20. Chapter 20 #2
"You've had two weeks of space." I reach past her, wrap my hands over hers on the railing, caging her between my arms. "It's not helping either of us."
"Let me go."
"No."
She makes a frustrated sound. "You can't just—"
"Who the fuck were those men, Darcy?"
Silence falls over the terrace, her soft breathing rising and falling in time with my pulse.
"People from my past," she says after some time. "The kind I came to New York to get away from."
"And they knew your name."
She flinches.
"I heard it," I say. "Darcella."
She doesn't respond.
"Is that your name?"
"It used to be."
"And someone sent those men looking for you."
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Someone I don't want to talk about."
I reach for her shoulders, turning her firmly so she has no choice but to face me.
Her golden eyes are wet, chin wobbling, dark lashes fringed with tears.
I reach up and catch them with my thumb.
"I can't—" she starts.
“I’m not going to force you to do shit you don’t want to, sweetheart.” I rumble. "But you don't get to shut me out either. That stops now."
"Declan—"
"You're exhausted. You're scared. You're running from something and for some godforsaken reason you won't let me help you." I tuck her hair back from her face. "That's done, Darcy.” My stare drills into her pretty face. “In case you forgot, I'm your husband."
She blinks. “But we're getting an annulment—"
"Not tonight we're not."
"That's not—you can't just—"
"I can." I step closer, backing her gently against the railing. "Because you're mine. You've been mine since Tulum. And whatever this is—whatever you're carrying—you sure as hell aren’t carrying it alone. Not as long as I'm around.”
The wind whips around us, a welcome breeze blowing Darcy’s dark hair across her mouth.
She pulls the strands back with delicate fingers, looking up at me. “You don't understand what you're saying."
"Then explain it to me."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because—" Her voice breaks. "Because when I do, everything changes. And I'm not ready for everything to change."
My gaze sweeps over her—wavy dark hair, pulled into a soft bun; escaped spirals; the silk shirt and pencil skirt from a day’s worth of work.
A slight tremor still ticks her chin, fingers slightly shaking.
Fuck. Whatever is going on, I know one thing—
She's terrified.
Not of me.
Of something else I can't see.
The old me—the enforcer—would force the answer out of her.
But the man I'm becoming? The one Darcy has morphed me into? He can't push her.
I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger.
“Hiding can only last so long, darling. Trust me. I’ve learned that the hard way.
And whatever you’re hiding from, it won’t change this.
Not what happens between us.” I press her hand flat against my chest, letting her feel my heartbeat. “Do you understand?”
She's crying now, silent tears tracking down her face.
"You don't know that," she whispers.
"I know it."
“You don’t—"
I kiss her—not frantically but solidly, slowly—one hand cupping her face, my thumb wiping tears from her cheek.
She melts completely against me, the rigidness she’s been holding instantly softening as her full mouth moves against mine.
When I pull back, her eyes are still closed.
“And you definitely aren’t hiding tonight," I say quietly.
"Is that an order?"
"It's a fact."
"You're infuriating."
"You've mentioned that."
"Multiple times."
"And yet here you are."
She opens her eyes. "Here I am."
Jaw tight, skin humming, I reach for the buttons on her blouse—slowly, watching her face for any hesitation.
There isn't any.
I slide the first button free.
Then the next.
Then the next.
The blouse falls open and I push it back off her shoulders, letting it drop to the terrace floor.
"Declan, we're outside—"
"We're fifty floors up. No one can see." I unhook her bra with one hand. "Only me."
The bra follows the blouse. I step back, taking in the view of the woman in front of me.
Standing on my terrace in the warm July night—bare from the waist up, gorgeous tits on display, Manhattan glowing behind her as the city lights catch in her glossy dark hair.
“Fuck,” I mutter. "You're so beautiful."
"You say that every time."
"Because it's true every time."
I reach for her skirt, sliding the zipper down.
The skirt pools at her feet, a whisper in the dark, before I hook my fingers in her panties—the last barrier—dragging them down her legs.
She's completely naked now.
The warm air moves over her skin. The city hums fifty stories below. She's standing there letting me look at her like she's finally stopped trying to hide.
"You're still dressed," she says.
"I know." I take her chin. "That's intentional."
"Why?"
"Because this time, you're going to focus entirely on what I'm doing to you. Not on whatever's in your head. Not on whatever you're afraid to tell me." I walk her backward until the backs of her knees hit the outdoor sectional and she sits. "Just this. Just us. Understood?"
She swallows. "Yes, Declan."
Christ.
My name, the worship in her voice… it’s a dangerous kind of satisfaction.
I go to my knees in front of her, spreading her thighs with my hands.
"Lean back," I order. "Hands on the cushions. Don't move them."
She leans back, and I put my mouth on her instantly.
The cry she lets out is immediate—loud enough that I'd be concerned about the neighbors if I cared.
I don't.
I take my time, enjoying her with my tongue. Slowly. Thoroughly.