Claimed - a Portwright Book

Chapter Twelve: Sophie

"Are ye quite ready, woman?" Declan called out in a way that made me smile and I took one final look at myself in the mirror.

My dress was supposed to be red this year, with green and white embellishments here and there. It had started as strapless, straight across with a turned over hem, a pointed waist, and a full skirt that fell to my knees to be paired with red heels. But, after the tattoo, I'd gone to see Teresa and it had all changed – Teresa had been very excited despite the potential time constraints.

Now, it was a deep green velvet and satin creation. The full, pleated skirt was satin and fell to my knees. The top was velvet, long-sleeved and backless with a Queen Anne neckline, minus the collar. And, it still went well with the red heels. I'd thought about gloves to hide the tattoo, but even with air-con that would have been manky and I hadn't wanted to miss the opportunity to touch Declan – not that I really thought he'd be much of a dancer.

I fluffed my hair, sitting in softer than usual curls and half pulled back, and smacked my lips.

"Whelp, as good as it's going to get, I guess," I muttered, put my phone and lipstick in my pocket – yes, pockets! – and headed for the stairs.

As I headed down, I looked up and saw Declan waiting for me at the bottom. I barely registered the adoring look on his face as my jaw hit the ground.

I liked Declan in anything – and I'd vividly fantasised about him in nothing on far too many occasions – I really did, and I wasn't about to try to force him to conform to the mother's world. But tails suited him. Okay yes, everything suited him, but I was blown away at how just traditionally, devilishly handsome he looked. It was a total contrast to his usual rugged, lazy charming, devastating gorgeousness or his cocky, dark sexiness. But I loved all versions of him.

The black shoes, black pants, white shirt, white bow tie, white waistcoat, and black tail coat gave him this ridiculously clean-cut image that had my brain melting. His hair was styled less messily than usual, the longer top brushed back neatly with product. Most of his bruises had healed and he wore the mask of the gentleman like he was born to it. Unless he stretched his arms or neck too far, all his tattoos were hidden.

As I stepped off the last stair, he lost that awed look and it was replaced with that cocky, sinful smirk. He held his hand out to me and I took it.

"Ye look stunnin', love," he said.

"You don't scrub up too bad yourself," I laughed.

He gave me that half-smile that fried my brain and made me wish I was brave enough to drag him upstairs to my bed. Instead, I rearranged my glasses and squeezed his hand.

"We should go."

"Ye're the one who took forever to get dressed, love," he chuckled roughly.

I nodded. "All right. Is the car here yet?"

"Has been, about five minutes."

I led him up the hallway and out into the boiling Christmas Eve heat. One of the mother's drivers nodded to us and Declan held the door open for me before going around the other side of the car.

Things had been weird between us most of the week. Declan had seemed increasingly more interested in me. Or, at least he was acting more on that interest than he had been. But then after Friday...

I shouldn't have said what I had to that Liao guy. I was less concerned about threatening his boss, to be honest, and more worried that I'd claimed Declan in front of him and the whole bar. There'd been a new heat in his eyes since, but I was feeling awkward. He'd made no real move to show me what the hell we were doing here, so I was left wondering if he was just a flirty gangster and I was the only one falling into something irreversible but without the guts to do anything about it.