Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CLAIRE
The steady thrum of Declan’s heartbeat soothes me as I rest on his chest, his arm draped around me like he’s never letting go. Neither of us moves. Neither of us wants to. Instead, we both seem content to stay right here, in this moment.
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m here at all.
When Parker essentially forced me to go home and take a night off, I’d planned to make dinner and binge reality TV as I sipped on a glass of wine. I never could have anticipated I’d end up in bed with Declan.
I can’t stop replaying the look on his face when he came bursting into my townhouse. The terror in his eyes as he clutched my cheeks. The tremble in his hands. The crack in his voice when he said he was scared he’d lost me, too.
It could be nothing, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s a deeper meaning to his words.
Who else did he lose?
My stomach interrupts my thoughts with a loud growl, making me cringe.
Declan’s arm tightens around me, and he presses a soft kiss to my head that makes me feel things I have no business feeling.
“Hungry?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
“Someone did interrupt my dinner plans so he could put his cock in me,” I deadpan.
“I didn’t hear you complaining.” He rolls to face me, grabbing my thigh and hooking my leg over his hip. “In fact, if memory serves, you said ‘Oh, yes, Declan.’” He pitches his voice higher in a horrible impersonation of me. “‘Harder. You fuck me so good. You must have a magical penis.’”
I playfully pinch his side. “I did not say you had a magical penis.”
He circles against me, his erection hitting that spot I’m desperate to feel him again. “Maybe not out loud. But you thought it. Didn’t you?”
I bite my bottom lip, fighting back my moan. “Maybe.”
“Good. Because I kept thinking about how fucking magical your pussy is.” He slides his finger between us and gently rubs my clit as he catches my mouth in a kiss.
But then my treacherous stomach growls again.
He breaks away with a chuckle. “Time to feed you.”
“Your magical penis?”
He rolls away and stands up from the bed. “No. Actual food.” He grabs his boxer briefs and tugs them on. “You need your strength for what I have planned for you later.”
“Later?”
He nods slowly.
“You don’t need to go to the trouble. I can just go back home.”
I start to get up, but he pushes me back onto the bed, crawling on top of me and pinning me down.
“Not a chance in hell. I’m not done with you yet, Claire.”
His mouth captures mine in another heated kiss, and I melt into him.
My brain shouts at me to leave. Put some distance between us before this turns into something I can’t control. But I don’t. Because thinking clearly around Declan is impossible.
“Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes. Feel free to use the shower if you’d like.”
He leaves me with one last kiss on my forehead, then disappears down the hall. I reluctantly get out of Declan’s bed and pad into the bathroom.
The faint scent of his cologne clings to the air, grounding and disarming all at once.
His toiletries line the marble counter — toothpaste, mouthwash, shaving cream.
It’s not cluttered like my vanity. Another stark reminder of how different we are.
He’s all precision and organization. I’m chaos and creativity.
I head toward the shower and turn on the water. Once it’s the right temperature, I pin up my hair and step under the stream, sighing as the water hits me.
Even though I’m not washing my hair, I reach for his shampoo and open the cap, inhaling. It smells like him. Masculine, earthy, with some clean undertones that make me want to bury my face in his neck.
After a longer shower than necessary, considering I didn’t wash my hair, I wrap myself in an oversized towel and return to the bedroom.
I’m about to put my clothes back on, but spot Declan’s button-down shirt on the floor.
Grinning to myself, I pick it up and slip it on, fastening only the lower few buttons.
When I step into the kitchen, Declan glances up from the cutting board, then does a double take, heat building in his stare as he sets down the knife.
“On second thought,” he begins, his voice low as he stalks toward me, “maybe I’ll just have you for dinner.” He wraps an arm around me and yanks me against him.
“You won’t hear any complaints from me.”
He kisses me, but my stomach interrupts again.
I can feel his smile against my lips. “But I’d be a terrible host if I let you go hungry.
” He touches a soft kiss to my mouth, then pulls back, returning to the cutting board.
“This won’t take long. I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I went with salmon since that’s what you ordered at dinner with Joshua. ”
“You remember?”
He meets my gaze. “I remember everything about you.”
A tiny breath escapes at the sincerity in his voice, and I quickly look away, not wanting to get swept up in it. It doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t change the fact that this will never go anywhere.
Instead, I take in my surroundings. I haven’t been in this townhouse since Finn moved out. Despite the furniture being mostly the same, it feels different.
The tree I helped Declan pick out sits decorated by the front window. Other than that, there’s nothing of a personal nature. Even the countertops are free of clutter. Unlike my kitchen, which is often overflowing with all of Dylan’s cookware and spices.
At the thought, I’m instantly reminded of the mess I left behind.
“I should go clean up before Dylan gets home. I’d hate for her to—”
“Already done.”
I blink. “What?”
“I went over while you were in the shower. Don’t worry. I checked the driveway first to make sure her car wasn’t there. I put your tuna in a container and cleaned up everything else. Our secret’s safe.”
He gives me a sly wink, and I’m not sure how to feel about being his secret. Hearing it out loud hits me harder than I expected, leaving me momentarily ashamed.
“Would you like some wine?” Declan asks, cutting through my unease.
“Sure.”
He pours two glasses of chardonnay and hands me one.
“Cheers.”
I clink my glass with his. “Cheers.”
When he turns toward the stove, I hoist myself onto a barstool by the kitchen island and watch him sear the salmon, my eyes drawn to the lines of his shoulders, the way his jaw flexes as he concentrates.
I’ve always found him to be attractive. But watching him cook?
This may be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, especially since he’s only wearing boxer briefs.
“What are you thinking about over there?” He meets my gaze.
“You may have just unlocked a new kink.”
“A new kink?” He arches a brow.
“Yeah. You cooking in just your boxer briefs. It’s a definite turn-on.”
His laughter fills the space, the sound sending a rush of excitement through me. “Well, just wait until dessert.”
“You’re making dessert, too?”
He turns off the burner and glances my way, his eyes filled with lust. “I don’t need to.”
A shiver rolls down my spine, and I squeeze my legs together to dull the ache building inside. How does this man seem to turn me on with just one look? One word?
“Hope you like it.” He sets a plate in front of me before sliding onto the barstool beside me.
“It looks delicious.”
I slice into the salmon, having to bite back a moan from the buttery flavor.
One thing is certain. Declan can cook. I’m not sure why I’m so surprised by this.
I guess I had this image in my head of him hiring someone like Dylan to prepare all his meals.
Or ordering takeout, considering all the hours he works.
“Is it okay?” he asks, his expression somewhat pinched and nervous.
“It’s fantastic. Thanks for going to the trouble. You didn’t have to.”
“It’s the least I can do after I interrupted your dinner plans.”
“I’m sorry about before.” I wave my hand. “The smoke detector. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“I told you. You didn’t disturb me, Claire. You scared me.” He holds my gaze for several long beats before refocusing his attention on his salmon.
I should drop it, but I can’t get his words from earlier out of my head. How he thought he lost me, too.
It’s that too that won’t leave me alone.
“What you said before. How you were afraid you lost me, too. What did you mean?”
His back goes rigid, and he stares ahead, the room going eerily silent. I swear I can hear my own heartbeat in the stillness, even the dog barking down the street going mute.
“I’m sorry,” I say after several awkward seconds. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s not my place.” I avert my gaze as another silence settles between us, this one even heavier than before.
I’m about to push back from my chair and make up an excuse about needing to get home when his voice cuts through.
“My mother.”
“What about your mother?” I ask cautiously.
From the bits and pieces he’s shared over the past few weeks, I had a feeling she’d passed when he was young, but I never pressed for more information. It wasn’t my place.
Now I can’t help but be curious.
“I lost her, too.” His eyes finally meet mine. “In a house fire. Our house.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Oh, god.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected him to say. Maybe a car accident. Or cancer. But a fire? I can’t imagine what that must have been like. The helplessness as you watch your entire life go up in flames? It’s one of my biggest fears.
“It was Christmas Eve,” he continues softly. “I was eight and was at that age where I was questioning whether Santa was real. I decided I was going to prove it one way or another that year, so I tried to stay awake, listening for anything that might sound like reindeer and a sleigh.”
A nostalgic smile tugs on his mouth as he looks into the distance, as if watching a movie of his childhood play before his eyes. But then his expression falls.
“At some point, I dozed off. The next thing I knew, my mom barged into my room and woke me up. I was disoriented. Had trouble focusing. It took me a few seconds to realize why. There was smoke everywhere. She told me I needed to get out of the house. But in that moment of panic, all I could think about was our cat.” He laughs under his breath.
“He was a complete asshole. Hated everyone except me, considering I was the one who found him in a bush by our bus stop. Regardless, she promised to find him, then told me to grab my brother and get out of the house.”
I’m almost afraid to ask. “What happened next?”
“I did as she asked. Ran into my brother’s room and got him out safely.”
“And your mom?”
“After what felt like an eternity, she stumbled out with the cat.” He swallows hard. “She handed him to me, then collapsed. The smoke… It was too much for her lungs to handle, and she died on the way to the hospital.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, seeing Declan in a completely different light. Seeing his actions in a completely different light. No wonder he overreacted when he heard my smoke detector going off. It must have brought back some horrific memories.
“And your father?” I ask after several long moments. “Where was he when all of this happened?”
“Out buying batteries so we’d be able to play with our presents when we opened them.”
“Sounds like a good man.”
“At one point he was.”
“What do you mean?”
“After that night…he wasn’t the same. He couldn’t stand Christmas.” His jaw tightens. “Or me.”
I furrow my brow. “Why?”
“He blamed me for what happened and had no problem letting me know it. He wasn’t wrong. It is my fault my mother died. If I hadn’t begged her to find the cat—”
“You can’t seriously blame yourself for her death,” I retort, my voice heavy with disbelief.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because it wasn’t your fault.”
He blows out a disbelieving laugh as he takes a large gulp of wine. “It’s a sweet sentiment, Claire, but you’re wrong. I’ve learned to live with it.”
Now I’m the one to push out a disbelieving laugh, because it’s obvious he hasn’t. He’s just learned to bury it beneath the surface.
“Your mother made a choice. If I were in her shoes and my son asked me to save his cat, I probably would have done the same thing. As for your father, I take back what I said. He sounds like a fucking asshole.”
“Maybe, but he has a point. It was—”
“I told you how my father left my mother when she was pregnant with me,” I interject before he can blame himself yet again.
“You did.”
“A part of me has always thought that maybe if my mother wasn’t pregnant with me, he would have stayed. But anytime I even suggested it, my mother shot me down. Insisted I wasn’t to blame. Like a good parent should.”
He stares at me for a protracted beat, then sighs, shifting his eyes forward as he pushes his salad around his plate. “I appreciate your words, Claire, but our situations are a little different.”
“If you ask me, they’re not that different at all.
You lost your mother. I lost my father. But my mother refused to let me blame myself, whereas your father was more than happy to let you shoulder the blame.
” I shake my head in disgust. “That’s not what a real parent would do, even if you were at fault, which you’re not. ”
He parts his lips to protest yet again, but I raise a hand, cutting him off.
“You have a son. Would you ever treat him the way your father did? If you were in your father’s shoes, would you blame Joshua?”
“God, no,” he answers quickly. “I’d never do that.”
“Exactly.” I fully face him and grab his hands in mine.
“You weren’t to blame, Declan. You aren’t to blame.
What happened to your mother was tragic, and I hate that you had to learn that kind of suffering at such a young age.
But I hate what your father made you endure more.
Because he was wrong. And cruel. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t—”
Before I can utter another syllable, he crushes his lips to mine in a kiss that completely steals my breath.
This one feels different from all the other times he’s kissed me.
I’m not sure how to explain it. This one isn’t filled with lust or hunger, although there’s still a spark of electricity buzzing between us.
This one feels more emotional. More sensual. More…personal.
Which is everything this isn’t supposed to be.
When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine. “How are you so damn wise and only twenty-four?”
“I’m an old soul.”
“I know. It’s what drew me to you that night in the bar.”
“And here I thought it was my legs,” I tease, hoping to cut through the mounting tension. “Or my incredible rack.”
“Oh, I definitely like both of those,” he says with a devilish glint in his eye. “But I like what’s behind that incredible rack more.”
He curves toward me and captures my mouth in another kiss, this one even more tender than before.
Even more emotional.
I should stop this. Thank him for the orgasms and dinner, then escape to the safety of my home.
Instead, I allow myself to sink further into the fantasy that we could be more than this.
That this could be real.
That this could be forever.
Even though I know it can’t.