“Would you like anything else?”
“It seems Mr. McKinnon has covered all his bases this morning. Thank you though,” I tell him before he turns to leave. The pit of my stomach pinches and this display should please me, but instead, irritation swarms. I should have never connected to his comfort last night. It was a foolish move on my part, and now I’m pissed at myself.
I leave the food and coffee and head to the shower to clean up. Not having any other clothes besides what I wore yesterday and the pajamas, I slip back into my dress and press a little powder on my face from the compact in my purse and then dry my hair.
Bennett calls in the late morning, worried about me getting stuck in the storm yesterday, but I assure him that I’m fine and should be home later today now that the city streets have been plowed. We talk for a while, and when I hear another knock, it’s then that we say our goodbyes and hang up.
As I open the door, Declan walks right in, looking more put together than me in his tailored suit, white button-up left open at the neck, and no tie.
“What, no breaking and entering today?” I say, my words laced with the remaining irritation from earlier.
“I left the key on your coffee table last night,” he responds as he walks over to the food cart. “You haven’t touched anything.”
“I don’t need you catering to me, assuming you know what I like to eat or that it’s your right to even make assumptions about me,” I snap while I walk into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
“So, we’re back to steely-bitch Nina?”
Turning to look at him, I say, “I’m going to have a cup of tea and then I’d like my car to be ready so I can go home.”
“It’s still snowing.”
“The plows already came through.”
He walks over to the kitchen and stands by the bar, asking, “What happened to you this morning? I woke up and you were gone.”
“Your ego bruised?” I say with a condescending grin that pisses him off.
Rounding the bar, he backs me against the countertop, and hisses, “Now it’s time for you to cut the shit.” The kettle starts to squeal, and before I can turn to get it, he reaches over and slams it on the other burner, startling me, and flips the knob off. Caging me in with his arms, his tone is hard when he says, “Your games are starting to piss me off, and I don’t like being played.”
“And what about your games, Declan? The ones you’ve been playing since the night I met you?”
“Did I not apologize to you?” he questions. “Don’t forget that you came to me last night.”
“Moment of weakness. Won’t happen again. So if you were hoping—”
“God, you’re fucking aggravating.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” I say as I move to push him back, and when he keeps his stance and doesn’t budge, I bark, “Let me out.”
“No.”
Pushing my hands against his hardened chest, I get pissed. “I’m serious, Declan. Back up!”
“No.”
“Let me go!”
“Not until you stop bullshitting me. Stop lying, and tell me why you came to me last night.”
Pressing my chest against his, I narrow my eyes, saying, “I already told you. Moment of weakness.”
He grabs me above the elbows, biting down hard before saying, “And I told you not to lie.”
I fist my hands, jerking my body away from him, and he lets go of me. He stays back while I walk across the room, putting space between us, and go over to the windows.
“You think I get off on encroaching on a married woman?” he asks.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I keep my back to him.
“You think I’m an asshole?” he continues. “Join the club. I’m a fucking ass, but I can’t help how you make me feel when you’re around.”
I can feel the heat of him as he moves in behind me. His hands find my shoulders, and he gently tugs to turn me to face him, but I cast my eyes downward.
“Tell me I’m not alone here, or tell me I am because the moment I think I can read you, you flip on me.” When I look up at him, his eyes hold hope in my response. “Tell me why you came to me last night.”
“Because . . .” I begin, but let it linger.
“Tell me.”
“Because I didn’t want to be alone.”
“Why?”
“Declan . . .” I hesitate.
“Why, Nina?”
Lowering my head, my voice cracks perfectly when I say, “Because I’m lonely.” He runs his hands from my shoulders, up my neck, and to my cheeks, angling me up to him. As I look into his eyes, I add, “Whether he’s here or not, I’m lonely.”
“And when I’m here?” he questions.
“I don’t feel so alone.”
He releases a breath and drops his forehead to mine as I grip my hands around his wrists.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I was a dick to you yesterday.”
“I wasn’t very nice either.”
He lifts his head, telling me, “Don’t leave. Stay. Let me make it up to you.”
“I can’t. I need to go home.”
“Why?”
With a light laugh, I say, “Well, for one, I need to change into some clean clothes.”
“So go home and change. I’ll pick you up.”