The next morning Declan surfaced slowly.
Half-awake, half-dreaming, his mind lagging several breaths behind his body. The ceiling above him hovered in a soft, unfocused gray. For several seconds he did not quite know where he was or what had pulled him out of sleep.
His sheets felt too warm, his heart pounded and his skin was too sensitive.
Then the dream drifted back to him in pieces.
A hand sliding across his chest. Soft at first, then with more insistence, fingers brushing the lines of muscle like she already knew them. Warm breath at his throat, catching on a quiet laugh that made him shift against the mattress.
The press of a body against his, her curves fitting into him with a familiarity he should not have been able to imagine. Her mouth brushing his jaw and her palm flattening on his back. Her legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer, closer, his own breath catching on the feeling of sinking into her heat.
And her voice, a breathless, pleasure-laced sigh of his name, drifting through his mind so vividly it felt whispered against his ear.
Declan inhaled sharply, the room snapping into focus as desire surged through him.
He looked down at cock, steel hard and aching. A frustrated, breathless curse slipped out. "FUUCCKKK...Just Perfect."
He shut his eyes, willing his body to calm. It was pointless. The dream clung to him, thick and slow and impossible to shake. He could still feel her lips against his neck, her fingers digging into his back, the tight pull of her body around him as she whispered his name like it belonged to her.
He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. "You do not know her."
It did not matter to aching length in the slightest.
He dragged his fingers through his hair and swung his legs off the bed. His body was throbbing, stubborn and unhelpful, and the frustration simmering in his chest was almost worse than the physical ache.
He muttered another curse under his breath and headed to the bathroom.
Turning the shower knobs as cold as possible. He stepped into the icy spray, the cold water hit him like a punch, bracing one palm against the wall. His breath came shallow at first, the cold shocking him awake, but it did nothing to tame the need coiled tight inside him.
Declan pressed his palm flat against the shower wall, muscles taut, chest rising and falling in uneven pulls of breath. Droplets slid down his shoulders and over the hard lines of his stomach, each one dragging the dream back in sharper detail, not duller.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Her mouth on his neck and her breath shaking against his skin. Her body arching beneath his hands, warm and inviting, fitting against him like she had been made to.
And her voice… Ohhhhhh God.The quiet break in it as she said his name, so needy it made his knees weaken even now.
His other hand curled involuntarily at his side, knuckles whitening.
"Unbelievable," he muttered through clenched teeth, water pouring over his face.
He tried to focus on the cold, but the heat in him only sharpened. His body pulsed with it, relentless, hungry, demanding something he could not have. The dream had sunk into him too deeply, lingering like the phantom feel of her nails sliding down his back, the press of her thighs tightening around his hips, the soft, breathy sound she made when he moved inside.
He cut the thought off with a rough curse, but his hips betrayed him, pressing forward a fraction against nothing but air.
The cold was not helping.
He tipped his head back under the spray, throat exposed, jaw set with a tension that bordered on pain. His breath came faster, each inhale harsher than the last. His entire body felt strung too tight, electric, every nerve ending tuned to a memory that was not real but felt close enough to burn.
The images kept hitting him in fragments.
Declan's hand slid up the wall, fingers splaying wide as his entire body tightened in a wave of raw, urgent need that refused to be denied.
He exhaled a broken breath, low and rough, giving in because there was no fighting it.
He worked his hand, worked his cock, desperate frustration setting the rythm, almost punishing focus, the cold water doing nothing to cool the fire tearing through him. Every thought, every pulse, every tightening of his muscles belonged to the phantom feel of her, the imagined warmth of her body opening for him, the echo of her voice saying his name like she wanted more.
When the tension finally snapped, his release following the water down the drain, he braced both hands against the tile, head hanging, breath ragged. The water beat down on him as he waited for the shaking in his legs to ease.
Slowly, painfully, his breathing steadied. He adjusted the water to as hot as he could stand
He pushed a hand through his soaked hair and set about scrubbing his body, letting the water wash the last remnants of the dream from his skin, but it did nothing to clear her from his mind.
"Get a grip," he said quietly, voice still rough.
He had plans to finalize, budgets to complete, a hard timeline to lock down, and a full project review waiting for him this morning.
He had no business thinking about a woman he did not know, whose moss green eyes had followed him into his sleep anyway.
Declan stepped out of the shower with water still streaking down his chest. He grabbed a towel and dragged it across his skin, rough and impatient, trying to clear the last remnants of the dream from his body.
As he wiped the towel over his ribs, his hand paused.
The mark on the left side of his chest, almost directly over his heart, was still there.
Darker than yesterday.
He stared at it for a beat, annoyance flaring.
"Great," he muttered to himself. "We are not fucking doing this today!" he sternly told his refelction
He refused to give it more of his attention. He dropped the towel, reached for his jeans, and pulled them on. The familiar weight of denim grounded him. He tugged a dark Henley over his head, laced his work boots, and raked a hand through his damp hair.
He had barely grabbed his keys before his phone rang.
Declan answered without checking the screen. "Yeah." he barked out
Mason's voice came through, its usual easy rhythm. "Client update. They want to meet at the coffee shop instead of the diner. One hour."
Declan closed his eyes for a second, fighting the sharp pull in his chest at the word coffee. "Why that place."
"They said it's convenient." Mason paused. "You good to go?"
Declan exhaled through his nose, the irritation simmering closer to the surface than he liked. "Fine. I'll be there."
"You sure? You sound—"
"I said I'll be there." His tone landed harder than intended.
Mason went silent for a moment. "Alright. See you in an hour."
Declan ended the call and let the quiet settle around him. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, already regretting the bite in his voice. Mason didn't deserve that. He knew he would have to apologize when they met.
He grabbed his project folder from the table and shrugged into his jacket, trying to pull himself together.
The coffee shop.
Her.
His chest tightened with something he refused to name.
He checked the time, locked the door behind him, and headed out. He had sixty minutes to get there and even less time to get his head on straight. Whatever was happening to him needed to be shut down before he walked back through that doorway.
***
Declan spent the entire twenty-minute drive rehearsing the project plan, repeating measurements and material numbers until they blurred together. Anything to keep his brain from drifting back to the dream, or to her.
When he pulled up outside the coffee shop, he killed the engine and sat for a moment. His fingers tightened on the project folder, and he forced a long breath into his lungs.
He checked his watch. Nine thirty. He had time to get his head straight. He pushed out of the truck, adjusted his jacket, and walked toward the door.
The moment he stepped inside, warmth hit him. So did the sound of her laughter.
His heart thumped once, sharp and unexpected.
She stood at the register, head tipped slightly toward the strawberry-blonde barista on the bar. Her laughter was soft and musical, the kind that lifted at the end like she couldn't help it. Her shoulders shook just slightly with it, relaxed and unguarded. There was an easy glow to her that he hadn't noticed yesterday, a gentle confidence in the way she moved behind the counter.
For the first time, he took in the whole team. The banter. The rhythm. The familiarity that threaded their voices together, the quick sarcasm and her quiet humor answering it. The way the guy on bar chimed in with an exaggerated oh no you didn't.
Declan felt the corner of his mouth tick upward before he caught himself.
He stepped forward.
She didn't see him until he reached the counter. When she finally turned, her breath caught in a tiny, startled sound that punched heat straight through him. Her chin lifted just a little as her eyes met his, her lips parting around the faintest inhale.
"Good morning," she said.
Her voice was low and warm, almost velvety, with a slight tremble at the edges, half fear and half awareness. Her gaze flicked over his chest, then back to his eyes, and she steadied herself with a soft swallow. "What can I get started for you?"
"Same as yesterday," Declan said. "Large drip."
His voice came out rougher than he intended, deeper, something coiled beneath it he couldn't hide.
Before she could respond, The strawberry blonde working the espresso machine slid over, ponytail swinging. "Well hello again. Are you new around here? Yesterday was the first time you've been here."
Her tone was bright, teasing, open. Before Declan could answer her, she stuck out her hand. "I'm Hadley."
Declan took it. Her handshake was quick and firm.
She gestured toward the register. "And that is Aislinn. She's the calm center of our chaos and keeps us from burning the place down."
Aislinn let out a quiet, embarrassed laugh, brushing her fingers along the back of her neck as if trying to hide the blush rising in her cheeks.
Declan gave a small nod. "Declan."
Aislinn returned her attention to the screen, but her voice softened when she spoke again. "I'll get that started for you." She tucked a loose curl behind her ear, then reached instinctively for her pendant.
The silver dragonfly slid between her fingers. She rolled it in slow, nervous circles, eyes lowering as she worked. Her shoulders rose with her breath, then eased as if the motion soothed her.
Declan's gaze locked on the pendant.
Without thinking, he reached toward it. His fingers paused inches from her chest, hovering. His breath slowed, deepened. Something in him waited.
His eyes lifted to hers. A question hung there.
Aislinn's breath stilled. Her lips parted in a soft exhale. She gave a small, barely-there nod.
Declan's fingers closed around the pendant, careful, deliberate, touching only the charm. The chain lifted slightly with the motion, resting lightly against her collarbone. Her breath brushed his wrist in the smallest whisper of warmth.
Her eyes flicked down to the space between them, then back up to his. They were wide, moss green, luminous in a way that pulled the air from his lungs.
He spoke quietly, the words slipping out smoother than he expected. "Someone once told me the druids believed dragonflies return each spring as messengers."
Aislinn's breathing hitched.
He held the pendant lightly, his thumb brushing the metal. "They carry the things people lose along the way. Hope. Courage. The beginnings they were supposed to follow."
Her hand trembled at her side.
Hadley had frozen mid-snark behind the bar. The steam wand hissed somewhere off to the right, but no one spoke.
Declan kept his voice low, almost intimate. "They remind people of something important they forgot."
Aislinn's lips parted on a small, shaky inhale, her throat working as she swallowed. Her fingers twitched, almost reaching toward the pendant before she stopped herself.
The air between them thickened with something neither of them had a name for.
Realizing how close he stood, Declan released the charm gently and stepped back. His heartbeat felt too loud.
"Thanks," he said softly. "For the coffee."
He cleared his throat, unable to look at her for more than a second, and turned away. He found a table near the window and sat heavily, placing the project folder in front of him without opening it.
Behind the counter, Aislinn stood perfectly still, fingers pressed lightly to the pendant as if confirming it was real. Her gaze lifted toward him once, quick and full of something he could not read, before she turned back to the register.
Declan looked down at his hands, trying to steady his breathing, but the imprint of the moment clung to him.