“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 youwereat 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. Youaren’tto 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 surehow 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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DECLAN
Claire’s bodyis molded against mine, her head tucked under my chin, the steady rhythm of her breathing warm against my chest. My arm is draped over her, my hand resting on the curve of her hip. I can feel every subtle rise and fall, every quiet shift of muscle beneath her skin. She feels like she belongs here. Like she’salwaysbelonged here.
And I don’t know what the hell to make of that.
The room is dim with only the faintest wash of a streetlight filtering through the blinds, striping her bare shoulder in gold. The air still smells of her, warm vanilla tangled with something sharper and more intoxicating. Eucalyptus maybe.
My pulse hasn’t quite slowed, but it’s not just the memory of her body clenching around me, my name on her lips as she came undone.
