One Hot Chase (Hot Brits #12)

Chapter Eleven

Sabrina

Declan stares at me as if I'm a complete stranger who dragged him onto the dance floor for no reason. What about my confession has shocked him? I had a bad marriage. An awful one, actually. Maybe I had hoped for a little bit of sympathy, but that was a dumb idea. Of course Declan doesn't want to, um...date me. I don't want that either. No way. So what if sex with him was beyond incredible? So what if I really, really want to drag him into the restroom and beg him to screw me?

I will never do that again. The man I'm searching for is out there somewhere beyond this pub, probably beyond London and the whole UK.

Forget about Sir Declan. Right now. That's an order.

Giving myself stern orders doesn't seem like a sign of good mental health. Oh, who cares? It's time to say adios to Declan Wilde.

"Well, that's quite a revelation," Declan says as he studies me without blinking. "And I thought I was the one with a complicated past."

I shiver at his proximity. Dammit, Sabrina, get a grip. He isn't that hot. Who am I kidding? Of course he is.

"Oh, please," I scoff, trying to inject some levity into the situation. "I'm sure your past is far more interesting than mine. Probably filled with daring rescues and exotic locales."

He chuckles, a deep, rich sound that makes my toes curl. "You'd be surprised. But I'd much rather hear about your backstory. Tell me, what did you do when you found your husband shagging another woman?"

I hesitate, caught off guard by his genuine interest. This isn't how the conversation should go. I'm supposed to be saying goodbye, not spilling my guts to a virtual stranger. All I can do is stammer, feeling more exposed than ever, until I finally force myself to act like an adult. "I may have thrown his entire wardrobe out the window where it landed in the mud. I tossed his golf clubs too. Oh, and his precious collection of vintage whiskey got washed down the drain."

Declan's eyes widen. Then he busts out laughing. "Crikey, remind me never to cross you."

I start laughing too. "What can I say? I have a flair for the dramatic."

"I have no doubts you do." He wraps a lock of my hair around his finger, twirling it over and over. "Tell me, Sabrina Remington, what other talents are you hiding behind that feisty exterior?"

The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine. This is dangerous territory, but I can't seem to stop myself from playing along. "Sorry, only my PC will know the answer to that question."

"If I beg, will you tell me?"

"Maybe. How badly do you want to know?"

"Desperately."

The intensity of his gaze makes my breath hitch. I need to change the subject before I do something stupid---like drag him into that bathroom after all.

"Well, for starters, I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue," I blurt out, immediately regretting my choice of words. Way to keep things PG-rated, Sabrina.

Declan's brows shoot up, his cocky smile widening into a full-blown grin. "Now that's a talent I'd love to see demonstrated."

"In your dreams. Better go hunt for another cherry-stem-twirling girl."

He moves even closer, his lips almost brushing my ear. "Oh, I can assure you, Ms. Remington, my fantasies are far more inventive."

A shiver runs through me at his words. This man is dangerous, in all the best and worst ways. "Well, aren't you full of surprises. I thought you British types were supposed to be all prim and proper."

Declan throws his head back and laughs, the sound rich and inviting. "Oh pet, you have so much to learn about us Brits. We're only proper in public. Behind closed doors...Now that's another story. But you know what I'm like after dark."

I need to get out of here before I do something reckless. But my feet seem to have become rooted to this spot, my body betraying my better judgment.

"Is that so?" I hear myself say, my voice husky for reasons I can't explain. "And here I thought all you guys did behind closed doors was drink tea and discuss the weather."

"You know that's not true, love. I've demonstrated that for you multiple times."

My heart races at the implication. This is spiraling out of control fast. I need to leave, to put some distance between us before I throw caution to the wind. But there's a part of me---a reckless, wild part---that wants to see just how far this can go.

Declan drags one finger down my breastbone. "I believe you're quite familiar with what I can be tempted to try."

"Hmm, yes." I pucker my lips and tap a finger on his nose. "You must not have been too excited about seeing again since it took you an hour to finally waltz into the pub. The first time you chased me, it didn't take so long. Must be losing interest."

"Never." He feigns offense. "You gave me no clues whatsoever. Naturally, I needed time to deduce your location."

But how does he keep finding me? It's a mystery I desperately want to solve, though I really shouldn't try. Inviting him to pursue me had been a lark, that's all.

Was it only a lark? Yes, absolutely.

Declan tenderly sweeps a lock of hair away from my cheek. "Let's go for a walk along the river. It's lovely in the evening."

That sounds an awful lot like a romantic thing. My pulse sped up when he made that suggestion, but not because I'm exhilarated by the offer. No, I'm...afraid. Of what he might say next. Of his tender expression. No, no, no, I won't go down the relationship road again. I traveled to London to find my perfect man, but now the idea frightens me.

Why couldn't Declan just keep acting like a jerk? I'm so damn confused.

"I need to visit the ladies' room," I tell him, snatching up my purse and coat.

"Somehow I shall survive until your return, my sweet."

A lump hardens in my throat, but I force a smile as I rush to the ladies' room. Instead of stopping there to relieve my needs, I slip out the side door and race down the sidewalk until I spot a taxi I can flag down.

"Where would you like to go, miss?" the very young driver asks.

"The Tower Bridge."

"Great choice. It's one of the most popular places for tourists. You know, the Tower Bridge has appeared in lots of movies."

"Uh-huh." I drum my shoe on the floor, waiting for this guy to shut up already and start the car moving.

Someone yanks the door open. "Not so fast, mate. You have another passenger."

Declan jumps into the car---smirking, naturally.

The driver glances back and forth between me and Declan, clearly confused. "Are you both going to the Tower Bridge?"

"No," I blurt out.

"Yes," Declan declares. He pulls me against him with one arm, then thrusts a few pound notes at the driver. "Let's get moving. My girl has been so eager to see the bridge. She simply got a bit overexcited and couldn't wait for me to pay the pub bill."

The jackass is back. All that sweet talk was garbage.

Declan kisses my cheek. "Relax, love, I'm here now."

I'm fuming as the taxi pulls away from the curb, my fingers itching to slap that smug grin off Declan's face. How dare he? I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, but he beats me to it.

"Now, now, darling," her murmurs, "let's not make a scene in front of our driver. The chap is only doing his job."

I glare at him, my voice a harsh whisper. "You have exactly five seconds to explain yourself before I grab your balls and twist them as hard as I can."

He clutches his heart. "You wound me, Sabrina. I thought we were having such a wonderful time."

"You call ambushing me and forcing your way into my taxi 'lovely'?"

He has the audacity to look offended. "My sweet, I merely accepted your gracious invitation."

"I never gave you any invitation," I seethe, trying to keep my voice low.

"Of course you did. You challenged me to chase you, and I'm simply following through."

I gape at him, momentarily stunned into silence. The nerve of this rat fink. Can't believe I sort of...liked him for about five minutes. Never again.

"That wasn't an invitation," I hiss. "That was...that was..."

"A dare?" Declan supplies helpfully, seeming far too pleased with himself.

My body wakes up at his mere presence, and I'm torn between anger and...something else I refuse to acknowledge. So, I mutter, "You're impossible."

"Impossibly charming, you mean," he quips, giving me a wink that sends an unwelcome flutter through my stomach.

"Stop telling me what you think I mean." I struggle to ignore the way my heart races at his proximity. "You're impossibly arrogant, that's what I meant to say."

"Arrogant? Perhaps. But you can't deny there's something between us, pet."

"The only thing between us right now is this seat," I retort, attempting to edge away from him. But the backseat is small, and I find myself pressed against the door.

"Then why are you blushing, Bree?"

I the heat in my cheeks intensifies. "I'm not blushing. It's just...kind of stuffy in here."

"Mmm, it is rather cozy," he agrees as he wriggles toward me. "But I doubt that's why your cheeks have turned a charming shade of rosy pink."

I swallow hard, desperately searching for a witty comeback. But my brain seems to have short-circuited, leaving me speechless as Declan's gaze holds mine captive.

"Cat got your tongue, Bree?"

"I...you..." My stammering only makes me sound more flustered. Pull yourself together, woman. Thankfully, the taxi comes to a stop, saving me from further embarrassment.

"Tower Bridge, folks," the driver announces cheerfully.

I practically leap out of the car, gulping in the cool night air like it's a glass of cold beer. Declan follows at a more leisurely pace, looking annoyingly composed.

"Well, here we are," he announces, gesturing grandly at the illuminated Tower Bridge before us. "Shall we take that walk I suggested?"

I cross my arms, glaring at him. "I didn't agree to any walk. I'm going home."

"Don't be so petulant, Sabrina. How about just a short stroll? The view is spectacular at night and very romantic."

I hesitate, torn between my desire to flee and my curiosity about what Declan might say or do next. Against my better judgment, I find myself agreeing. "Fine. One lap across the bridge and back. Then I'm leaving."

Declan's face lights up with a boyish grin that makes my heart skip a beat. "Brilliant!"

I wish he didn't look so adorably excited. That makes it hard for me to go on despising him.

He offers his arm, which I pointedly ignore as we begin walking. We're silent for a few moments as we take in the breathtaking panorama of the illuminated bridge and the glittering Thames below. I hate to admit it, but Declan was right. It is spectacular.

"So," says he, breaking the silence. "Are you going to tell me why you really ran out of that pub?"

I stiffen, caught off guard by his directness. "I told you, I needed the ladies' room."

His lips form a teasing curve. "You have no talent for lying, Sabrina. We both know you never intended to use the loo. What spooked you?"

I bite my lip, debating how much to reveal. "I...I don't do relationships. Not anymore. I told you that. But you veering dangerously close to relationship territory back there."

Declan is quiet for a moment, and I sneak a glance at him. His brow is furrowed, his expression thoughtful. "And that frightens you."

I bristle at his perceptiveness. "I'm not scared. I'm...cautious."

"Hmm." A hint of amusement tinges his voice. "Is that what you call bolting out of pubs and trying to escape in taxis?"

I shoot him a glare. "I don't see how it's any of your business. Gah, I wish I'd never told you about my marriage."

Declan stops walking, turning to face me. His expression is serious now, all traces of teasing gone. "It became my business when you challenged me to chase you, love. I don't take such invitations lightly."

"It was a moment of weakness. One I regret."

"Do you?" he asks softly, stepping closer. "Because I don't regret a single moment I've spent with you, Bree."

His words, and his use of my nickname, send a shiver down my spine. I take a step back, my shoulders hitting the railing of the bridge. "Declan, I---"

"Shh," he murmurs, closing the distance between us. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing my jawline. "I know you're scared. I understand why. But I'm not your ex-husband, Sabrina. I won't hurt you."

I want to believe him. God, do I want to believe him. But the walls I've built around my heart are high and thick. My voice becomes barely a whisper. "You can't promise that."

"You're right," he agrees. "I can't promise I'll never hurt you. But I swear to you I have no intention of doing so."

"Then will you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

I fold my arms around myself. "Tell me about your worst relationship experience."