Declan looked like he was about to deck Steve.
Then again, Steve didn’t seem to care what she thought. He only cared that the ruse of being friends with Declan happened at all.
“Declan,” she said smoothly, reaching for the man, having met him across the boardroom table once a year for his mother’s family trust. At most, she’d shaken his hand those seven times. But with a steely look that asked for his buy-in, she reached up—not much, for she was a tall woman—and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. His arms wrapped around her in a polite hug.
Her eyes met Gerald’s.
Who looked like he needed to kill both men now.
She pulled away, the smug look on Steve’s face making the decision for her. The next words out of her mouth had to happen.
Had to.
“Last time I saw you, Declan, you were naked.”
Steve gaped.
Declan played along by grinning, arching one dark eyebrow, and making a sexy sound in the back of his throat.
Voice infused with mirth and a low, sexy innuendo, she winked at him, then looked at Steve. “By the way, Steve—your Twitter stream is public.” She looked down at herself, then looked back up, and poked him in the belly. “And I am so not a 5.”
And without another word, she walked away, using the old runway model’s gait Kari taught her in college, knowing three sets of eyes were on her backside.
She only cared about one of them.
And he was the only guy she hadn’t just touched.
Chapter 5
“What just happened?” Steve said, his voice like a hot snot bubble. “I don’t understand. Naked? Suzanne’s seen you naked?” He looked at Declan, pointing an accusing finger. “Are you on a mission to sleep with every woman I’ve ever dated?”
“Shut up. And don’t you ever touch me again,” Declan snapped, making Gerald turn to Steve, blood pumping, his eyes taking in his opponent.
“But—”
“And you think she’s a 5? You tweeted that? Are you crazy?” Declan shouted.
“Hey, man, she didn’t have all that hot makeup on and that low-cut shirt at first. Now she’s a 7, maybe a—”
“Shut up!” Declan and Gerald said together.
“She’s at least an 8,” Declan argued. “And one thousand times out of your league.”
“What were you doing with her?” Gerald demanded of Steve in a low predator’s voice, not giving a shit what anyone thought, though the fact that Declan and Steve were talking about Suzanne as a number was getting old. Fast.
“I was on a date!”
“You were her date? You?” Gerald felt the animal in him flaring up, the deep, feral part of him that made rational thought splinter into thousands of slivers of himself. If he let it get the better of him, he’d lose days. Possibly a week. No way could this wasteoid fleshbag of festering ball sacs named Steve Raleigh unleash the phantom inside him that took over.
No.
Absolutely not.
Declan whipped around and looked at Gerald, eyes narrowing, sensing danger.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Declan said to Steve, who didn’t need to be told twice, skittering away like a frightened spider.
The sound of Declan breathing hard through his nose, body tensed and ready for fight, was all Gerald heard, until Declan muttered, “What did Shannon ever see in that douchebag?”
Gerald worked on his breathing, vision turning to fire at the edges, the rush of adrenaline and the sparks in his brain zapping him into nothingness. Suzanne was on a date with that slimeball? He knew exactly who Steve Raleigh was, under specific orders when Shannon and Declan started dating that Steve was considered to be a borderline stalker.
And an unctuous twat.
Declan’s exact words.
The thought of that bastard’s hands on Suzanne made Gerald’s own hands shake in rage, his thighs tightening, knees unlocking, ready to pounce. Red rage poured through him like water at a baptism, hellfire and brimstone turning his prior calm into a distant memory.
“Hey. Hey,” Declan said, his voice firmer. “You look like you’re about to pop a vein.”
“I’m about to pop him.”
“And that would land you in jail for assault. He’s just the type to sue.”
“Dead men can’t sue.”
“And jailed chauffeurs can’t teach great art classes.”
Gerald knew Declan was methodically talking him down, and simultaneously unnerved by the situation. Years of carefully controlling his emotions under tightly calibrated work conditions meant that Declan had only seen the placid, stoic version he showed the world.
Not this self.
And this had been the side of him that had dominated ten years ago, when he’d broken up with Suzanne for her own good.
A flash of movement under a streetlight in the distance, at the nearest light, caught Gerald’s eye.
Suzanne.
Sprinting, he left Declan befuddled, calling out his name, until the light changed and he watched as Suzanne marched forward with that confident walk of hers, shoulders squared as if she were still in morning formation and wore a uniform, wiping her mouth with a tissue and muttering to herself. He knew how the curve of her spine felt under his palms when she stood like that, the supple feel of the paradox between soft skin and hard bone a delightful feast for his fingers.
“Wait!” he called out, unsure and unbidden, moving on pure instinct. He needed to touch her. Would die without making that single, simple connection. Not just in an intimate sense. The need was more than that.
Suzanne got to the curb and stopped. She did not turn around, her body poised, waiting.