Chapter 4 - The Safehouse in the Ridge
Two weeks passed in the quiet sanctuary of the mountain manor, and for the first time in months, I felt my body truly relax.
Declan proved true to his word. He did not force me back to the city. Instead, he brought the world to me—or rather, he kept the violent world at bay while creating a paradise inside the mountain estate.
Every morning, I woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and pine wood. Declan, despite running a billion-dollar legitimate front and a terrifying underground syndicate, was always there when I opened my eyes. He took over my prenatal care with a terrifying, endearing level of micro-management.
He tracked my vitamin schedules, reviewed food menus with a personal chef he flew in from Charleston, and insisted on taking an hour-long walk with me through the private estate grounds every afternoon, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist to ensure I didn't slip on the damp autumn leaves.
“You’re smothering me, Voss,” I teased one sunny afternoon as we walked along the edge of a crystal-clear mountain stream.
Declan didn't smile, though his hazel eyes softened with warmth. He stopped, adjusting the thick wool scarf he had wrapped around my neck three times before we left the house.
“I’m keeping you warm,” he corrected smoothly, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “There’s a difference.”
“You hired a team of four nurses to live in the guest house,” I pointed out, leaning into his warm touch. “And yesterday, I saw Gavin carrying three crates of baby clothes into the nursery room upstairs.”
“Gavin has good taste,” Declan replied casually. “He picked the organic cotton ones.”
I laughed—a real, bright sound that echoed through the quiet forest. Declan froze, his gaze locking onto my lips, a look of pure, unadulterated reverence sweeping across his handsome face.
“I missed that sound,” he whispered softly, stepping closer and pulling me gently against his chest. “God, Amelia, I missed you so much.”
I rested my head against his dark wool sweater, listening to the heavy, steady thud of his heart. “I missed you too, Declan. Even when I was furious with you... I missed the way you made me feel safe.”
“You will always be safe with me,” he promised, his broad hands resting over my lower back, holding me secure against his frame. “No matter where we are.”
That night, the quiet rhythm of our mountain retreat shifted.
A heavy thunderstorm rolled over the Blue Ridge Mountains, sheets of rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the master bedroom. I lay in the center of the massive king-sized bed, watching the flashes of lightning illuminate the dark timber ceiling.
Declan stepped out of the adjoining bathroom, wearing only a pair of dark grey sweatpants, his chest bare and glistening with water droplets from the shower.
I had forgotten how imposing he was. His body was a canvas of bronze muscle, carved by years of discipline, but marred by pale white scars—a long knife wound along his ribs, a circular bullet scar near his shoulder. Reminders of the brutal world he ruled.
He stopped near the edge of the bed, his dark eyes meeting mine in the dim amber light of the bedside lamp.
“I can sleep on the sofa in the study, Amelia,” he said quietly, his voice low and respectful. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”
For two weeks, he had slept in the adjoining room, refusing to push me faster than I was ready to go. He had treated me like delicate porcelain, touching me only with gentle reverence.
I looked at the broad expanse of his chest, then at his sharp, handsome face, seeing the restraint that was costing him immense willpower.
I pulled back the heavy down comforter, leaving a warm space beside me.
“Don't sleep on the sofa, Declan,” I murmured, my voice soft in the quiet room. “Come here.”
Declan’s breath caught. He didn't hesitate.
He stepped over and slid into the bed beside me. The mattress dipped under his weight, his intense body heat immediately radiating toward me. He lay on his side, supporting his head with one arm, looking down at me with an intensity that made my skin tingle.
Slowly, I reached out, my fingers tracing the line of the pale bullet scar on his shoulder.
“Does it hurt when it rains?” I asked softly.
“Not anymore,” Declan whispered, his eyes tracking my hand as it moved down his chest, resting over his heart. “The only thing that hurt was the silence in Chicago after you left.”
I shifted closer, resting my head against his bare shoulder, my hand sliding around his ribs. Declan let out a low, shaky breath, his broad arm sweeping around my waist, pulling me firmly against his body.
His large hand slid beneath my nightgown, resting flat against the warm, smooth curve of my bump.
“She’s sleeping,” I murmured, feeling the soft, rhythmic quiet of our baby girl inside me.
“Dr. Vance confirmed it’s a girl yesterday, didn't he?” Declan whispered, his thumb gently stroking my skin.
“Yes,” I smiled into his chest. “A girl.”
Declan leaned down, his lips resting against the crown of my head, his voice thick with an emotion so deep it felt like a prayer.
“A daughter,” he breathed. “She’ll have your eyes, Amelia. God help me, she’ll have your soft heart, and I will spend my entire life building a world worthy of you both.”
May you like
I lifted my face, my dark eyes meeting his grey ones in the shadowed room. Declan leaned down, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was slow, deep, and intoxicatingly sweet. It wasn't the desperate, frantic kiss of a man trying to claim what was lost; it was the sacred, tender promise of a man giving his entire soul away.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, letting the storm outside fade into complete insignificance as I surrendered to the man who would burn the world to keep us warm.
