people getting shot now. Especially women I'm engaged to."

"If it helps, we're not actually engaged."

The corner of his mouth quirked into the tiniest little smile. "It doesn't appear to help. I nearly lost my mind when I thought you were dead."

"Did you? I didn't notice."

His smile widened. "I haven't kissed anyone since Diana. Haven't held a woman since Diana. I know our intimacy is fake, but it's still a real event. It's stirring up a little PTSD for me that I didn't expect."

Guilt flashed through Piper. "No problem. We'll call it off. I'll tell April that you got called away on business?—"

"No."

"I think that's a good idea. We can't have you bursting in here and losing your mind every time I engage in self-care." Even as she said it, regret gnawed away at her. She didn't want to call it off. At all. Because of her career. Not because she wanted to hug this man who was baring his soul to her, then drag him into her bed to make them both forget about past relationships that still haunted them. Definitely not that.

"I've been hiding for three years. You make me not want to hide anymore."

"Oh." Was that a good thing? She kinda thought it was. "You're welcome?"

He laughed softly. "I'm not going to lie. Even if we called it off, I'd probably still come barging in here if I think you're in danger or dead, but it's okay. You can throw the can opener at me."

"If you're dead, then I have no fiancé, so throwing can openers at you won't work for me." She was so happy he didn't want to call it off. Too happy. Dammit. She needed some perspective. "I'll see you at Maddie's store tomorrow morning then?" She closed her eyes again, but all she could see in her mind was him holding his dead wife.

Dammit. That was heavy stuff. She felt terrible for him.

"Why were you shot?"

She understood now why he was asking, but that didn't make her any more willing to tell him the truth. If her past got out, it would destroy everything she'd worked for. Even the best strategy, connections, and hard work couldn't overcome some things, and that included her past. Even Clark hadn't known about her past. And with Declan being a cop? No way. "Skeet shooting accident," she lied .

He raised his brows. "Skeet shooting?"

"Yep. Want to see the scars?"

"Yeah."

She pulled up her shirt and pointed to her hip. The bullet hole was white and puckered, an old scar that had healed. He frowned and ran his hand over it. "Skeet, you say?"

"Yep." Um, hello? His hand on her hip was too intoxicating. She batted his hand away and glared at him.

"Where's the other one?"

She pulled the collar of her shirt to the more recent scar on her shoulder, the one that had galvanized her to finally take action. He touched that one, again sending electrical bolts of Hallelujah through her. "Those aren't from skeet shooting. Different bullet."

Wow, she definitely should have predicted that. The man was a cop, after all. He'd know his ammo. So much for deflecting his attention from her past. "Skeet shooting," she repeated firmly. "Bye."

She closed her eyes and laid back down again.

He didn't move.

Finally, she spoke. "I'm sorry about your wife, Declan. I can't imagine how terrible that was." Just talking about it made her throat tighten. She wanted to cry for him. With him. To rip the pain out of his heart, to give him back the life that was snatched from him.

"Thanks." He was quiet for a minute. "I do need to worry about you, don't I?"

"What's the point of worry? It gets you nowhere. You have to set your goals and keep moving." She wiggled to get more comfortable, trying to inject a lighter tone into the moment, but she couldn't drag her heart away from his pain, and his past.

"I guess." He still didn't move.

She finally opened her eyes. "What?"

"I came over here to call off our deal. I didn't think I could take it. Too much PTSD having a woman to kiss and think about, even if the engagement isn't real. But then you yelled at me and threw the can opener, and things felt okay again." He looked at her thoughtfully. "You may be what I need."

Her heart turned over. If she could help him heal, that would be such a gift to her. She felt like she was always sprinting on a treadmill, trying to get over the next hurdle, never really mattering to anyone. To make a difference to him would be…amazing. "I do think that sometimes people are put in your way for a reason," she said. "But I'll warn you. I'm feeling very emotional and touchy-feely right now, but that's most likely temporary. I'll probably yell at you again."

He grinned. "It was the yelling and the destruction that pulled me out of my funk. I've had enough sympathy. I don't want it anymore."

She let out a breath. "All right. We might be okay, then."

"Yeah." He still didn't get up, so she did.

"All right. I'll see you tomorrow," she said pointedly.

He grinned and rose to his feet. "Trying to get rid of me?"

"Yes, I still have work to do." She shooed at him. "Go away?—"

He caught her wrist.

She met his gaze, and before she could decide to yell at him, he gave a gentle tug, pulling her off balance. She tumbled forward, and he caught her against him, his body warm and hard against hers.

"Oh, man…" she muttered.

Not giving her a chance to decide how to proceed, he kissed her.

A kiss that would break her heart wide open if she let it.

She had to stop. Kissing in private put a whole different spin on their relationship.

Then he angled his head to deepen the kiss, and she forgot about everything but the man whose arms were wrapped around her, and his decadent, deviously, oh-so-tempting mouth.