Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CLAIRE
The streets glitter with Christmas lights, wreaths strung between lampposts, every shop window glowing with holiday-themed displays. Snow dusts the rooftops, and when the wind kicks up, flakes swirl around us like something out of a snow globe.
Declan’s hand is warm around mine, his grip steady, reassuring, possessive in a way that makes me feel both safe and cherished. Each time his thumb strokes across my knuckles, a little shiver races through me, one I try to blame on the cold.
Every few steps, I catch him stealing a glance at me, as though he can’t help himself. And every time, my lips curve into a smile that refuses to leave. My cheeks ache from it, but I don’t care. There’s a lightness in him tonight, as though some invisible burden has been lifted.
I feel it, too. For once, neither of us is looking over our shoulders, worried we’ll be caught.
Tonight, we can finally be free.
Out of nowhere, he comes to an abrupt stop and tugs me against him, the sudden motion stealing my breath. Then he crashes his mouth down on mine, hot and fierce. My gut instinct is to push him away, remind him we can’t do this in public. But then I remember. Here, we can.
Tourists skirt around us, boots crunching in the snow, someone whistling low as they pass. Declan doesn’t notice, doesn’t care. His only focus is me. His tongue sensually strokes mine, and I taste mint on his lips, the heat of him a stark contrast to the chilly night air.
He kisses me like I belong to him.
Even though I know I don’t, a reckless part of me aches to.
When he finally pulls back, I’m dazed, my lips tingling.
“What was that for?” I exhale breathlessly.
His smile is pure sin, and it sends a jolt of need straight to my core. “Because I can. I like being able to kiss you whenever I want.”
The words sink deeper than they should. I tell myself not to read into them. Not to let my heart twist them into promises he’ll never be able to fulfill. But my heart never seems to listen when Declan’s around.
We reach the restaurant, its windows glowing against the night.
Inside, it’s warm and intimate. Candles flicker on each table.
Crystal glasses glint. Soft, ambient music plays in the background.
The hostess leads us to a table by the window, where the lake glimmers dark and glassy beneath the mountains.
Declan sits across from me, his gaze never straying, his eyes raking over me like he’s trying to memorize every feature.
“You look beautiful, Claire,” he says, his voice low and husky.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “No need to work your charms on me,” I say to cut through the tension. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a sure bet tonight.”
He takes my hand in his, bringing it up to his lips. Almost like he can’t stop kissing or touching me.
“I can still tell you that you’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
I part my lips, on the brink of insisting that’s precisely the sort of thing he shouldn’t say. But the words die on my tongue.
I want to hear him call me beautiful. Want to box up his words and tuck them away somewhere safe so I can revisit this moment when I need to feel something good. Something honest. Something real.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Dinner passes in a haze. The food is exquisite, but it’s secondary to the pull between us.
At first, I wasn’t sure what to expect tonight. Up until now, most of our time together has been spent in the bedroom, both of us desperately trying to satisfy our cravings in the little time we could steal.
But tonight, we have the luxury of time and anonymity, giving us space to talk in a way we haven’t before. We discuss our interests, the places we’ve been, the things we’ve wanted. He listens like every word I say matters. And I’m transfixed by every piece of his life he shares with me.
He tells me about law school. About how he got interested in civil rights. About how the military shaped him. I don’t press him to talk too much about his childhood, since I know that might bring up difficult memories. I don’t want to do anything to lose this version of Declan.
It reminds me of the man who approached me at a bar in Boston and offered to buy me a drink after chasing off a creep who refused to take no for an answer. I’ve missed that Declan.
At one point, he sits back, his eyes narrowing on me as if trying to solve a puzzle.
“I’m really enjoying this. More than I thought possible. Don’t get me wrong,” he adds quickly. “I love every second I spend with you in the bedroom. But being here with you, spending time with you fully clothed… I like it.”
I arch a brow. “You sound surprised.”
“Maybe a little.” He laughs under his breath.
I swirl the red wine in my glass before taking a sip. “Why’s that?”
“I’m not usually one to wine and dine a woman. Not like this.”
“Too busy with work?”
He slowly shakes his head. “No desire. But with you…” His gaze darkens, locking onto mine.
“Yes?” I lean toward him.
“You make me want things I’m not supposed to.”
My foolishly hopeful heart races. “Like what?”
“You.”
I laugh nervously, trying to lighten the weight of his words. “You’ve already had me. More times than I can count.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t look away. If anything, the intensity in his gaze deepens.
“I’m talking about more than just your body, Claire. And I have no business wanting more than that. Not when I’m incapable of giving you more in return.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” I whisper.
“It’s true,” he says firmly. “And I’m a selfish bastard for wanting to spend more time with you than I deserve. But you’re a goddamn drug. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I leave here.”
I open my mouth, on the brink of suggesting it doesn’t have to end. But I swallow it down. If I only get this version of Declan for one night, I don’t want to ruin it. Don’t want to do or say anything to chase him away.
“I guess you’ll just have to spend a lot of time in the shower, jerking off to the memory of me.”
He chuckles, the low and rough sound warming me. “I guess so.”
But as I take another sip of my wine, my mother’s voice echoes in my head, telling me I deserve more than scraps.
I shove the thought away, convincing myself this is fine. That this is enough.
But with every stolen glance, every laugh, every brush of his hand on mine, I begin to question whether it is enough. Begin to wonder what it would be like if this were real. If we weren’t bound by timelines and rules and the inevitable ending waiting for us.
If he were mine.
If I were his.
By the time we get back to the suite, I’m relieved.
At first, I thought I wanted this. Holding hands down snow-dusted streets. Heated glances across candlelight. Stolen kisses in the middle of the sidewalk, as if he couldn’t hold back.
It was everything I’d secretly dreamed about.
But dreams come with consequences.
Because the whole time I kept thinking I could get used to this.
And that’s dangerous.
When the door clicks shut behind us and we’re back in the private world we know, I breathe easier. This I understand. This is safe. This is what we’re built on.
Sex. Heat. Bodies. That’s all this is. All it can be.
Except tonight, Declan isn’t the man who presses me up against the nearest wall, rough and urgent. He isn’t impatient, like he’s been starving for me all day.
He’s slow. Deliberate.
He slides my dress off my shoulders as if savoring every inch of skin revealed, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of my neck. His hands glide down my body with a patience I’ve never seen in him.
When he lays me out on the bed and pushes inside of me, it’s not filled with desperation or hunger.
Instead, his motions have a kind of reverence I don’t know what to do with.
His hand slides down my arm, not to pin my wrist like usual, but to lace our fingers together.
He holds me there, not restrained but tethered. Connected.
It terrifies me.
I close my eyes, needing to distance myself from him. From this.
“Don’t,” he rasps. “Look at me.” His voice is low. Commanding.
I force my eyes open, and the sight of him nearly undoes me. His gaze is molten, fierce, threaded with something I don’t dare name.
It’s too much. Too raw. Too real.
But I can’t look away.
“Declan,” I whisper, the need inside me burning hotter and brighter until I’m trembling, on the verge of tears. “Please. Harder. Faster.”
His grip tightens on my hands, his pace remaining slow and sensual.
“No,” he growls softly. “Like this. I want to feel you this way. And I want you to feel me this way. Want you to feel everything.”
And god help me, I do feel everything.
Every thrust.
Every kiss.
Every ragged breath.
It feels like he’s cracking me open from the inside out, peeling away all the defenses I’ve built, all the walls I’ve sworn to keep between us.
I hate it.
I love it.
I want more of it.
I never want to feel it again.
Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I force them down, clinging to him like I’ll drown if I let go.
This was supposed to be simple.
Pleasure, not emotions.
Sex, not love.
Temporary, not forever.
But tonight has changed everything.
Because now I can’t keep pretending. I can’t lie to myself anymore.
I’ve fallen for the one man I’m not supposed to love.
And the one man I can never have.