Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
DECLAN
I signal the bartender for another round of drinks, then shift toward the stunning brunette at my side.
The stunning, younger brunette.
This is the last thing I should be doing.
Once that jerk who’d been bothering her left, I should have said goodbye and gone back to my room, like a responsible man with a mountain of work and a hell of a lot on his mind.
But I didn’t.
There’s something about her that caught my attention the second she walked into the bar.
Or maybe I just needed a distraction. Someone to help keep my mind off everything… Especially the news I learned today.
“I’m Claire, by the way.” She extends her hand toward me.
“Declan.”
“Declan,” she repeats as I wrap my hand around hers.
Soft. Delicate. Warm.
I almost don’t want to let go.
But I do.
“Thanks again for the rescue,” she says as the bartender sets her fresh wine onto the counter with a light clink. “Though I had it handled.”
“I’m sure you did,” I agree.
But I know guys like him. Entitled. Arrogant. The type who treat the word “no” like a challenge instead of a refusal.
I’ve been around enough of them in my life — military, law firms, country clubs. It’s always the same. They think the world owes them something because they showed up.
I can tolerate a lot of shit. I’ve had to. But a man disrespecting a woman?
That’s where I draw the line.
That prick’s lucky I didn’t break his fucking hand. I really wanted to.
“So tell me,” Claire begins, cutting through the silence. Her voice is light and playful. “What exactly are you drinking to forget?”
“Drinking to forget?” I echo.
“Exactly.”
“Who says I’m drinking to forget?” I smirk, though there’s no real humor behind it. “Maybe I’m here to pass the time.”
She tilts her head, studying me in a way that feels invasive. Like she’s stripping me bare, seeing things I’ve worked hard to keep buried. It’s unsettling.
And yet I don’t look away.
“I don’t buy it,” she says at last, a slow smile playing across her mouth. “You don’t seem the type.”
I lift a brow. “And what type do I seem like?”
“Brooding,” she answers without a moment’s hesitation.
“Probably good at giving orders. Not great at taking them. Terrible at relaxing. Emotionally constipated. But...” She lets her gaze drag lazily over my fingers wrapped around my glass as I lift the bourbon to my mouth to mask my reaction over how accurate she is. “Excellent with your hands.”
“You learned all that from talking to me for a few minutes?”
“I’m very efficient,” she deadpans.
“You forgot judgmental.”
“Everyone’s judgmental, whether they admit it or not,” she says cheerfully. “But don’t worry. I balance it out with great legs and a winning personality.”
My eyes drift to her crossed legs, left exposed in a slim pencil skirt. They’re long and smooth… Impossible to ignore. She catches me admiring them and grins.
“Busted,” she taunts.
God, this woman is something else. So full of life. And so damn beautiful. Dark waves of hair tumbling around her shoulders. Bright green eyes that don’t miss a thing. And enough curves to scramble a man’s better judgment.
Especially mine.
“If you’re not drinking to forget, what brings you here?” Her gaze floats over me in curiosity.
“Work.”
She waves that off with a flick of her hand. “Not to Boston. Here.” She taps the bar. “This place. This moment.”
“This moment?” I repeat.
“Exactly.”
“I guess I was looking for quiet,” I respond after a beat. “Or maybe a distraction.”
Her smile softens, her eyes sparkling in the low light. “Rough day?”
I could lie. I could dodge. But something in the way she looks at me, open and interested but not pushing, makes me want to tell her the truth.
“I received some news today.” I swirl the ice in my glass, watching it clink and spin. “The kind that changes things. Or at least makes you question the last two decades of your life.”
I don’t say more. I’m not ready to. I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that I have a son I never knew existed. A full-grown man with a life, with questions, and I have nothing but regrets to give him.
“Want to talk about it?” she asks.
“No.”
She nods in understanding as another silence settles between us. But it only lasts a matter of seconds before she continues her interrogation.
“Do you always make a habit of rescuing women from creepy guys in bars when you’re running from your feelings?”
“I’m not running.”
“Denial, then.”
I lean in close enough that our knees almost brush. Close enough to smell the wine on her breath. Close enough to see her pulse thrum in her neck.
“Careful, Claire. You keep poking at me, you might not like what you unleash.”
“Promise?”
Christ. She’s dangerous.
She’s everything I shouldn’t want.
Everything I can’t seem to look away from.
“What about you?” I ask, needing to change the subject. “Do you make a habit out of having a drink with older men you meet in hotel bars?”
She lifts a shoulder, unbothered. “Only the ones with devastating jawlines who flirt with younger women hoping to forget whatever’s eating them up inside.”
I bring my glass to my lips. “Care to help with that?”
She smiles, slow and knowing. “I think I already am.”
She’s right. I haven’t thought about the test results in ten minutes. Haven’t thought about the time I lost or the fact that somewhere out there is a young man trying to understand why his father never came looking for him.
Right now, all I can think about is the curve of her mouth. The spark in her eyes. The slow, simmering heat building between us, getting hotter with every breath.
I came down here to forget, even for a little while.
But maybe the antidote to what I’m feeling isn’t at the bottom of a bourbon glass.
Maybe it’s sitting next to me.