Hush (Black Lotus #3)(18)
“What was that?” I question.
“Iris scanner,” he tells me. “It’s the only way to get through the first set of doors. We’ll get you into the system tomorrow.”
I follow him next through the fingerprint sensor that opens another door, and the last door is secured by a key card. Three barriers of security, and we’re finally inside the building.
He takes my hand, and with a sexy smile, says, “Welcome home.”
“It’s practically a fortress.”
“Practically,” he repeats before stopping at the concierge to drop off the keys to the car and instructing the delivery of all our luggage.
Lachlan stays behind in the lobby as we step onto the elevator. It’s one thing for me to be Mrs. Vanderwal, living in the penthouse of The Legacy, but this is on a totally different scale. When Declan told me we’d be living here, I did my research. I knew I’d be living among the world’s elite: Ukrainian business moguls, Qatar’s former Prime Minister, Russian real estate magnates, among others. We may not be living in the penthouse, but the seventh floor is as intimidating as any penthouse in the United States.
It’s a simultaneous finger scan and key card scan to unlock the door.
“After you,” Declan says as he motions for me to enter.
I walk through the grand foyer into the impressive living room. Everything is razor sleek lines, clean and simple. Intricate raindrop crystal chandeliers cascade their soft glow over the crisp white walls and white furniture, creating a warmth to the otherwise stark color. The rich mocha woodwork is a pleasant contrast to the white, warming the space even more. It’s contemporary design at its most opulent.
“What do you think?”
Turning my head to look over my shoulder at Declan who’s still standing in the foyer, I respond with phony condescension, “A bit much, isn’t it, McKinnon?”
“You’re displeased?”
“It’ll do,” I tease with an ever-so-slight grin, and he laughs, saying, “Well, it’s all yours. Go ahead, darling. Explore.”
I look around, opening every door and peeking in every room. The kitchen is outfitted in commercial grade appliances, and the bathrooms are as lavish as those you’d find in upscale spas. Every perimeter is lined with floor to ceiling, wall to wall windows that overlook Knightsbridge. There’s an office upstairs that’s clearly been furnished by Declan because it’s filled with a rich chesterfield couch and chairs, the same as his office in Chicago and his library in Scotland. And both bedrooms, one on each wing of the second floor, have en suites and large, plush beds that stand taller than your average.
“This one is ours,” Declan whispers from behind my ear as I stand in one of the bedrooms.
His lips press against my pulse point, sending shivers up my arms.
“It’s perfect.”
We stand in front of the window, looking down on the lights of the city, and I cannot believe I’m here—in London—with a man who knows my truth and loves me regardless.
“I read an article about this building the other day. They said it was soulless and devoid of life. I know it was referring to the secrecy of its occupants and everything else, but if they only knew what was behind this bulletproof glass.”
“And what’s that?” he questions, and when I turn around in his arms and look up at him, I respond, “Life.”
His leans down, kisses my forehead, and I speak softly to him. “I’ve never felt so alive as I do with you. Right here, right now. I never thought this was possible, to feel the way I do.”
“I never wanted this with anyone else. Even in my darkest days without you, even when I thought I couldn’t hate you more, I still wanted you.”
Before he can get the chance to kiss me, the ring of the doorbell sounds.
“Bawbags,” he fumes in irritation at the interruption, and I can’t help but laugh at his Scottish curse.
It really is an ugly language, but the accent is beyond sexy.
I follow him downstairs to the living room, and when Lachlan walks in with two employees with our luggage, I beam with excitement. “Have you seen this place?”
He doesn’t respond to me, but instead approaches Declan, asking, “May I?” as I watch in curiosity.
“She’s all yours,” Declan tells him. “She’s about as excited as a lass at her first tea party.”
Lachlan laughs, walking straight towards me, and I can’t help my own laughter at his demeanor. He grabs me, picking me up as if I were a little girl and gives me a joyous embrace.
“This smile you wear makes dealing with McKinnon’s shit-stain moods worth my while.”
We laugh as he sets me down, and I’m so thankful for his loyalty to Declan and the friendship he’s given me. He’s twenty years my elder, and I find comfort in that. As if I can look to him for guidance in a way I can’t with Declan. In a way a child might look to a parent. He gives me that feeling, and it’s settling.
“Thank you.”
“For what, love?”
“Opening my car door the night I first met you.”
“Oh yes, our first date,” he animates in a shameless attempt to taunt Declan, and Declan doesn’t miss a beat when he responds, “Fuck off, Lachlan, and you can get your hands off her now. You got your hug, you’re done.”