Chapter 6 - The Unspoken Truth
They returned to the penthouse in total silence.
The adrenaline that had carried Nora through the gala evaporated the moment the elevator doors sealed them inside the private residence. Her hands began to shake violently. The champagne flute she had managed to hold onto earlier was gone, replaced by a terrifying, hollow chill that swept through her limbs.
She walked into the living room, kicking off her heels, and collapsed onto the leather sofa. She pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face in the midnight-blue velvet of her dress.
Declan entered behind her. He shed his tuxedo jacket, threw his cuff links onto the credenza, and rolled his crisp white sleeves up his forearms. He approached the sofa and knelt beside her, his large hands immediately wrapping around her cold, trembling feet.
"It’s over, Nora," he said, rubbing his thumbs over her arches to bring warmth back to her skin. "The task force files were seized an hour ago by Internal Affairs. Carter’s offshore accounts have been leaked to the Department of Justice. But he will never see a courtroom."
Nora lifted her head, her mascara slightly smudged, looking down at this terrifying, magnificent man kneeling at her feet.
"You told him... you said at the gala that he touched your future wife." Her voice cracked on the last word. "Why did you say that, Declan? The press was listening. The board was listening. You don't have to keep lying to protect me. I know what I am. I know what you are."
Declan stopped rubbing her feet. He slowly stood up, towering over her, his expression unreadable.
"What are you, Nora?"
"I am an ordinary, overweight woman who happens to be good with numbers!" she cried out, the frustration of a decade of invisibility spilling over. "I have spent my whole life being the punchline! The girl people stand next to so they look prettier! The reliable secretary who stays late because nobody expects her to have a date on Valentine’s Day! You are a king, Declan. You could have any supermodel, any heiress, any princess in this country. So don't make promises you don't mean just to intimidate a dirty cop!"
Declan stood entirely motionless through her outburst. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he closed the distance between them.
He didn't yell. He reached down, grasped her waist with both hands, and hauled her off the couch as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. He lifted her until she was sitting on the edge of the high mahogany dining table, her thighs parted around his hips, trapping her against his chest.
"Do you really think," Declan growled, his voice vibrating deep in his chest, "that I am a man who speaks words for effect?"
Nora’s breath caught in her throat. His hands were gripping her hips—not hesitating, not avoiding her fullness, but digging into the soft flesh of her waist with an possessive hunger that made her entire body ignite.
"For three years," Declan said, leaning in until his lips were a millimeter from hers, "I have sat in boardrooms watching arrogant bastards talk over you while you ran circles around their pathetic minds. For three years, I have watched you wear shapeless sacks because this shallow, pathetic city made you believe you didn't deserve to be seen."
He slid one hand up her ribcage, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist, the fullness of her breast, until his thumb brushed her trembling bottom lip.
"I don't want a mannequin, Nora. I want a woman who can hold the weight of an empire without breaking. I want the only woman who ever looked at my darkness and didn't run. I have wanted you since the first day you told me to stop yelling at the dock workers and look at the logistics sheet."
Nora’s eyes went wide. "Declan..."
"I didn't say 'future wife' to scare Carter," Declan confessed, his voice dropping to a raw, ragged whisper. "I said it because the thought of anyone else ever touching you makes me want to burn this world to ash."
May you like
He closed the remaining distance and crushed his mouth to hers.
***
