Declan still has a hold on my arm when we walk over to the table.
“I’m impressed,” I say, and it’s then that he releases me. When I look at him, I notice his jaw flex as he grinds his teeth. His focus is on the table and not me, so it’s with a soft voice, I speak. “Declan?” Looking over at me, I ask, “Are you sure this isn’t a bad time? I can go.”
He relaxes his face and runs his hand behind his neck and down along his lightly stubbled jaw. Releasing a sigh, he says, “Stay.”
Nodding my head, I turn away and take a step over to the arrangements and begin studying each one. There are five, each ornate and exquisitely put together. The designs unique and exactly what I had in mind.
I still when I feel Declan’s fingers graze the sides of my neck, and as I turn my head to see him standing right behind me, he moves his hands to the collar of my coat, and starts to slip it off my shoulders. Adjusting myself, I allow him to take my coat and watch as he lays it across the back of a chair.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
“What do you think?”
Keeping my eyes on him, I don’t answer immediately. I want the contact to see how he responds. It doesn’t take long for a sexy grin to cross his face.
“They’re perfect. I’m not sure how to pick one over the other.”
“So take them all,” he says.
“Take them all?”
“Why not? Who says you have to choose?”
“Isn’t there always a choice?” I ask with an undertone that states we’re talking about more than just flowers.
“Not when you’re a Vanderwal.”
With superficial offense, I say, “Is that what you think? That because of my name I simply take what I want?” He quirks a brow without saying anything, and I add, “Is that what you do? Because correct me if I’m wrong, but the McKinnon name sure isn’t one that people are not aware of.”
“Are we talking personal or business?” he questions.
“Business is personal when it belongs to you, and last time I checked, it’s your name that robes this hotel.”
He walks over to one of the other tables and takes a seat. Leaning back and resting one of his arms on the table, he says, “Yes. I take what I want.”
I stay put, standing by the flowers, and question, “In which case?”
“In all cases. Now stop standing there and sit with me.”
“Is this you taking?”
With a smile that he plays so well, he says, “Are you up for grabs?”
“No,” I state curtly. “And these games you tend to enjoy playing with me are getting old, and frankly, I don’t enjoy being toyed with as if I’m here solely for your entertainment. So again, cut the shit, Declan.” I grab my coat and start walking towards the door, hoping he makes the move I’m goading him into.
His hand grips the top of mine as soon as it hits the door handle, and I freeze, keeping my head down.
“Don’t go,” he says, and I remain silent as he continues to speak. “You’re not a toy, Nina, and I apologize if I made you feel that way.”
“So what is this?”
“This is me, simply wanting to get to know you,” he says, and when I look at him, he adds, “You say you don’t have friends, right?”
Turning my head away from him to avoid eye contact, he says, “Everyone deserves a friend, Nina. Even you.”
“And you think you’re gonna fill that void?” I ask, looking back at him. “What makes you think I need that?”
“Tell me then, who do you talk to about the things you can’t with your husband?”
I pull my hand out from under his and move to face him. “Who do you talk to?”
Silence.
“You expect me to just put myself out there when I don’t know anything about you? And what do you give me in return, huh?” I question.
“The same,” he answers. “So let’s start now. Before you knocked on my door a few minutes ago, I was on the phone with my father. He was being a f**kin’ knob as always, ridiculing me for decisions I’m making that he doesn’t have a say in, and it drives him crazy to not hold the power in this situation. So there you go, my father’s a bastard to me.”
His eyes are sharp as he says this, the intensity prevalent, and I feel like I just made progress. But I don’t want him pissed right now, so I break the tension, and make him smile when I tease, “A f**kin’ knob? Is this some Scottish insult you guys throw around because I’ve never heard anyone call someone a knob before?”
“Yeah, darling, it is, but if you prefer something more authentic, I can call him a fannybawbag, but then to the random American, I’d probably just sound like a pu**y.”
I laugh at his statement, but let it fall off my lips as I look down at my feet and quiet myself.
“What is it, Nina?” he asks, taking note of my shift in mood. When I don’t immediately respond, he takes my hand, holding it in his as he walks me over to a table and we sit down. “Tell me something about you.”
“I don’t know what you’re wanting.”
“Anything. Just give me a piece,” he says, but when he sees me hesitate, he offers, “Tell me why you don’t have any friends.”
I release a breath, giving him what I know he wants to hear. “Because I’m not from this world. I’m not like those women, and . . .” I stall, taking a moment before adding in a hushed voice, “I’m afraid they’ll judge me, so I rather they just fear me because it’s easier that way.” When I say the words, the truth that lies within them surprises me.