by Christa Wick
She didn't want to talk to Declan at all. She was too weak, would be too weak for a long time.
The door opened and she turned in her seat to make one last appeal to the TSA supervisor's common sense. Instead of the starched medium blue shirt with its black and gold TSA epaulets and black polyester pants, she saw an expensively tailored silk jacket and dress slacks.
Having memorized the narrowed waist and muscular thighs, she didn't need to look up to know that she would be having her talk with Declan after all.
She looked up anyway.
Less than nine hours had passed since she last saw him. He looked like it had been nine years. His eyes seemed hollowed out. The skin, warm and golden even when he wasn't being bronzed on set, looked pale and jaundiced under the yellow fluorescent lights of the office.
Which meant that she looked even worse than he did.
Cammie's words from that afternoon swam up and slapped Melanie.
They'll stop reminding you that you don't look like that Shayna bitch.
Right, she chided. She didn't care how washed out she appeared or how good Declan looked despite the sudden gaunt cast to his face.
She waited until Declan closed the door and sat down before she said anything.
"You should have told your friend to go back to doing his job when he called."
"Desperate men do stupid things."
His comment earned a snort from Melanie. "So do grateful ones."
The snort turned into an annoyed huff. "I'm not going to report him."
"I didn't think so," Declan confessed. "That's not who you are."
Right, she’d proven herself to be a pushover any number of times, first on the set with Suzanne then with the way she had let Declan treat her at the last airport they'd been in together and how she had let him boss her into leaving her apartment on Normandie.
Not wanting to think about all the lesser surrenders she'd made in the past few weeks, she directed her thoughts elsewhere.
"If the press finds out about this, they'll draw a parallel to what Strake is claiming you did."
His hand slid to wrap around the armrest of her chair. "But we both know differently. Isn't that what's important?"
"I keep trying to save your career—"
His fingers curled lightly around her wrist. "I'm happy to be one of those 'Whatever Happened to' headlines if it means being with you."
Freeing her wrist, she planted her head against her hands. "You are—"
Her mouth snapped shut as thoughts of Skye and Willie surfaced.
"Crazy?" he supplied. "It's okay to say it, Mel. I don't mind cluing you into the fact that you’re at least a little bit crazy, too."
"No." She fluttered both hands at him. His feelings, whatever they were, depended on her being sane, an even keeled pushover who didn't introduce any drama into his life.
Melanie's whole damn theory of his unnatural affection for her depended on her being sane.
"You’re here with me, risking your heart," he argued. "It's the craziest thing I've ever done."
She tried to turn away, squirming in her seat, but he reached across her lap with one hand, seized the other armrest and wrenched the chair so that they faced each other, her shorter legs tangling with his.
He leaned forward until his gray eyes were a hand's width away from hers, their noses even closer.
"Since I brought you into my bed," he scolded, "I've been attacked professionally and personally on a daily basis. If I wanted a quiet, drama free life, I would have dumped you back in your Normandie Avenue apartment."
Melanie straightened and slunk as far away as the chair's back would allow her to move.
"Since I've met you," he pressed on, "I've done things no rational man would. Including allowing Mike to risk his freedom and his ability to support his son."
Her face corkscrewed, the lips pushing out in a quiver. "You don't have to shout."
"You don't listen when I say it softly," he countered, his tone gentling. Releasing his hard grip on the arms of her chair, he cupped her chin.
"Touch my nose."
Melanie felt her brain swoosh and tilt inside her perfectly immobile head at the odd command.
"What?"
"Touch my nose."
She hadn't misheard him and he appeared earnest in the command.
"Why?"
He pulled away, his hands returning to rest against his thighs. His tongue swiped once between his lips and then he rolled them together.
"From the first time I realized there was something deeply wrong with my mother until the moment you told me you love me, I've been waiting to find out that I was a late bloomer for schizophrenia or some other mental illness."
She shook her head. She’d more or less accused him of acting like a crazy man, but she didn't think he was actually crazy. He was creative, intense, and a great many other things, but Declan Bain was not mentally ill.
"Think about how I was raised in a paranoid atmosphere. You remember what I said to you at your mother's house—the very first thing that left my mouth?"
"It had to be you," she repeated.
"Skye didn't just think the government was out to get her, or the aliens. She thought the entire universe was sentient and targeting her. When I turned around to find the woman I'd been fantasizing over for two months standing next to my estranged uncle’s new wife, I felt like the universe was out to get me. That scotch I threw back while you were inhaling the peppermint schnapps was the first alcoholic drink I've had since Willie's apartment fire."
She stared at him, eyes misting, but couldn't get her mouth or any other muscle in her body to work.
"The alcohol makes things that are already too vivid in my mind even more real," he explained. "It makes me walk and talk in my sleep and blurs lines between dreaming and an awake state."
Reaching up, he touched his nose, rubbing at the bridge between his eyes, his fingertip catching each time he hit a particular spot. It was a gesture she'd seen him make many times over, but not when he was stressed.
"When I was sixteen, I broke my nose trying to levitate," he explained, his Southie accent thickening. "I had dreamt that I learned a technique, quite by accident, that worked one hundred percent of the time. All I had to do was lean further and further forward and then I would be floating on air."
Declan paused and studied her for a second before he went on.
"Sometimes, I remember my dreams as fact days or months after I've had them."
He dropped his hand back to his lap. "So I learned to build in little reality checks. When I touch my nose in a dream, it's never been broken, so I know I'm asleep."
Feeling the last of her resistance crumbling, Melanie sagged in her chair. She searched her memory for all the times she'd seen him rub his nose like that, just more discreetly.
In the limo at the private airfield—that was the first time she could remember.
In the screening room was another.
And that first walk to his bedroom stood out in her mind because of how his cheeks had colored when she caught what he was doing.
The rubbing was one of those details she hadn't been able to fit into her picture of who Declan was and what he wanted until that very moment in Greggs' office.
Every time Declan had stroked that small spot, he was asking himself one question.
Was he dreaming? Was he dreaming she was with him, not running away, opening to him, accepting him, loving him?
Declan leaned forward, his body careful to avoid contact with hers.
"There are parts of me I was never willing to cede to my mother or Willie, Melanie. I have ceded everything to you."
Slowly, she lifted her hand, one finger tentatively extended, and stroked the bridge of his nose, the bump invisible but detectible by touch.
Closing his eyes, Declan grinned.
"I was actually itching to do that," he confessed.
Her finger slid lower, then she brushed three of them against his lips.
"All that time on set, I didn't think I deserved you," he whispered. "Or that you didn't deserve my baggage. I was afraid you wouldn't walk out of my life to save yourself if..."
Retreating, he glanced away.
"You bloomed late," she filled in.
His Adam's apple bobbed erratically, her heart bobbing with it.
"I'm sorry," she said, covering his hands with hers and leaning far enough forward she could rest her cheek against his. "I love you. I'm sorry I was too much of a coward to admit it this morning."
Before Declan could respond, a discreet knock sounded at the door and then it pushed open. Entering the room, Mike found Declan and Melanie pressed cheek-to-cheek.
"Either I need to hustle Miss Archer through security, or I need to record a reason why she has a boarding pass but isn't boarding."
She looked at Mike over her shoulder. "A reason?"
Was it illegal to lie to a TSA officer if he knew she was lying?
"Well," he answered. "You didn't check any bags, so that's good. If, say, you forgot prescription medicine—"
"Yes!" she blurted then her cheeks colored. "Do you need to know wh—"
Mike shook his head. "We have the discretion not to pry unless certain factors are present, and they are not present for you."
Exhaling, she realized she’d been holding her breath. Freeing a short giggle, she softly brushed the side of her nose against Declan's cheek.
"I'll just clear you in the system and then you can leave," Greggs said, emphasizing the leaving part before he walked out of his office and closed the door behind him.
Hesitating for a few seconds, Melanie rolled her lips.
"What is it, love?"
"I know there are paparazzi all over the world, but I'm getting pretty sick of Los Angeles."
He nodded. "I should have at least a few weeks' reprieve from anything to do with the lawsuit. We could visit your mother in Massachusetts, see how she's settling in. "
She had been fishing for that exact suggestion, but she quirked her mouth to the right. "Visiting my mom also means visiting Dodgy Roger."
Declan offered a quick lift of his brows and a side glance, his lips curving in a smile and his nose crinkling. "Where would you and I be if he hadn't showed up?"
She matched his smile with a broad grin then closed her eyes, her head bouncing with too much emotion. Opening her eyes, she gave him an impetuous peck just below his ear.
"When can we go?"
"A day or so," he answered. "I'll need to arrange a charter."
Looking down, his foot nudged her two bags.
"And we might want to pack a few more items. Maybe there's even time for you to finish that red dress?"
Her face lit up at the suggestion and she bobbed her head.
"Plus there's one more thing I want to do before we leave."
She looked at him, not only the question of "what" but complete trust stamped on her face.
He flashed another grin, his shoulders pushing forward for a second.
"The Alfa Romeo is parked in the lot outside. If we get out of here as fast as Mike wants us to, I think we can squeeze in a sunset drive up the coast."
She winked at him. "Top down?"
"Of course," he answered, closing in on a kiss that didn't end until Mike opened his office door and kicked them out.
41
They finished their drive at Oxnard, stopping for the night at the Mandalay Beach hotel. Dinner was brought up to their suite. Sitting on the balcony, curled around one another, they ate and watched night drape the ocean.
"I didn't think I was going to be this happy ever again," Melanie said when the meal was finished.
"It was very good sushi," Declan teased.
Pouting, she shook her head then buried her face against his shoulder. "You know what I mean."
"Sort of." He traced the curve of her jaw with the back of his fingers. Reaching her chin, he tilted her head up. "But I hoped I could find you before you gave up on us."
Ashamed of how she had run, she eased her chin from his grasp and hid her face against his neck, softening her retreat with warm kisses that quickly Declan relaxed into. Feeling something vibrate against her hip, she eased away.
"Your phone again."
Tension glazed her voice. The attorneys had called Declan twice since they had left the terminal at LAX. Technically, they called him half a dozen times, but he had turned the phone off after the first call and only turned it back on when he was registering for the room.
Declan had offered the barest of explanations as to why the attorneys were concerned. He promised more detail when the lawyers were done freaking out.
Which totally freaked her out.
"You should take it," she coaxed when he let it go to voicemail. "Or you can tell me why they keep calling."
"I'll do both," he said, planting a kiss on her forehead and standing up. "Then I'm turning it off for the night."
She pulled him down for another kiss before he could disappear into the suite.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice going husky.
"Or," he rasped, "I could leave the phone out here and take you inside."
A thrill shot through Melanie. Her grip on his shirt tightened but she shook her head.
"I want to ride you with a clear mind," she purred.
Declan groaned, buried his face against her neck then growled as the phone vibrated again.
"Bunch of sadists."
Sighing, he pulled the phone from his pocket and stabbed at the screen as he walked into the suite and closed the French doors.
Staring out at the water, the foam caps on the waves catching the moonlight, Melanie let the ocean calm her. Tomorrow, they would return to the mansion. She'd finish up her dress and they would both pack for the trip to Massachusetts and fly out the morning after. They planned at least a month in one of the cabins Roger owned at Laurel Lake in the western part of the state.
She only worried that whatever had the attorneys frantically trying to reach Declan would cause the trip to be delayed or cancelled until further notice. But as long as she was with Declan, it didn't matter where she was.
Exhaling, she tried to match her breathing to the waves, but they ebbed and flowed too slowly. Still, their rhythm relaxed her. Out there, time and pressure were grinding rocks and shells into sand. On the balcony and in the suite, time and patience would build up what others were trying to destroy.
Peeking over her shoulder, she looked past the lace curtains framing the French doors and caught a glimpse of Declan. He still had the phone pressed to his ear. His eyes were closed, but Melanie thought she detected relief on his features.
Forcing herself to turn back to the ocean, she waited for him to finish the call.
A few minutes later, the lights in the suite went out. Heart suddenly jackhammering in her chest, she jumped to her feet. Yanking open the door, she froze as Declan struck a match and held it to the wick on one of the many candles decorating the room.
"Sorry, love," he said, lighting a second candle. "Didn't mean to spook you."
"No," she softly replied, coming fully into the room and closing the door. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm more worried than I realized that things could still quickly fall apart."
Finished with the room's lighting, Declan crossed over to Melanie and drew her toward the small loveseat. Sitting down, he pulled her onto his lap and nuzzled at her neck.
"I should have been more open about the calls...and the meeting." His embrace tightened and he brushed his nose against her cheek. "I almost lost you because I didn't want to worry you this morning."
"Well," he chuckled in self-deprecation. "Because of that and other things."
Turning in his arms, she curled one hand around the side of his face and pulled him into a kiss. Heat infused her body as he responded with a slow sweep of his tongue inside her mouth.
"Curling my toes," she murmured, hooking the heel of her shoe on the edge of the couch and ea
sing it off then repeating the motion with the other shoe. Pulling her legs onto the loveseat, she rested her cheek against Declan's.
"Are you ready to tell me what's up with the attorneys?"
"I'm more ready for something else," Declan teased and gently bit at her earlobe. "But, yes. Best to get it out in the open so I have your full attention when I take you to bed."
Grinning, she pressed her face against his neck. If he kept talking about what he was going to do to her, she would forget about the attorneys and their calls entirely.
"Stop stalling," she admonished when she could straighten out her smile enough to talk.
"Fine, but my way's more fun."
He gave her bottom a light tap then started.
"Strake's attorneys threatened a counterclaim yesterday evening. Basically, if I was telling the truth, then most of what happened to his face occurred when you were out of harm's way, meaning I didn't have the 'defense of others' legal rationale to excuse pulverizing him. In addition to wanting ten million dollars and untold punitive damages, he was threatening to press criminal charges."
Melanie's mouth dropped open and she tightened her grip on Declan. Words stumbled on their way past her lips.
"What is he thinking? I can still press charges against him!"
"His attorneys argued that having no charges filed against him yet was proof that any contact between the two of you was consensual and, in large part, misunderstood mentoring on the costume challenges of a film that includes bondage."
Melanie's blood started to boil for all the wrong reasons. "That's exactly what he would have told the police!"
She started to pull away but Declan wouldn't let her.
"That was the bad news from this morning, baby girl." He gave another soft tap to her ass then squeezed. "Strake issued a video press release forty minutes ago. He publicly apologized for any misunderstandings and poor judgment on his part, blamed it on interactions with a new prescription medication and checked into rehab. Half an hour before that, he signed a settlement agreement."
"He settled?"
"Barely—he'll cover my legal fees and drop the counterclaim, in addition to the retraction he's already made," Declan explained. "But I imagine the studio will be quick to kick in a couple million for their breach of contract. Even if they don't, I'm glad there's one less threat to us."
