Declan's Demand

“Yes.”

“What do you need?” Selma also

has this amazing closet of clothes. I don’t know where they come from, but I’ve seen that some of the dresses still have price tags on them.

“I’m not sure—something sexy. I need heels.” I smooth out my brow in the mirror and trace my lips with my finger. They feel small and thin compared to Declan’s full mouth.

“So you’re going to go out with Jason?” She looks hopeful, almost too hopeful that I might consider breaking the dry spell of my dating life.

“Jason?” I turn looking at Selma, who is smiling herself.

Jason is the guy with soulful green eyes who has been coming into the shop for a month, asking me out between his order of coffee and chocolate chip scone. I decline him each time he comes in because I don’t want him involved in my mess. This situation with Dad needs to be resolved before anyone gets hurt.

“Not Jason, no,” I tell her. I have to give her credit for trying to look disappointed.

“Can you break it to him easy so he can ask me out instead?” She bats her eyelashes coyly, making me laugh. Selma shouldn’t have any problem courting Jason’s attention, with her sexy curves. Commanding a fair amount of attention all on her own, she’s not at a loss for dates on Friday nights. Jason’s interest in me is surprising, but I don’t have time in my life for a boyfriend. Apparently I’m in the market for a sugar daddy, despite my reservations.

“How about this: I’ll tell Jason you’re interested next time he comes in, but I need the dress and shoes for Friday.”

“You’d look good in blue—maybe navy?” She taps her chin.

I shrug. “I’m not picky, Selma.”

“Anything for my girl.” Winking, she leaves.

Husking a deep breath into my chest, I resign myself to do this. The house is mortgaged to the hilt and I don’t even own a car. I should tell Declan that you get what you get and you don’t get upset, like I told the kids I used to babysit. I don’t know where the maudlin thought comes from; I doubt their mother would want me as a babysitter now, but I chuckle into the mirror.

I’m going to offer up my body for my father’s debts.

Chapter Three

Declan

A tapping nail pulls my attention upward from the stack of contracts I’m reading. A headache is throbbing in my head, and if I can leave early tonight, I will.

“Your stray returned.”

I look up, stretching my neck lazily and pretending to not look.

Tabby nods to the stairs leading down into the club pumping with music. The week has come and gone, keeping me busy checking shipments and working between the office here and the one from home in Back Bay. I’m looking forward to a quiet evening of drinking, and maybe fucking a girl who knows the deal and won’t expect platitudes and presents afterward. I like to think my prowess between the sheets is gift enough.

Rolling my eyes, I finish my shot of tequila, letting the alcohol scorch a smooth hurt down my throat and then slamming the glass on the counter. Somehow I think I knew whiskey wasn’t strong enough for tonight. Glancing at the prey holding a tentative court at the top of the staircase, I look around at the men who see her. What the hell is Sydney doing back here? I doubt ignoring her presence will make her go away. She’s a persistent little thing, and punishing her torments me. I can tell a few men have ideas of their own, and I don’t like it.

Muttering “bloody hell,” I stalk off to my lounge, disregarding the interloper. If she wants me so bad, she can work for it. I’ll let her run the gauntlet of lecherous stares and groping hands, as much as it bothers me to grin and bear it. The temptation to throw her out increases with each passing minute. She doesn’t belong here, but the need to see how far she will take things wins out, pinning me to my seat. Besides, I have the enjoyment of advising Neil that he’s lost his bet with Tabby.

“Dec.” Joining me, Neil salutes me with a drink and I follow with another. He hasn’t seen Miss Meadows yet, and a smile cracks my face for a change. I’m going to enjoy telling him, and follow it by consuming copious amounts of alcohol. Other women are the last thing on my mind after seeing Sydney here in my space.

I point in her direction, speaking. “Thought you should know you lost your bet with Tabby.”

Neil’s brow furrows and he turns half around watching the delectable Miss Meadows nearly stumble down the club steps in her too-tall heels, body encased in a short navy trench coat that leaves little to the imagination.

God, I want to tear it off her like an orange peel and stab my fingers deep into the layer of dark, stiff cotton, hearing the organic material rend. The need to rip it off, not caring how it ends up torn on the floor, overwhelms me.

Neil grunts. “You seem pleased by this, Dec. I thought you said she wouldn’t be back. Like ever, if memory serves me correctly.”

“Yes, and I also heard it’s a virtue admitting when you’re wrong.” I’m rarely wrong, but in this case I set myself up for failure miscalculating her moves.

Neil watches her descent into the club. His eyes follow her, as do mine. It pisses me off—Neil ogling her barely covered ass and shapely legs.