Free Shopping for a Billionaire 3 by Julia Kent Page B

nce?”
    “And his throat closed up.”
    “ O of. That’s really rare. You don’t normally have a reaction that bad for the first time you’re stung. ”
    “Bad enough that he lost consciousness. We got him to the ER on time.” I can tell he really, really doesn’t want to talk about this, but it’s calming me. Centering me. Hearing him talk about his own experiences and his brother’s allergies makes me feel less like an oddity.
    “Your mother and father must have freaked.”
    “Mom was dead by then.” His face is a stone mask. My heart squeezes.  
    “Oh.” What the hell can I say after that? Shoving a mouthful of perfectly done filet is the only way to respond. Declan pours himself another glass of wine, filling it within a half-inch of the rim, then empties the rest of the bottle into my glass.
    Neither of us has to drive, so why not?
    He studies me, taking liberal sips of his wine, then puts the glass down and reaches for my free hand. I’m slowing down, full o f delectable food, wired and aroused.
    “You’re worried I can’t handle the bee thing.” I t’s not a question. And he’s mostly right.  
    I take a moment to think about this before answe r ing. “No. Not quite.” He gives me a skeptical look. “It’s more that you handled it so well. Precisely perfect. The last time I was stung I was with Steve, who ran away in a panic and screamed so much the EMTs who arrived after I called 911 thought he was the bee sting victim . Delayed my treatment. ”
    Declan’s face goes tight and angry. “Not only is he an asshole, he’s a dangerous little shit. Leaving you in a medical crisis.” With a hand so tight I’m afraid he’ll shatter his wine goblet, he grabs the wine and drinks it all down in a series of fast gulps that make his neck stretch, muscles on display.
    “You learn a lot about people in a crisis.”

Chapter Eight
    My words hang there as he stares at me a few beats longer than normal . My heart is throbbing about two feet lower on my body, our eyes connecting for seconds longer than they should, the air warm and charged.
    “ You learn everything you need to know ,” he declares.
    “ Then you now know that I will turn you into a Viagra eater in a crisis.”  
    He wants to laugh but doesn’t let himself. “I think, in a true emergency, that you click out of this insecure mode you live in and the core person inside picks up.”  
    I lean forward on my elbow, pushing my plate away, and reach for my wine. Two sips later and I ask, “Tell me more about this core.” My actual core pulses from down below, wanting him to touch it. I could give him GPS coordinat e s at this point. Hell, I could take my leftover food on my plate and create a food sculpture map to help him.  
    “You first. Tell me what you think about me.” What guy does this? HUH?
    “What I think about you? You’re a superman, Declan. You’re H o t Guy. I’m Toilet Girl. I’m wondering why”—I gesture around the room—“you picked me.”
    “ Tsk tsk ,” he chides. “That’s not what I asked.”
    “Okay, what I think about you.”
    “What you think about me. Not what you think about ‘Declan McCormick.’” Yes, he uses finger quotes. “What you think about me .” His eyes are soulful. Serious. Contemplative and evaluative. He’s asking a very different question in those eyes than he’s saying with his mouth.
    “You. Just…you. Not the image. The man.”
    His lids close and he lets out a long sigh. “Yes.”
    “I think you’re an enigma because I don’t know you that well.” His eyes fly open. “And yet I feel like I’ve known your forever.” He reaches for my hand and I grasp his, hard.
    “I feel the clo sest I’ve ever felt to being myself when I’m with you. Whoever that is. You don’t judge me . You don’t shame me or act like I’m the outsider in everything. You don’t use sarcasm like it’s a tool or a weapon, and you speak so plainly an d clearly it’s like you’ve