There’s a flash of black in my peripheral vision, then Declan kicks the knife away.
He grabs me and drags me to my feet. He throws his arms around me and crushes me against his chest, cursing.
“Bloody stubborn woman,” he rasps, giving me a hard shake. “Jesus, Mary, and fucking Joseph, you’re bloody mad!”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me ravenously. I let him, curling my shaking hands into his jacket and trying to remain standing, though my legs are shaking, too.
When we come up for air, the kitchen is empty except for the two of us.
“Goddammit, Sloane. Goddammit.”
He slides his hands into my hair and grips my skull. He gives me another shake, his chest heaving. Then he presses his forehead to mine and closes his eyes, exhaling hard.
“Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again.”
I can’t help it. I start to weakly laugh.
“I’m bloody serious!”
“You’re bloody nuts.”
“I’m nuts? You were about to cut off your finger for a man you barely know!”
“It’s the principle.”
He’s outraged. “The principle?”
“Yes. The principle. I only have a few of them, but they’re airtight. One is that I don’t cause other people’s suffering if I can help it. Another is that I own my shit. I don’t blame anyone else but me for what goes wrong in my life. Put those two together, and you’ve got me kneeling on the kitchen floor threatening my pinkie finger with a knife.”
He kisses me again. It’s frantic. “Fucking mad,” he mutters to himself. “Bloody hell.”
“You’re the one with the multiple personalities. You walked in the door like the Terminator.”
He winds his arms around me and pulls me close. His heart beats frantically against his breastbone. His hand wrapped around my head trembles. He rocks me slightly, catching his breath.
“I just can’t leave you alone. Ever. That’s the only solution.”
My voice muffled against his chest, I say, “Don’t worry. I won’t speak to any of your men ever again. Lesson learned.”
“I doubt you’ll have a choice in the matter, considering they’ll all be laying wreaths of roses at your feet every day from now on.”
“I like the sound of that. Where did you go?”
“Give me a minute. I’m still in cardiac arrest.”
He picks me up in his arms and carries me out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom. He sets me down next to the bed and strips off all my clothing, does the same to himself, then pushes me onto the bed and crawls in next to me. He drags the sheets and blanket over us, pulls me into his side, and holds me so tightly, it’s like he’s afraid I’m going to disappear in a poof of smoke.
After a while, I say, “I’m sorry I said that thing about burying the knife in your skull. I didn’t mean it.”
“You did.”
“Okay, that’s true. But I would’ve regretted it if I did. I would’ve cried really hard at your funeral. And I shouldn’t have said it in front of your men. I apologize. But I can’t guarantee I won’t push you into traffic if you hurt one of those guys. They adore you. And it really wasn’t their fault.”
“The infamous Tinker Bell charm.”
“Exactly.”
“You should give them back the money you stole from them.”
“I didn’t steal it. I won it, fair and square.”
“Aye? So you told them you ‘slay’ at poker, the same way you told me?”
“Of course not. It’s all part of the game.”
His sigh is heavy. “You’re lethal, lass.”
“I enjoy throwing on my crown to show people who they’re dealing with. Where did you go?”
“For a walk.”
Not altogether convinced, I repeat, “A walk.”
“On the beach.”
He went for a midnight stroll on the beach in combat boots? “Was there a baby seal you needed to club?”
“I needed to clear my head. And to give you some space. You were upset about how the conversation ended.”
When I don’t say anything, he adds, “I’m putting you in my will.”
“Oh, no. Not the money thing again.”
“Aye, the money thing again. You said something about your girlfriend that stuck with me.”
“What?”
“That it would kill her if anything happened to Kazimir.” Caressing my cheek, he gently kisses me. His voice turns husky. “It made me think about how you’d react if something happened to me.”
“I’d be too preoccupied sorting through all the diamonds in the closet to really pay much attention.”
“Bollocks.”
“You’re trying to get me to tell you how I feel about you again, aren’t you?”
“Aye.”
“Will you use it against me when you start talking your craziness about marriage?”
“Aye.”
“Then I won’t tell you.”
“I want to hear it. I need to hear it. You said you were intoxicated, but I’m beyond that. I’m addicted. If you don’t give me another fix, I’ll go mad.”
His kisses are tender and quick, gentle pecks peppered over my lips, cheeks, and chin. He’s bribing me.
“Fine. You have beautiful hands.”
He pauses the kisses, lifting his head to look at me. He arches a brow.
“For god’s sake, Declan, you know I’m no good at this.”
“You’re better than you think.”
I exhale a hard breath, take his hand, and press it over my pounding heart. “Here. Just feel that. That’s how I feel about you, you bossy ass.”
He looks at his hand. He spreads his fingers wide and presses down. He closes his eyes. After a moment, he says with quiet wonder, “Our heartbeats are in sync.”
Those few words fill me with a kind of fear I’ve never known. It’s dread, pure and cold, and it sinks all the way through me, straight down into my bones.
Once it’s started, a thing as powerful as two hearts beating in time together is impossible to stop.
Help. I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.
“Don’t look so scared.”
“You said total honesty. My face is just going along with the plan.”
He says drily, “I also said total obedience.”
“Two out of three isn’t bad.”
His gaze sharpens. “Is that your way of telling me you trust me?”
My laugh is soft but exasperated. “Isn’t it obvious? Any other man who tried to make me call him sir would already be a eunuch.”
He cups my jaw in his big hand. “And what about me?” he says, all sudden fierceness and fiery eyes. “Can I trust you in return?”
“Dial it down, Intenso. Why does everything have to be so life or death?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not even sure what you’re asking. It sounds like a hell of a lot more than the normal definition of trust. Do you need a heart transplant you’re not telling me about, and you want me to be the donor?”
“I will need a heart transplant by the time this is all over.”
“Great. That’s very illuminating, thank you.”
He glares at me. I want to harm him with a stick. “How about if you tell me what your definition of trust is? Let’s start there.”
He ticks off a list like he’s got it tattooed on his brain. “No lies. No hiding. Complete loyalty. Complete dedication. Your life before mine, and vice versa. Everything I have is yours, and vice versa.”
“Sounds like joining a cult.”
“I wasn’t finished.”
“Jesus.”
“We always have each other’s back. We always keep our promises. And secrets are a thing of the past.”
His voice dropped on the last one. Dropped lower and gained weight, like a sinking ship taking on water.
Looking at him closely, I say, “You have a lot of secrets, don’t you?”
“You know I do.”
“And you want to tell them to me?”
“I want you to understand who I am.”
“I think I already do.”
“No, lass. Your understanding is the outer layer of an onion. The dry, thin skin. To get to who I really am will take a bit of concentrated peeling.”
“I have no idea where you’re getting your metaphors, but I’d like to point out that trust is something that evolves over time. It’s organic. It’s based on experience.”
“Wrong. Trust is a decision. You can make it between breaths.” He pauses for effect before he delivers his killing blow. “Like you did with me in the shower.”
I hate it when people have excellent memories.
“Hold on. Let me uncross my eyeballs. Are you saying that if I told you right now that you could trust me, that would be it? You would?”
“Aye.”
“And you’d tell me all your onion peel stories?”
“Aye.”
“Pardon the insult, but that seems extremely naïve for a man in your position.”
“It would be, if I didn’t already know you’d never say I could trust you if I couldn’t.”
Dammit. This relationship will never work if he’s going to be right all the time. “I propose a compromise.”
“I don’t like compromises.”
“What a colossal surprise. As I was saying, I think there’s a middle ground somewhere between the two extremes. Why don’t you tell me one secret, and we’ll go from there?”
When he only stares at me, lips flattened, I say, “A small one. Like why you never wear a color other than black. Think of it like trust with training wheels.”
After a moment where he practices his glower, he says darkly, “There will come a time, lass, and very soon, when I’ll need to know one way or the other.”
He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. Then he rises, gets dressed, and leaves the room.
When he still hasn’t returned three days later, I’m in a panic unlike anything I’ve ever known.
Because according to the news, the boss of every mafia syndicate in the country is being murdered, one by one.
