“I bet he does.” She playfully waggles her brows. Then her expression grows serious once more. “But none of that matters if he’s not willing to give you what you deserve.”
I push out a long sigh. “I appreciate your concern, Mom. But I promise. I’m okay with our arrangement.” I give her a sincere smile, but my words lack any hint of conviction.
And from the look in her eyes, I know she hears it, too.
CHAPTER THIRTY
CLAIRE
The cursor blinks backat me from the spreadsheet, taunting me with all the work I need to do.
I scan the endless cells of numbers and letters, the mountain of files on my desk, the sticky notes curling at the edges with half-scribbled reminders. This week is packed with activities — carolers, carriage rides, cookie-decorating contests, and live music nearly every night. It should feel exhilarating. Instead, my head is in a fog.
Because all I can think about is Declan.
Worse, all I can hear are my mother’s words from the other day. How she’s worried I’m settling for pieces because I’m too scared to ask for more.
She’s wrong. Shehasto be. This thing with Declan isn’t like that. I knew what this was when I let myself fall into his bed. This isn’t a fairy tale. This is two consenting adults finding an outlet for a few weeks. Nothing more.
But if that’s the case, why am I still sitting in my office at 12:30 on a Monday, staring at my monitor, instead of spending my lunch with him? Why am I dragging my feet? Can it be because maybe, just maybe, there might be some truth to what my mom said and seeing him again might force me to admit it?
The thought has me shoving back from my desk like it’s caught fire.
I refuse to let my mother get under my skin. She’s just meddling in my social life now that Genevieve has found her happily ever after. Despite what she wants to believe, I’m perfectly happy with the pieces Declan’s been giving me this past week. Especially when those pieces result in more mind-blowing orgasms than I thought possible.
I don’t want more.
I don’tneedmore.
I barely have a chance to close the back door to Declan’s townhouse before he’s sweeping me into his arms, his mouth hot and demanding as it claims mine. His hand fists my hair, and he yanks my head back to deepen the kiss, to take more.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since Saturday,” he growls against my lips, his voice low and rough. “Hell, since Friday. Since you walked out my door.”
His lips slam against mine again, greedy and punishing, like he’s been starving and I’m the only thing that can satisfy him.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it was to be so close to you and not be able to touch you? Kiss you? Fuck you?”
He nips at my neck, his hands desperately pushing my coat down my arms.
“I hated it, Claire. So damn much.”
“I hated it too,” I whisper, clawing at his belt buckle, frantic to feel his skin beneath my hands.
His answering groan vibrates through my chest. “It didn’t help that I knew I’d have to wait until today to have you again. It was only two days, but it felt like a fucking lifetime.”
I hate how much I like the raw vulnerability in his words.
I hate how much I want to believe him.
Worse, I hate how much I want him to keep saying things like this.
“I’m here now.” I give him a flirtatious smirk. “So you can make up for lost time.”
“And I plan on it.”
We stumble toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothing like breadcrumbs.
My dress.
