When we walked in, I quickly glanced around for a place to set down these fucking boxes. I wanted to get the hell out of there. It looked like the coffee bar was the only open space. The place was extremely crowded, and I had difficulty navigating through the tables and chairs to get to it.
Peyton was in front of me. “Declan,” she called. “These are for you—they were delivered to the boutique by accident.”
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Nearly out of my mind, I considered dropping the boxes right where I stood, but that would only make a scene.
Someone lifted the top one from my grasp. Not just someone. Declan Mulligan. He still looked like the punk he was. Even at twenty-seven, his jeans were still baggy and cinched with a black leather belt complete with small spikes. He wore a short-sleeved T-shirt, and I could see all the new ink he’d gotten since I’d last seen him not long enough ago. He had the same multiple piercings in his ears and lip, and it looked like in his nipples now, too.
Shock registered on his face and he looked anxious. “Logan,” he gasped in a voice that spoke of way too many cigarettes.
I might have sneered at him. I really don’t know.
He looked down at the box in his arms.
He should be fucking anxious. He was lucky I never went after him. He was lucky I didn’t kill him the day I ran into him a few years ago when I saw him with his old man at a funeral. He was lucky word on the street said he was no longer involved with Tommy.
Panic and fear in his eyes, he twisted toward Peyton. “You could have just called down here and I would have sent someone to get the boxes.”
She waved her hand in a flirtatious way. “I’ve been in and out all day and I wanted to make sure you had them in case you needed them.”
She’d used me in a ploy to see him.
She’d fucking used me.
The bastard actually smiled at her. “That was nice of you.”
I dropped the box I was holding on top of the one in his arms and then turned to Peyton. “Come on, let’s go.”
My voice was tight and she gave me an odd look. “Go ahead.” Her tone clearly said I was an asshole.
Great.
She hurried to Declan’s aid but he didn’t accept her help. “I got it, Peyton. Look, it’s really busy in here—let’s talk later.”
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, willing patience. Then I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. “Peyton,” I said.
She turned toward me with a scowl on her face.
“I need to get back inside the boutique and get that black bag.”
Her eyes went back to Declan and she was clearly distracted. “Right, El—”
I cut her off. “I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry,” I said as calmly as I could considering I felt like my skin was about to bust open with the hatred that rushed through me. I also didn’t want her to even breathe Elle’s name near Declan.
It wasn’t until Declan was in the backroom that she finally started for the door.
I really didn’t have time for this shit.
Hustling, I caught up with her. “Sorry about that, but I really am in a hurry.”
Angered, she stopped and turned to look at me. “I had the wrong idea about you. I thought you were someone nice.”
Ouch.
Feeling like I had to somehow explain, I said, “Declan Mulligan and I have a history. And not a good one.” A pang nudged my ribs. What if Declan told Peyton everything and she in turn, told Elle? I didn’t want Elle to know that side of me. To pity me. Or hate me. To look at me differently. However, I was pretty certain he wouldn’t tell anyone about that night. It didn’t make him look good. Deciding to cling to that argument made me feel only slightly better.
She started walking again. “Well, whatever. I just hope you’re not an asshole to Elle, because she deserves someone nice.”
Speeding up, I turned to walk backwards and face her. “I promise you I’m not, but I don’t think Elle would stick around anyone who was.”
The red in her face began to fade. “I’m going to choose to believe you because my first instincts never fail me. But I have to tell you, I’m not so certain that Elle’s instincts are always spot on.”
My own instincts started to buzz. What did she mean? There were too many people on the sidewalk and I kept bumping into them, so I turned back to walk beside her and blatantly said, “You mean Michael.”
Her eyes dropped and she gave me a slight nod. “In the three months I’ve known Elle, you’re the first guy I’ve seen her with. Well, besides Michael, and I’m sorry, but I think he’s a creeper.”
My pace picked up as if every second counted now. “Tell me why you think that.”
“He just reminds me of my father. His wife’s in rehab and I’m pretty certain he’s fucking the nanny, although Elle tells me no. And I know he wants to fuck Elle.”
My muscles stiffened; that last part had me seeing red.
Peyton waved her hand. “I shouldn’t have said that. Just forget I did.”
I gave her a forced nod and lost myself in my thoughts.
We walked the rest of the way back to the boutique in silence. I grabbed Elle’s purse and looked toward Peyton. I wanted to tell her to stay clear of Declan, but I knew she wouldn’t listen to me without an explanation and there was no way I could give her one, so instead I said, “Lock the door behind me. You shouldn’t leave it open when you’re in here alone.”
She responded with something that sounded like “point taken,” or maybe that was just in my mind and she’d actually said goodbye.
I waited until I drove away to pull over and look inside Elle’s purse. It was small, and the only things in there were a comb, a tube of lip gloss, and a hair tie. I dumped it upside down on the passenger seat just to be sure.
Nothing else.
Fuck! No garage door opener.
That meant whoever broke into Elle’s car did so with the intention of gaining easy access into Michael’s house.
The question was—why?
What was in there?
ELLE
I knew almost every defensive maneuver in the book.
When to duck.
Where to weave.
How to dodge.
I’d studied so many different techniques over the past fifteen years, I was confident in my ability to defend myself. I also knew how to take the offense if needed. How to throw a punch—where to deliver a blow that would incapacitate a guy and let me get away. Firearms were nothing I was afraid of. I’d been taught to fire a weapon—how to stand steady and level my arms before squeezing the trigger.
In addition, I was a fast runner. I was confident I could outrun almost anyone.
My only deficiency? My size. And there was nothing I could do about that.
None of that mattered, though, when it came to guarding my heart.
It was utterly defenseless when it came to Logan McPherson.
That worried me.
The smile that bled across my lips as I parked my car in front of my townhouse was one I couldn’t hold back. Logan was sitting on my steps, waiting for me, and I felt my body go liquid when I opened the door.
Something was happening between us.
My stomach was a tangle of nerves as soon as I rounded the corner, and I swear my insides were slushing the closer I got to those ever-changing eyes.
What was wrong with me?
The response I received told me I wasn’t the only one feeling a little giddy. As soon as his eyes lifted, his smile quirked higher on one side, as if he was trying to charm me.
He didn’t have to.
He was doing something to me no man had ever done. Breaking me down. Reducing me to nothing but hormones. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but right now my mind wasn’t in charge. My body was. And it wasn’t leaving me options, so I had to let my feelings take their own course.
It wasn’t like I had a choice.