Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CLAIRE
Declan’s lips are urgent, almost punishing, but I meet him with the same desperation.
Weeks of wanting, of staring too long, of pulling away before we crossed the point of no return ignite like gasoline meeting flame. My fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt, yanking him closer until we’re chest to chest, heat to heat.
But it’s not close enough.
Every nerve in my body is tuned to him. The faint scrape of his stubble against my skin. The hard line of his chest pressed against mine. The deep, guttural sound in his throat that sends heat spiraling low in my belly.
I shouldn’t be doing this. It would hurt Joshua if he ever found out. He’s been my friend for decades. Not to mention, he once asked me to marry him. Declan is his father, for crying out loud.
This isn’t merely crossing a line.
It’s setting fire to the line and dancing on the ashes.
But I can’t seem to stop.
Not now that his lips are kissing mine, his tongue tangling with mine in a way that both exhilarates and frightens me.
Maybe this is what we both need. One night to get it out of our systems. Then things can go back to normal. He can go back to being Joshua’s father. I can go back to being Joshua’s best friend. And we can forget we were ever more than that.
Except I know better.
Because Declan isn’t the kind of man you can easily forget.
The past several weeks are proof of that.
Declan tears his mouth from mine, his heavy pants echoing around us as he stares at me with an expression I can’t quite label. Like he’s caught between sin and salvation.
For a fleeting moment, I expect for him to come to his senses. Remind me why we can’t do this.
Instead, he rasps, “When will Dylan be home?”
“I never know,” I admit, still lightheaded from his kiss. “Sometimes early. Sometimes late. Depends on the client.”
He gives a curt nod. Then in one swift motion, he picks me up and hauls me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing, his arm firm around the back of my thighs.
“Declan!” I squeal through my laughter, my hair swinging toward the floor as the world turns upside down. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Taking you to my place,” he replies without slowing. “That way, I don’t have to worry about being interrupted. With what I have planned for you, I really don’t want to be interrupted.”
A sharp slap lands on my ass, and I squeal again, wriggling half-heartedly.
“You know I can walk,” I admonish as he crosses the shared deck connecting our townhouses.
“If you can walk, you can run.” He carries me inside his place, walking past the kitchen and down the hallway. “And I’m not letting you escape me. Not now that I finally have you.”
He steps inside the bedroom and sets me on my feet. I lift my eyes to his, taking in his distinguished features illuminated in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
For the first time since I learned who he is, I allow myself to really look at him. At the strong cut of his jaw. The faint groove between his brows. The heat in those blue eyes.
But it’s not his features that undo me. It’s the way he looks at me. Like I’m a treasure. Like I’m special. Like I matter.
“I don’t think I could escape you, even if I wanted to,” I tell him in a rare moment of honesty. “Believe me.” I laugh under my breath. “I’ve tried.”
He steps closer, pushing a tendril of hair behind my ear. “I’ve tried, too.”
“It was only one night,” I say like I have so many times before. But this time, I’m saying it in the hopes he’ll have some sort of explanation for how I could feel this way about someone I barely know.
“We both know it was so much more than that.”
I can’t bring myself to argue. I just close my eyes and nod. “I know.”
His lips find mine again, slower this time, almost reverent. The heat’s still there, but now it’s tempered with something heavier. Something that makes my knees weaken. That makes my heart swell. That makes my body warm.
He steers me toward the bed, stopping right before my legs hit the mattress.
“Do you know what I regret about Boston?” he murmurs, his mouth still hovering over mine.
“What’s that?”
“That I didn’t get to undress you myself. Don’t get me wrong,” he adds quickly. “I loved watching you strip for me.” A wicked smile curves his mouth. “I’ve replayed that nightly while I got myself off.”
“Is that right?” I tease.
“Among other memories from our night together.” He winks. “But I swore if I ever got another chance with you, I wouldn’t make the same mistake.” He dips his head closer, feathering his lips along the curve of my neck. “I’d unwrap you myself.”
“I’m not a gift,” I manage, my breath hitching as his mouth finds the sensitive spot right below my ear.
He cups my cheeks in his hands, not allowing me to escape him. “To me, you are.”
He claims my mouth again, treating me to a kiss that makes the rest of the world fall away. How did I go so long without this man’s kiss? Without his touch? Without him?
Now that he’s here, I don’t want to waste another minute. We’ve already wasted enough time.
I pull out of the kiss and give him a flirtatious smile. “Well, what are you waiting for? You want to undress me?” With a challenge in my eyes, I take a small step back. “Undress me.”
His gaze turns molten, raking over me, as if he’s trying to decide where to start. Then he moves toward me, reaching for the hem of my t-shirt.
But he doesn’t yank it over my head like I expected. He takes his time, his fingers skimming the skin above my hip bone as his lips brush my neck again, his teeth nibbling.
“Don’t tell me you’re the type to carefully unwrap every present without ripping the paper,” I tease. “Christmas morning must have taken forever with you.”
He pulls back slightly and something flickers in his eyes. Sadness. Regret, maybe. But just as quickly, his expression shifts, replaced by that teasing glint I know too well.
“Let me guess,” he begins with a sly smile. “You rip into the wrapping without a second thought.”
“Of course.”
“What about the anticipation? The build up? If you unwrap all your gifts quickly, you’ll have nothing left to look forward to.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Declan.” I hoist myself onto my toes, my lips a breath from his.
“How so?”
“Because that’s where the real fun begins. Once I’ve unwrapped all my presents, I get to play with them.” I trail my hand down his chest, over the firm muscles of his stomach, then land on his crotch, cupping him through his dark jeans. “And Christmas presents deserve to be played with.”
He sucks in a sharp breath and hardens beneath my palm. “Goddamn.”
“Shall I give you a demonstration of how I like to play with my toys?”
He grips my face, his chest heaving. “Fuck, yes.”