Once Upon a Dream by Kate Perry

you suffered for it.”
    “I have,” she whispered.
    “Good.” He sat back.
    The bartender came then, tossing a drink coaster on the table and staring at her impatiently.
    Jacqueline swallowed her regret so she could speak. “The same as what he has.”
    Declan arched his brow as the bartender left to fill the order. “Since when do you drink beer?”
    “You don’t know who I’ve become,” she replied tartly, fed up with his derision. Out of her bag, she pulled out her journal. “Since you don’t want to see me, we might as well get this over with. I need help.”
    “You have nerve coming to ask for my help.”
    “It means a lot to me, and I trust you,” she said, ignoring him. “I’m writing a book, and I need help with the end. I thought maybe you could—”
    “No.” He stood up, dropping a large bill on the table.
    He had on red suede loafers.
    She blinked at the shoes, shocked by them. The Declan she’d known would never have worn red shoes. She couldn’t think of a bigger sign that he’d changed.
    Standing up to face him, she tried not to feel discouraged. “I haven’t finished saying what I have to say.”
    “Yes, but I’ve finished listening.”
    She moved to block his path as he turned to go. “I’m not going to let you go.”
    He smirked, a cruel twist of his lips. “If only you’d said that forty years ago.”
    “I’m saying it now.” She looked up into his eyes. “It’s never too late, not until death.”
    Declan stepped closer. “Suddenly it’s not too late? Now that Reginald is dead and you’re free, you come back to me? I don’t take sloppy seconds.”
    Hurt pierced her heart, but she didn’t let it show, instead channeling the Countess of Amberlin, who was a superb actress. There was no question where Imogen got her talent. “I’m not asking for sex. I’m asking for your help.”
    “Are you sure, Jacqueline?” He crowded her, following her until her back was pressed against the side of the booth. He loomed over her. “I think you’re asking me for more than help for your book.”
    He was so close, big and radiating heat. Hands braced on the worn leather behind her, she inhaled, which was a mistake because her head filled with his masculine scent. Her body and senses remembered him—remembered the way he used to touch her, engulfing and with enthusiasm, the drugging kisses that left marks all over her body—and she felt herself go soft and warm at her core.
    “You still want me.” He smirked. “It may be forty years later, but I can still read your body. It’s like a manual, telling me exactly what you want.”
    “I only want your help with my story,” she lied.
    “Is that so?”
    She licked her lips, trying not to sway toward him. How long had it been since someone had kissed her on the lips, even a soft peck? So long it brought tears to her eyes. She kept them lowered, not wanting him to see what he was doing to her. No man was ever going to cause her heartache ever again.
    But—good Lord—she wanted Declan to kiss her. One kiss wouldn’t break her.
    She hoped.
    He lowered his head so his mouth hovered a breath away from hers. “The answer is no to both questions, Countess,” he said softly, his voice harsh with bitterness. He stepped back and strode out of the bar, back rigid with anger.
    She wilted, with relief and regret. Heart pounding, she pressed a hand over it in an effort to calm it and eased herself back into the booth as the bartender deposited the pint Jacqueline had forgotten she’d ordered on the table.
    “Well, that went better than expected,” she murmured. Her hand shook as she lifted the pint for a sip of the bitter brew.

Chapter Seven
    The sound of the camera shutter was driving Summer mad.
    She gritted her teeth as Titania whirled around her like a determined dervish. Not that she’d ever tell Titania, not when Titania cared enough to photograph her.
    Her logical side knew it was silly to feel tenuous about her bond with her