Yet, he said he believed in his clients. He acted as if he didn’t morally break the rules. Could that be true? God, why did she want it to be so damned bad? Someone knocked on the door and she jumped. She had to go back out there. She had to move. Only her feet seemed planted in the spot she stood. The plain and simple truth came down to fear. Declan scared the hell out of her. She barely knew him, yet he made her feel more than any other man ever had. Her life felt out of control and he, somehow, felt like a white knight. Without even sharing what was on her mind, his touch, his nearness, made her forget. Made her feel safe. It was nuts. Crazy. But…true. She let out a shuddered breath. She needed him right now. Her family trouble had her tied up in knots. Maybe she should just go have another glass of wine and stop thinking so much.
With that thought, she reached for the door and decided to go face Declan and her own fears. She made it all of two steps out the door and just past a couple of snooty remarks about how long she was in the bathroom when a strong hand lightly shackled her wrist. Zoe looked up to find Declan leaning against the wall in the hallway leading to the bathrooms, waiting for her. He urged her forward and she let him, feeling her heart pound a rhythm against her chest.
“You’re always running from me,” he said softly, his blues eyes seemed dark, no color visible. And warm, like a smoldering fire.
“Not from you,” she half whispered.
His brow inched upward in question.
“From me,” she answered.
“Don’t you want to know what this is between us?” he asked.
“I…I do,” she said.
He leaned close, his breath warm and sensual on her neck and ear as he whispered, “So you admit it’s more than sex?”
She swallowed and nodded leaning back to look him in the eyes. “This thing between us makes no sense.”
“This is just as unexpected to me.”
Tilting her head, she studied him. She knew his words were true. The press had made him out to be a bit of a playboy. He’d dated a couple of models and even an actress. Funny, but until this moment she hadn’t even thought of that. She supposed it should make her feel insecure, but it didn’t. The attraction between them was real. Her concerns about Declan didn’t come from his prior personal life. But then, right now as he leaned toward her again, his spicy male scent sliding into her nostrils, she couldn’t remember what her concerns were.
“Let’s go to my place.”
Her stomach flip-flopped. His place? That meant no control for her. It scared her. She should insist on going to her apartment. But then, the chance to see more of his world appealed for some unknown reason.
“All right. Your place it is.”
* * * * *
They stepped onto the sidewalk and made it all of a foot before cameras started going off. Declan felt his stomach tighten. Shit. The last thing he needed was his picture in the paper with Marks’s daughter. He pulled Zoe close and lowered his head. “I take it this is about your father?” he asked.
Before she could answer, reporters started cramming microphones at her and asking questions.
“Is your father guilty?”
“Will you support him in court?”
“Ms. Marks…”
“God,” Zoe said, “I hate this.”
Declan turned her toward the restaurant and shoved her through the door. He shoved money at the hostess. “I need a back door and a cab.”
He was almost certain he’d avoided the cameras. Almost. Telling Zoe about his firm was now mandatory.
Damn it. Progress made. Progress lost. No telling how she was going to react.
Chapter Thirteen
Declan’s apartment had a comfortable feeling. As if it was home. Which, of course, to him, it was. The thing that struck Zoe as odd was that it made her feel that way. Warm browns helped set the comfortable mood as did dim track lights. There weren’t flashy colors or fancy statues. The large living room sat directly off the entrance. A huge bar framed a large kitchen. A stairway led to the other rooms.
Sitting on an incredibly soft, light brown leather couch, Zoe waited on Declan to pour her a glass of wine. He seemed intent on taking things slow. She wasn’t against it tonight. Everything she was feeling was foreign and hard to digest. Directly in front of her was a brick fireplace. Above it a huge picture of a landscape. She knew the artists. After all, the men in her life had all been artsy to this point.
Declan appeared, holding two glasses, and sat down next to her. She accepted her drink and smiled. “I like your place. It’s not what I expected.”