Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
DECLAN
The walk toward the elevators feels longer than it should. With every step, every brush of Claire’s arm against mine, the tension in my body winds tighter and tighter, like a coil ready to snap.
Her perfume teases me with each measured inhale.
Warm, soft, with a hint of something floral and sweet.
She bumps into me lightly, laughing as she tells me about a woman named Grandma Estelle from her hometown who, at eighty-something years young, has a fascination with alien erotica and will tell anyone who will listen about her current read.
I pretend not to notice how the sound of her laughter curves down my spine, or how the heat from her skin seeps through my clothes, settling beneath my ribs.
I shouldn’t be walking her to her room. I should have said goodnight at the bar. Hell, I should have said goodnight after one drink. But one turned into two, which I drank slowly so that I had an excuse to linger in her presence a little longer.
We spent the past several hours talking about anything that popped into our heads.
Or, more appropriately, anything that popped into Claire’s head.
I didn’t do much talking, but I didn’t mind.
I liked listening to her voice. Watching her mouth move.
She was the distraction I didn’t know I needed tonight.
The lobby is mostly empty at this late hour, the click of Claire’s heels on the marble floor the only sound. I press the elevator button, keeping my hands jammed into my pockets so I don’t do something stupid.
Like reach for her.
Pull her closer.
See if she tastes as sweet as she smells.
Before I can allow my thoughts to run away, the elevator doors slide open and we step inside.
The space feels smaller than it should.
Tighter.
Hotter.
Claire leans against the far wall, her gaze lazily tracking me as I press the button for her floor. She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t have to. That look in her eyes — teasing, curious, dangerous — says enough.
I focus on the numbers above the door, watching them change slowly. Too slowly.
Every second is a silent dare, every heartbeat a temptation.
Younger women have never been a problem before.
Hell, they made things easier. Women fresh out of college aren’t looking for a future. They want fun. A night. A distraction. And that’s all I’ve ever been good for.
But everything’s different now that I have a son.
A man who’s not much older than the women I typically spend the night with.
Hell, he’s probably not much older than Claire.
The thought punches me right in the ribs, edged with guilt and regret.
When the elevator slides to a stop on her floor and the doors open once more, I let her step off first, trying to look anywhere but at her.
But when I catch the sway of her hips as she walks, it’s damn near impossible. I can feel my heartbeat increase with every step we take toward her room, the silence in the hallway deafening with the tension building between us.
“This is me,” she whispers, slowing her steps and turning to face me. Her smile is soft, sleepy, but there’s something behind it. Something that hits like a match struck in the dark. “Thanks for walking me back.”
“Of course.” I nod, shifting from foot to foot.
Say goodnight, Declan. Turn around. Walk away.
That’s what I should do.
But I don’t.
Instead, I inch closer.
Close enough to see the faint flush on her cheeks. The gold flecks in her green eyes. The slight part of her lips as she looks at me like she’s not afraid of what might happen next.
Like she’s desperate for what might happen next.
I am, too.
My hands ache to touch her. My body physically burns with it, my cock throbbing with a hunger I haven’t experienced in years.
Why now?
Why this woman?
Why tonight?
“Go inside, Claire,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”
The corner of her mouth curls in a slow, dangerous smile. “Who says I’ll regret it?”
Fuck.
My whole body goes rigid, fighting a battle I fear I’m about to lose.
“Go inside,” I repeat, pleading with her to do as I ask.
But she doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
The air between us is electric with all the things I want to do to her. All the ways I want to taste and touch and claim her.
When I’m not sure I can take another second of this tension, she finally turns toward the door, holding her keycard up to the lock. It beeps, and she steps inside.
But just before she closes the door, she glances back. Our eyes catch. Hold. And I see it.
The want.
The invitation.
The promise.
I want to accept. Want to push into her room and lose myself in her.
But I don’t, increasing the distance even more.
Our eyes remain locked on each other as she slowly closes the door, the sound seeming to echo in the hallway.
I let out a long breath and drag a hand through my hair. My legs feel like lead as I turn back toward the elevators.
This is for the best.
My life just got much more complicated than I anticipated. I don’t need to add yet another complication to the mix.
And Claire has complication written all over her.
But that doesn’t stop me from pausing in my tracks when I hear the soft click of a door opening again. It could be someone else. There are dozens of rooms on this floor.
I know it’s her door.
I feel it.
I feel her.
My pulse gradually kicking up, I turn around, the electricity in the air cracking like a damn live wire.
Claire stands just outside her room, her gaze trained on me like I’m the only thing she sees.
For what feels like an eternity, neither of us moves or speaks.
We just stare.
And watch.
And want.
Then something inside me snaps, and I mutter, “Screw it.”
My legs move before my brain’s had a chance to catch up, long, fast strides eating up the distance between us.
I cup her cheek with one hand, my other settling low on her waist as I back her into the room, the thud of the door slamming closed echoing behind me.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” I rasp as I press her against the wall, my chest heaving.
“You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you to be.” Her reply is breathless. Eager. Wanton.
My gaze drops to her mouth, then the rapid rise and fall of her chest. The way she looks at me rips away the last layer of control I’ve been clinging to.
Still, I try.
“I’m too old for you.”
“Age is just a number.” She smirks, hoisting herself on her toes, her lips so close to mine. “Why should we deprive ourselves of this because of a few years between us?”
“It’s more than just a few years, Claire.”
“You’re attracted to me, aren’t you?” she says in a husky voice that completely undoes me, especially when it’s accompanied by her fingertips trailing down my chest, stopping just shy of my belt.
My cock throbs even more.
“God, yes,” I exhale.
She leans in again, her lips barely an inch from mine. “And I’m ridiculously attracted to you. So stop overthinking this, Declan. One night. That’s all this is.”
“One night,” I repeat.
Her lips part, as if about to offer me more promises or assurances. But I don’t need them. I just need her.
Without wasting another second, I crush my mouth against hers.