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"I'm sorry. Did I not tell you that I'm meditating now? That means I'm not available for talking."
He sat down. "Piper. Ineedto know why you got shot."
Something about his tone caught her attention, and she opened one eye. He was leaning back against a cabinet, his arms draped over his knees, his gazed hooded and tense. "What's wrong with you?"
He rubbed his jaw. "My wife Diana was a cop. She was undercover. We raided the place. She got shot. Died in my arms."
Holy crap.Piper sat up quickly. "I'm so sorry, Declan."
He waved off her sympathy. "I'm edgy when it comes to people getting shot now. Especially women I'm engaged to."
"If it helps, we're not actually engaged."
The corner of his mouth quirked into the tiniest little smile. "It doesn't appear to help. I nearly lost my mind when I thought you were dead."
"Did you? I didn't notice."
His smile widened. "I haven't kissed anyone since Diana.Haven't held a woman since Diana. I know our intimacy is fake, but it's still a real event. It's stirring up a little PTSD for me that I didn't expect."
Guilt flashed through Piper. "No problem. We'll call it off. I'll tell April that you got called away on business?—"
"No."
"I think that's a good idea. We can't have you bursting in here and losing your mind every time I engage in self-care." Even as she said it, regret gnawed away at her. She didn't want to call it off. At all. Because of her career. Not because she wanted to hug this man who was baring his soul to her, then drag him into her bed to make them both forget about past relationships that still haunted them. Definitely not that.
"I've been hiding for three years. You make me not want to hide anymore."
"Oh." Was that a good thing? She kinda thought it was. "You're welcome?"
He laughed softly. "I'm not going to lie. Even if we called it off, I'd probably still come barging in here if I think you're in danger or dead, but it's okay. You can throw the can opener at me."
"If you're dead, then I have no fiancé, so throwing can openers at you won't work for me." She was so happy he didn't want to call it off. Too happy. Dammit. She needed some perspective. "I'll see you at Maddie's store tomorrow morning then?" She closed her eyes again, but all she could see in her mind was him holding his dead wife.
Dammit. That was heavy stuff. She felt terrible for him.
"Why were you shot?"
She understood now why he was asking, but that didn't make her any more willing to tell him the truth. If her past got out, it would destroy everything she'd worked for. Even the best strategy, connections, and hard work couldn't overcome some things, and that included her past. Even Clark hadn't known about her past. And with Declan being a cop? No way. "Skeet shooting accident," she lied.
He raised his brows. "Skeet shooting?"
"Yep. Want to see the scars?"
"Yeah."
She pulled up her shirt and pointed to her hip. The bullet hole was white and puckered, an old scar that had healed. He frowned and ran his hand over it. "Skeet, you say?"
"Yep." Um, hello? His hand on her hip was too intoxicating. She batted his hand away and glared at him.
"Where's the other one?"
She pulled the collar of her shirt to the more recent scar on her shoulder, the one that had galvanized her to finally take action. He touched that one, again sending electrical bolts of Hallelujah through her. "Those aren't from skeet shooting. Different bullet."
Wow, she definitely should have predicted that. The man was a cop, after all. He'd know his ammo. So much for deflecting his attention from her past. "Skeet shooting," she repeated firmly. "Bye."
She closed her eyes and laid back down again.
He didn't move.
