One Autumn Night

Chapter Six

For the past eight years, Abigail had tried to forget everything about Declan. The heat he exuded, the cross between love and lust that overcame her whenever she thought of him, thought of his mouth, his body, his heart.

And it had always been more with him, always something she'd been too scared and too cynical to put words to. It was layered beneath deeper feelings than she'd ever known or experienced. Love, she thought now. Love in its purest form.

Certainly she'd never received love like he'd given her—unyielding, all encompassing—from her mother. Maybe with her brothers but their bond had been forged out of being abandoned by their father then later their mother. Their bonds wound deep, rooted in the gut of survival.

No, love with Declan had been a connection that'd happened immediately and with total combustion. Before she'd met him, before she'd met anybody as the new kid in school, she'd seen him and had felt fiery ripples of sparkling light tremble through her. It was like she recognized him and at the same time couldn't wait to meet him.

Or it had been the hormones shouting at her, she thought now. But that was wrong, and she knew it.

They'd just clicked together as best friends, as lovers. They'd needed few words with each other in those teenage years, few words and many, many sneaky kisses. That's what had gotten her through having a mother who provided only scantily, and that's what had gotten her through the days after her mom had disappeared for good.

And then they'd graduated from Stonebridge High School and everything changed. She'd let it; she was strong enough to admit that. It was her fault. But it would've ended eventually anyway.

Declan Fitzgerald didn't marry girls like Abigail Roberts, as she been informed by his mother.

She'd done her best to wipe Declan from her mind, from the millions of cells within her that cried for him, his touch, his warmth, for years after he'd left.

And now there he was, standing in her pub, looking more polished, slightly older, and just as playfully confident as he always had.

And he was holding her hand.

He closed the space between them, and when his lips found hers, they hovered then skimmed the surface. And those fiery ripples, bold and burning shivers, returned as if it had only been minutes since they'd last kissed. The gentle breath, the sweep of sensation, it was all like coming home, only she'd never left.

"Abigail." He said her name on an exhale and pressed closer, their bodies melding together like magnets, each the opposite of the other and yet fitting perfectly together.

Her lips parted in invitation before her mind could protest, and hot, molten desire erupted as a force within her.

Their mouths searched for the other through the years that'd burrowed between them. Mouths parted and tongues swept together, all breath and heat, seeking solace in the present, remembering the past, and curious about that dark tunnel of time they'd been apart.

The air around them scorched and a sheen developed on the rain-soaked windows. Outside the storm pounded, a constant roar, and inside, the cool light beamed luminescent through the square panes of misted glass.

Never before had she felt this way, she thought through the haze. But that wasn't right, she corrected as his hands felt behind to her lower back, pulling her in, enveloping her. Only before had she felt like this, and never since. Not once had she desired anyone as she'd desired Declan.

"Abs, Danielle and Kelly are here. What should I have them—" Ben swung through the kitchen door into the pub and froze.

Her body cooling at the arrival of her brother, her mind leveling from the rise and rush of heat that flooded her, she stepped back from Declan and broke their connection.

"Uh, let's see...Danielle can begin hard boiling eggs for the Pub Salad. Kelly can tear the iceberg lettuce into the serving trays. You borrowed serving trays from Red Roof, right?"

Ben nodded, eying Declan coolly. "I did."

Keeping her protective little brother—and herself—on track, she added, "Remember to tell Kelly to hand-tear the lettuce not chop it. It wilts faster when it's chopped and we can't afford to serve browned lettuce to the guests. And once the eggs are going, Danielle can start in on the dressing. Quantities are noted on the menu I left pinned to the board. She's good with measurements so if she feels there should be adjustments, that's fine."

At Ben's reluctance to leave, she walked toward the back of the bar and scooted him along with a little shove. "Keep everyone in line back there. I'll be back in a moment."

Then she continued on to where she'd left her water and drank as her bearings returned.

In the truest, most literal sense, she couldn't afford to be kissing Declan Fitzgerald. That one lapse had to be enough. "We have everything under control here. You should go. We have work."

"Abigail, I—"

"I can't right now, Declan. I just can't. I need to focus on doing the job you hired me to do and that's it."

"I realize that. I came here to help and that's what I'm going to do. Tell me how."

Sneaky damp heat smothered her, making her wish she'd worn something other than a thick sweater. And against her better judgment—blaming the suffocating stickiness—her mouth spoke before her mind caught up to tell it otherwise. "Fine. How good are your potato peeling skills?"

A slow, sneaky grin of victory tugged at the corners of his lips, his beautiful lips, and she decided she could use the extra hands to help her do the job she was there to do. The man volunteered—and his intentions didn't particularly matter, she decided—so she'd put him to work to help make dinner for a hundred and fifty people.

He was there to help, nothing more.

And she almost had herself convinced of that as she wandered back into the kitchen, knowing full well that he followed closely behind, feeling his attention that was focused solely on her.