“Thank you,” I whisper.
Dinner passes in a haze. The food is exquisite, but it’s secondary to the pull between us.
At first, I wasn’t sure what to expect tonight. Up until now, most of our time together has been spent in the bedroom, both of us desperately trying to satisfy our cravings in the little time we could steal.
But tonight, we have the luxury of time and anonymity, giving us space to talk in a way we haven’t before. We discuss our interests, the places we’ve been, the things we’ve wanted. He listens like every word I say matters. And I’m transfixed by every piece of his life he shares with me.
He tells me about law school. About how he got interested in civil rights. About how the military shaped him. I don’t press him to talk too much about his childhood, since I know that might bring up difficult memories. I don’t want to do anything to lose this version of Declan.
It reminds me of the man who approached me at a bar in Boston and offered to buy me a drink after chasing off a creep who refused to take no for an answer. I’ve missed that Declan.
At one point, he sits back, his eyes narrowing on me as if trying to solve a puzzle.
“I’m really enjoying this. More than I thought possible. Don’t get me wrong,” he adds quickly. “I love every second I spendwith you in the bedroom. But being here with you, spending time with you fully clothed… I like it.”
I arch a brow. “You sound surprised.”
“Maybe a little.” He laughs under his breath.
I swirl the red wine in my glass before taking a sip. “Why’s that?”
“I’m not usually one to wine and dine a woman. Not like this.”
“Too busy with work?”
He slowly shakes his head. “No desire. But with you…” His gaze darkens, locking onto mine.
“Yes?” I lean toward him.
“You make me want things I’m not supposed to.”
My foolishly hopeful heart races. “Like what?”
“You.”
I laugh nervously, trying to lighten the weight of his words. “You’ve already had me. More times than I can count.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t look away. If anything, the intensity in his gaze deepens.
“I’m talking about more than just your body, Claire. And I have no business wanting more than that. Not when I’m incapable of giving you more in return.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” I whisper.
“It’s true,” he says firmly. “And I’m a selfish bastard for wanting to spend more time with you than I deserve. But you’re a goddamn drug. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I leave here.”
I open my mouth, on the brink of suggesting it doesn’t have to end. But I swallow it down. If I only get this version of Declan for one night, I don’t want to ruin it. Don’t want to do or say anything to chase him away.
“I guess you’ll just have to spend a lot of time in the shower, jerking off to the memory of me.”
He chuckles, the low and rough sound warming me. “I guess so.”
But as I take another sip of my wine, my mother’s voice echoes in my head, telling me I deserve more than scraps.
I shove the thought away, convincing myself this is fine. That this is enough.
But with every stolen glance, every laugh, every brush of his hand on mine, I begin to question whether itisenough. Begin to wonder what it would be like if this were real. If we weren’t bound by timelines and rules and the inevitable ending waiting for us.
If he were mine.
