Chapter 7 - Unspoken Vows
The news of Declan’s partial recovery was kept a state secret. Only Riley, Gabe, and the head physician knew that the boss was regaining sensation in his feet and lower legs. In the ruthless underground of the city, a recovering tiger was still a target; an enemy had to believe the king was permanently dethroned until the moment his claws were back at their throat.
Two weeks passed. The daily physical therapy became an intense, exhausting routine.
It was ten o'clock on a Tuesday night. The mansion was quiet. Declan sat in his wheelchair in his private library, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves of old leather-bound books. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the mahogany floor.
Riley walked in carrying a tray of late-night tea and a warm towel. She was wearing gray sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, her hair loose and tumbling down her shoulders.
"Time to stretch your calves before bed," she said softly, setting the tray on a small table near his chair.
Declan watched her as she dropped to her knees on the rug in front of him. She gently lifted his right leg, resting his foot on her lap, and began massaging the tight muscles of his calf with warm oil.
Her fingers were strong, practiced, and gentle.
"You should be sleeping," Declan said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. "You've been on your feet since six AM."
"I'll sleep when you're walking without my help," she replied without looking up, her thumbs digging into a knot in his calf. "Which, at this rate, will be in about three months."
Declan looked down at her. The firelight caught the soft curves of her face, the dark lashes against her cheeks, the quiet dedication that had completely rewritten his world.
"Why are you still here, Riley?" he asked quietly.
She paused, her hands resting on his knee. She looked up, her dark eyes meeting his. "What do you mean?"
"The money is good, but it's not worth getting shot at," Declan said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, bringing his face closer to hers. "You could get a safe job at a private clinic tomorrow. You could leave this violence, these guns, this dark house behind. Why do you stay?"
Riley stared at him. She thought about the double shifts at Mercy General, the cold apartments, the endless procession of patients who never looked at her as a person. Then she thought about this dark, dangerous man who threw lamps, protected her sister's honor, and smiled at her like she held the sun in her hands.
"Because," Riley whispered, her voice trembling slightly, "nobody here squeezes my sandwich."
Declan let out a soft, breathless laugh.
"And," she added, her gaze dropping to his lips before rising back to his eyes, "because I don't think you'd survive another nurse."
"I wouldn't," Declan admitted softly. "I'd fire them in five minutes. Or I'd spend every second wishing they were you."
The air between them charged, thick and heavy with unspoken desire.
Declan reached out, his long fingers cupping her jawline, his thumb gently tracing the bottom curve of her lip. Riley didn't pull away. She leaned into his touch, her breath catching as his hand slid into the hair at the nape of her neck.
"Declan..." she breathed.
"Tell me to stop, Riley," he murmured, his face inches from hers, his dark eyes burning with an intense, desperate heat. "Tell me right now, or I'm never letting you go."
Riley didn't speak. Instead, she rose up on her knees, closed the small distance between them, and pressed her lips against his.
The kiss was slow at first, a hesitant, sweet shock that sent electric sparks straight down Declan's reawakening spine. Then Declan let out a low groan, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her up into his lap, deepenening the kiss with a fierce, starving passion that took her breath away.
She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, tangling her fingers in his dark hair, giving herself entirely over to the taste of coffee, firelight, and dangerous, impossible love.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Riley rested her forehead against his, her chest heaving, her hands resting over his pounding heart.
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"You're a very difficult patient, Mr. Hayes," she whispered, a soft, breathless smile breaking across her face.
"You're fired as my nurse," Declan murmured, kissing the corner of her soft mouth, his hands resting possessively on her hips. "You're hired as my woman."
