CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DECLAN
The clock ticks louderthan it has any right to, like a hammer striking steel in an empty room. Each second ricochets inside my skull, drowning out everything else.
I check the time yet again.
12:42.
I don’t know what time Claire normally takes her lunch. Could be noon. Could be one. Then again, she did say she usually eats at her desk whenever she gets hungry.
Like I do.
But with every minute that passes, the more impatient I get.
I told her I wouldn’t pressure her. That the choice was hers.
I just wish I knew what that choice was.
Steam curls from the pot on the stove, carrying the scent of roasted tomatoes and basil. I grab a wooden spoon and stir the soup. Once. Twice. Maybe twelve times. I don’t know. All I know is the anticipation is killing me.
A car engine hums in the distance, tires crunching against snow and gravel. My heart skyrockets, and I dart toward the front window. But it’s not her car. Heaving a sigh, I let the curtain fall back into place, trying not to be disappointed.
It’s probably better if she doesn’t come for lunch.
Safer.
But a reckless part of me wants her to walk through that door.
Wants her to choose me.
With slow steps, I trudge back across the living room. But I’ll drive myself crazy if I don’t do something to take my mind off Claire. So instead of stirring the soup for the umpteenth time, I head to the desk and open my laptop, pulling up one of the pleadings I should be working on.
Sentences line the screen, words that made complete sense when I wrote them. But now they have no meaning, my thoughts constantly drifting to Claire.
Her mouth against mine.
The silken feel of her hair in my fist.
The soft, captivating sound that breaks from her whenever she lets go.
The memory is so vivid.
So dangerous.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, hoping it will help me focus. Then the sound of a door opening cuts through.
I’m on my feet in seconds, trying not to get my hopes up. It could just be my imagination making me hear things.
Then Claire steps into the living area. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, but she’s never looked so damn beautiful.
Because she’s here.
“You came,” I say roughly, partly surprised. Partly relieved.
“Not yet.” She gives me a wicked smile and saunters toward me. “But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time until I do.” Her breath dances on my lips as she hoists herself onto her toes.
“You’ve got that right,” I growl, dragging her flush against me and claiming her mouth.
