Shopping for a Billionaire 2(21)
Author: Julia Kent

Fine. I text back. Make reservations at the same restaurant we were at yesterday. Seven. KTHXBYE!

I do that for two reasons. 1) He hates to spend money. Too bad. 2) He hates textspeak.

Okay, maybe for a third…because a part of me does want to see him.

“Shannon,” Declan says from behind the door. “If this is a bad night…”

I grab the doorknob like it’s a life preserver and yank it open.

There’s Dad, wearing my penguin pants, looking about as comfortable as Steve at a monster truck pull. Declan is the picture of calm and cool, unruffled and in the moment, though he seems primed, ready to move on and get the hell out of here.

Me too. Not the calm part, but the leaving part.

I pull Dad aside. “May I have a word?” Declan’s eyes scan my body as I try to catch his gaze to communicate that I’m happy to see him and that I’ll be with him in a minute. I fail because Declan’s too busy staring at my ass. Then my boobs. Back to my ass.

Men.

“Earlier in the week, when I went out with Declan, she shouted about prom and kissing through the open window. Please don’t let her do that when we leave. Please.” I keep my voice low. Declan leaves a decent distance between us, but I think he can hear.

I’m trying not to snicker at my dad’s outfit. He can tell.

“I promise,” Dad says, but he’s uncertain. Then his eyes light up. “I could keep her distracted, though.”

“Yes!”

“But…” He waggles his eyebrows like there’s a bug crawling on them. It’s weird enough that I c**k my head and study him.

“Are you having a stroke?” I ask. I’ve read that people over fifty are more prone to get them.

“No!”

“Then what’s this?” I imitate him.

He bursts out laughing, tipping his head back. Declan looks at me with a quizzical look. I shake my head lightly and mouth, I’ll tell you later.

“That’s an old man trying to tell you I could distract your mother by attacking her,” Dad explains.

“Ewww.” I look at my open bedroom door. “Just do it in Amy’s room, okay?” I want to be able to sleep in my bed without having to call a priest to do a sexorcism.

He pulls his head back as if struck, then says sternly, “We would never have sex in your or Amy’s bed!”

“Good.”

“Only on your kitchen table,” Mom calls out.

“MOM!” Amy shouts.

“I kid!” Mom shudders. “I would never touch your father with dead mouse germs all over him.” She eyes him, leaning against my kitchen counter, two penguins trapped under his hip as he sips a cup of coffee. “Then again, he’s kind of cute in those jammy bottoms.”

Chapter Ten

Declan’s eyes lock with mine.

My mind goes quiet. The shift is so fast that it leaves a sort of ringing in my consciousness, like there’s an echo of the hustle-bustle of the craziness that just came to an abrupt halt. Like ringing a gong and hearing the lingering peal minutes later. It can’t be real, yet your mind invents it.

The clarity feels false, even though it isn’t. His eyes, though, tell me that it’s very much real. He smiles when he sees me, the grin a full expression of pleasure. There’s no leer, nothing suggestive, and it’s not one bit sultry.

It’s the smile of a guy who is happy to see me.

“You’re clothed,” he points out. “You look nice.”

“And she doesn’t look nice unclothed?” Mom asks with a tone of offense in her voice.

I blink rapidly. “I know what he means, Mom. He saw me with just my bra—” I say, rushing to fill the awkwardness.

Declan cuts me off, his words overpowering mine with a steady firmness that makes me go silent even though I’ve not been asked. “She looks beautiful all the time.” His tone makes Mom pause and blush, as if she’s the one in the wrong. Commanding and absolutely certain of his own words, Declan is poised, confident, strong—

And wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Faded Levi’s that look like he was poured into them, with a silky cotton t-shirt the color of soft moss. Like me, he has a shirt tied around his waist, except his is a flannel tartan plaid. He’s wearing hiking boots that look well-used.

L.L. Bean could put him in a catalog and see a spike in sales. Women would lick the pages. Rugged sensuality oozes off him as he stares at me, though his words were for Mom.

Even Dad stands still with anticipation, waiting for Declan’s cue.

Mom clears her throat, thinking she should speak. “Of course she is.”

“You two need to get going,” Dad says. I realize the washing machine is on. He must be washing his jeans. “We’ll be there for a while.”

Mom’s just staring at Declan. He is focused on me. Chuckles is staring at the trash can, where Amy set the half-devoured mouse corpse on top of a precariously full pile of garbage.

“Let’s go,” I declare, grabbing Declan’s hand. It’s warm and soft and as his fingers squeeze mine a rush of heat fills me from head to toe.

But mostly right smack in my center.

I pull him down my front steps, which are so much easier to navigate in hiking boots, then stop. The only car that could possibly be his is a gleaming black SUV with a hood ornament that is code for luxury.

“This is mine. Climb on in,” he says, reluctantly letting go of my hand and unlocking the vehicle. The aroma of his cologne and well-kept leather waft out as I open the door, and when I slide into the passenger seat it’s like riding on a stick of soft butter. Why can’t they make panties out of this kind of upholstery?

“Nice,” I say, meaning it. The dashboard looks like something out of the movie Serenity, with more gadgets than I knew existed.

Declan catches me gawking and says, “It gets me where I need to go.”

“What’s your other car? The TARDIS?”

He laughs. That was a test. Any man who doesn’t know his basic Doctor Who lingo isn’t getting to first base with me.

Oh. Wait. He already has…

He starts the car, puts it in reverse, then pauses. Putting it back in park, he turns to me, his strong hand moving from the gearshift to my shoulder. Warm eyes meet mine and he says:

“Your dad was interesting. Is having a dead mouse drop in between us like that some sort of sign? Is it your family’s version of a horse head in my bed?”

I can’t laugh. Can’t scream, can’t cry, can’t anything. “That’s a mating ritual,” I finally squeak out.