Claimed - a Portwright Book

Chapter Eight: Sophie

Declan and I fell into this weirdly relaxed routine over the next couple of days. Well no, it wasn't a routine because we didn't do the same things all the time. But there was a relaxed easiness to the whole thing that was nice.

The day started with him waking up on my couch, because apparently he thought beds were just for sex or something – not that I'd asked. He'd either already have my coffee ready for me when I got downstairs, or I'd sit on the coffee table with his and watch him open his eyes as he gave me a wry smile. By Saturday morning, I'd stopped caring what I looked like: hair a mess, in a hair tie, a splotch on my pyjama shirt, bra or no bra. And I was sure – hoped – Declan's eyes lit when he saw me regardless.

We used the stupidest excuses to brush past each other, our fingers always touching when we passed each other things like coffee, our legs or shoulders as we played games on the couch, his hands on me as he moved me out of the way to get passed me or to do the washing up – I mean yes, I had a dishwasher, but some things annoyingly didn't go in the dishwasher. Every touch made my chest flutter and my skin warm. I wanted more, but no matter how much I flirted, that was all I got and I was too inexperienced and shy to make the first move.

During the day, he'd train, or we'd just be, or he'd have to do whatever it was Martin Boys did during the day. I either went with him and hung out with Callum, hung out with Alice, avoided my sister, placated the mother, pottered around the house, or was left with Shauna.

Shauna was amazing. I'd thought I liked her straight away? That was nothing to spending a few hours with the woman. She was vivacious, always willing to tell a tale, and she taught me how to help out behind the bar – after insisting on seeing my driver's license and proving I was eighteen – and how to sling a bottle like a proper bar wench – my words, not hers.

I'd seen Paddy around the bar, although made very little conversation with him past a few sarcastic comments and I managed not to see Rory – I even wondered if the Martin Boys were keeping him away from me – but rumours swirled surrounding Declan and Rory that made my skin crawl and my stomach turn.

At night, I cooked while Declan stood on the other side of the kitchen bench and watched me in a way that made me smile. We talked, watched TV, played games. He was dark and sombre a lot, but I saw a few of those rare smiles and there was always a heat in his eyes.

At some point, I'd go to bed and we'd start all over again.

Alice made a drunken appearance on Saturday night – alone – but Declan had had to leave before she got up, so I'd been able to keep him to myself a little longer. Declan had though Alice was...'a singular lass', but she didn't remember him at all.

On Wednesday, I was sitting at home waiting for Declan to be done with whatever it was he'd been doing. The doorbell rang – which was weird given I'd relented and given Declan (and Callum) the door and alarm codes – so I pulled myself out of my chair and padded to the door. A bolt of panic shot through me. It was dark and I was alone and there was no Declan to keep me safe.

Ridiculous. You are a strong, modern woman who don't need no man!

I opened the door and frowned, then smiled because I didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "Nate, hi. I wasn't expecting you."

Nate nodded once. "Miss Buckley."

Something wasn't right.

"Nate, what's up?" I asked in my most persuasive tone.

Surprise flitted across his features for a split second. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you look stonier than usual. What's up?" I motioned he come inside.