by E. K. Blair
“I’ll call you as soon as I get there,” he tells me and then teases, “Use this time to buy me lots of Christmas gifts.”
“I’ll spoil you rotten,” I laugh.
“You already spoil me rotten.”
With one more kiss, we say goodbye, and I watch as the car pulls away, happy that he’s finally gone.
WITH MY HUSBAND on his way to the airport to spend the next two weeks on the other side of the world, I get my game face on and head back to Declan, who’s still in the dining room.
“What was that about?” he questions when I walk back in and sit down.
“Just saying goodbye.”
“Are you sad?”
Shifting in my seat, I say, “Can we not talk about this?”
Declan doesn’t push his questions anymore, staying quiet for the most part, aside from safe chitchat as we finish our meal. We discuss the catering and visit with Marco for a while, and after I hire him to cater the party, we open a bottle of wine while we spend a lengthy amount of time selecting the menu offerings. Once business is handled and the foods are selected, Marco excuses himself and I follow Declan to the lobby to have the valet pull my car around.
“Oh no,” I breathe as I look out front. “How long were we talking with Marco?” It’s a white out with snow falling hard and already piling high, making it impossible for me to leave.
“A few hours,” Declan responds. “You can’t drive in this, Nina.”
“No, I know,” I say and then shake my head, adding, “It’s just . . . I told Bennett I would leave before the storm hit.”
“We lost track of time. Nobody’s fault. You can stay here.”
“I don’t have anything with me,” I say and Declan lets out a quiet laugh. “What?”
“Nina, you’re standing in one of the most exclusive hotels in the city. I’ll get you whatever you need.”
“Anything?”
Smiling at me, he says, “Come on,” as he leads me back to his office. He then gets on the phone telling whoever is on the other end to prepare a penthouse suite with all amenities and to bring him the key.
When he hangs up, I tell him, “You didn’t have to do that. I don’t need the penthouse.”
“You’ll be next to me. This way you won’t be tempted to sneak out and play in the elevators,” he jokes as if I’m some teenager.
“Next to you?” I question.
“I occupy one of the penthouses.”
“You live here?”
“No,” he replies. “I have a loft in River North, but I house a room here as well for when I’m too tired to drive home, or in this case, get stuck in a blizzard.”
“River North? I would’ve thought you lived here in the loop.”
“Too pretentious for me. No offense.”
“Says the man who drives a pretentious car,” I tease with a smile, and suddenly, all the tension and frustration from earlier seems to let up as we lightly poke fun at each other.
“Well, I can’t argue the car, but it’s nice to leave the loop at the end of the day and escape to a place that’s a bit more low-key.”
He says this and I think back to the breakfast diner he took me to the other week. Declan definitely looks the part and has the name that follows, but I wonder how much of it is really him. River North is full of wealth these days, but he’s right, it’s not pretentious.
After a while, when one of the staff delivers my room key, I follow Declan as he shows me to my room. Only two suites occupy the top floor, which is only accessible by the occupants—Declan and myself.
“This is you,” he says as he walks me over to the left side of the elevator banks.
“Thank you.”
“I’m on the other side,” he tells me. “So if you need anything . . .”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure.
“Dinner later?”
“I’m pretty full from Marco’s meal,” I say. “I think I’ll make it an early night.”
As I turn to unlock the door, he adds, “Like I said, if you need anything, let me know.”
“Night, Declan,” I say and then walk into the room, letting the door shut behind me.
Looking around, the walls are solid floor to ceiling windows showcasing the twinkling lights of the city that’s now covered in a blanket of snow. The space is large, with an open-concept living room, dining room, and kitchen. All of which are furnished in sleek upholstery and rich leather. I note the fireplace that is situated in a smaller sitting area that’s set off from the rest of the room in a sunken section a couple steps down. I make my way into the bedroom that’s lined with the same panoramic windows. I lay my coat and purse down on the plush white linens and go into the bathroom. I laugh at the extremities Declan’s staff went to when I see every toiletry you could possibly need, plus a two-piece set of pajamas folded inside a shopping bag from Roslyn Boutique. Picking them up, I note the designer. The length that this hotel went to is no doubt a simple favor to myself. Lotus is known for its exclusivity and privacy for its patrons. Not anyone can just walk in and book a room.
After settling in, changing into the pajamas, and making a cup of hot tea, I sit on the floor with my legs crossed, knees pressed against the cold window as I watch the snow fall down on the city below. I think about how to use this night to my advantage with Declan. I know I should find my way to his room, and start to go through a variety of reasons for why I would go knocking on his door.
Time passes as I get lost in thought, and when I look over to the clock sitting on one of the end tables, it reads 10:23 pm. Setting my mug on the floor beside me, my mind drifts to Pike, and I can’t help the guilt that passes through as I think about him in that cold, dilapidated trailer while I’m sitting on top of the city. The click of a door steers me away from Pike, and when I turn to look over my shoulder, I see Declan.
“What are you doing on the floor in the dark?” he asks as he walks across the large living room towards me.
“Do you make it a habit of breaking in to your guests’ hotel rooms?”
With a grin, he says, “Technically, I didn’t break in.” He holds up a key card before dropping it on the coffee table when he walks past it.
“You could have knocked.”
He steps next to me as I sit on the floor, and I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. He stands with his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he looks out the window.
“I love the snow,” he murmurs, and without thinking, I agree, “I do too.”
He looks down at me, his face shadowed in the darkened room. “Are you okay?” he asks, concerned for some reason.
“Why?”
“Because I come to check on you and you’re on the floor pressed up against the window without a single light on. Seems sad.”
I turn my attention back to the city below when I respond, “I like watching the snow fall.”
He sits down next to me, his knee touching mine. I allow a few moments of silence to pass before saying, “Thank you.”
“For?”
“The room,” I tell him. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s just a room, Nina,” he says, downplaying the scale of his hotel as he keeps his focus on the snow.
“Lotus,” I say, acknowledging the name of the hotel. “Interesting choice. Why Lotus?”
“There’s something about a beautiful, nearly flawless flower, emerging from muddled water.”
“Hmm.” I pause before stating, “Self-reflection,” inferring that the meaning strikes a chord with himself.
Tilting his head to look at me, his breath feathering my cheek, he says, “Is this you trying to dissect me?”
“Is there something lying beneath that I should be looking for?”
“Everyone has something beneath that they’re hiding.” He peers into me. At least that’s what he wants me to believe, but I’m not permeable. I soften anyway, giving him the sense that he’s actually having an effect on me. I blink a few times and shift myself, cueing him
that I’m nervous, and then he asks, “So what is it? Tell me what you think you’ve found.”
Taking in a deep breath, I release it with my theory. “You have a distaste for the business that owns your name.”
He doesn’t move, and I add, “Or maybe your distaste is for your father.”
“Interesting. Why bring him up?”
I smile and say, “Come on. We’ve both met the man. He’s a bastard; you said it yourself the other day.”
Declan laughs under his breath, saying “You’re not delicate with your words, are you?”
“Did I give you the impression that I’m delicate?”
With a soft hum, he gives me an inquisitive look, and then asks, “What about your father?”
He catches me slightly off guard. A pinprick in the one soft spot that I’ve never been able to harden.
You want to know my weakness?
Well, there it is.
I miss my father.
Shifting the focus, I redirect, saying, “We’re not talking about me, remember?”
“Of course.”
“Do you even get along with him?”
“As well as anyone else does,” he answers.
“That’s a very political answer.”
With his hand, he brushes my cheek slightly as he takes a lock of my hair and tucks it behind my ear, saying, “Whether or not you’re in politics, everything is political. We all save face for others to perceive us in the best light. Nothing is real until you break down the walls and reveal the ugliness.”
“Ugliness,” I repeat as I look at him.
“The truest part of a person is always the ugliest. And with your evasiveness, I would bet that you’re pretty damn ugly beneath all that gloss.”
He keeps a straight face as he says this, and the truth behind his words irritates me. I know I’m ugly. Uglier than most. I’m tarnished and decrepit, but I’ll be damned if I ever let him or anyone else see the wretched heart that beats inside of me.
“You’re an asshole,” I bite.
“Baby, I’ve been called a lot worse, so if you’re trying to offend me, you’ll have to do better than that.”
With a glare, I say, “I don’t get you and your insults. I thought you wanted to be my friend.”
He moves in closer to me, and with a low voice, murmurs, “I don’t want to be your friend, Nina.”
Taking a hard swallow, I feign nervousness, whispering, “You should go,” as he continues to move himself toward me, and then over me, forcing me to lie back on the floor with both his hands braced on either side of me. “Declan, this is wrong,” I breathe.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Tell me you love your husband,” his voice taunting.
“I love my husband.”
“Tell me you don’t want me,” he says, eyes pinned to mine.
“I don’t want you.”
My breathing increases and grows heavy when he lowers himself onto his elbow and starts running his one hand down the center of my sternum, between my breasts, adding quietly, “Tell me you’re not lying to me.”
“I’m not lying to you.”
Then, with his legs intertwined with mine, he slips his hand down my pants, under my panties, parting the lips of my pussy and dragging his finger through my heat. He smiles cagily down at me when he feels how wet I am and then quickly removes his hand, bringing it to my lips and shoving his finger into my mouth, telling me, “Taste your lies, Nina.”
His breath bathes me with his words, and I give in, allowing my tongue, for a brief and noticeable moment, to wrap around his finger, giving him the obedience I know he craves, but inside, I’m mortified and disgusted. I hate that my body would react this way—growing wet for this man. Pulling away and jerking my head to the side, I don’t look at him, but soon feel his nose gliding along my exposed neck, hearing him inhale my scent.
“Declan . . .”
“Hmm . . .?”
I roll my head back, and look straight up at him. “Get the fuck off of me.”
When he doesn’t move right away, I fist my hands, and flip the switch on him, weakly slamming them against his chest, allowing the look of guilt to wash over my face. “Get off of me now, Declan.”
He moves back and sits on his heels as I rise off of my back and scoot away from him, muttering, “Please, just go. Just leave me alone.”
“Nina . . .”
“You can’t do this to me. I’m not that person.”
He reaches out for me, saying, with apology in his voice, “I don’t want to upset you; you just make it hard for me to control myself when I’m around you.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I like you. Because I know you’re not happy. I can see you hiding, and I don’t want you to do that around me.”
“I’m not hiding,” I affirm sternly.
“Okay then,” he releases in frustration. “You want me to accept that when we both know it’s a lie?”
“I’m not hiding,” I repeat, and with that, he stands and walks away and out the door.
Fucking, Christ!
A part of me wants to squeal in victory, knowing I’ve got this guy by the balls, and the other part feels like it needs a drink because he’s so goddamn deluged with intensity. I’ve come across a few guys in the past year, but none have shown this level of interest. They all fizzled before anything could ever get started, so the elation that I feel with Declan gives me the power I need to move forward.
I NOW FIND myself tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep because my mind won’t seem to quiet down. It’s past one in the morning when I decide the night with Declan isn’t over just yet. He wants to believe that I’m lying to him about my contentment with Bennett, so I’ll give him reason enough to confirm his assumption. Throwing the covers off of me, I walk through the room and out the door. This floor is private, so I go ahead and walk past the elevator bank and down to Declan’s room. Standing in front of his door, I take a deep breath, and allow my mind to go to a place that’ll put me in the state I need to be in when he opens the door and looks at me. He needs to believe I’m harboring a deep pain inside, so I drift back twenty-three years. I’m being ripped out of my father’s arms, watching him fall to his knees as he’s cuffed. I can see the tears falling down his face, and when I feel my cheeks heat in the pain, the tears puddle in my eyes. I knock.
Lights.
Camera.
Action.
The door opens, and I look up to see Declan standing in nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms that hang on his narrow hips that angle down from his broad, sculpted chest. My tears are heavy, but they don’t spill over. He takes one step towards me and pulls me into his arms, his cheek pressed to the top of my head, holding me tight. No words are spoken when he brings me inside his room and shuts the door.
I keep my arms around his waist as he walks me back to his room and over to his bed. Cradling my face in his hands, I look up at him, and his eyes are noticeably worried.
“Stay.”
With a nod of my head, he pulls the sheets back, and I crawl into his warm bed. He follows, scooping me into his arms. His body pressed against mine, my head resting on his chest, I take the comfort I need in this moment. My mind isn’t with Declan or Bennett or this whole fucked up scenario, it’s with my dad. I opened that gate for one second to trick Declan and now I’m five years old—scared and lost.
The first tear drops, and I fucking hate that I’m exposing this weakness. It’s one thing to manufacture pain for the sake of deception, but my father is very much real, and it hurts. I don’t want to think too much, so as Declan comforts me from what he believes is Bennett, I take the consoling for my father.
Neither of us says a word as I silently fight to contain the few weeps that break free, all the while Declan’s hold is firm and strong around me. I weave my legs with his and eventually allow myself to drift to sleep.
STANDING IN FRONT of the windows, I look
down and watch as the snowplows make their way through the city, clearing the streets. I left Declan’s room early this morning while he was still sleeping. I wanted to build the mystery and chase, and waking up in his arms would make it too easy for him, and from what I’ve learned about men, easy leads to a shallow investment. I need Declan to be fully immerged if I have any chance at this working out, so I quietly slipped out of his room.
I laugh when I hear the knock on my door since last night he took it upon himself to just barge in on me with no warning. But it isn’t Declan standing on the other side; it’s room service.
“Mr. McKinnon ordered breakfast for you this morning,” he says as he wheels in a white-clothed cart with a French press and a platter of fresh fruit and crullers.
“When was this request made?” I ask.
“Maybe an hour or so ago, Mrs. Vanderwal,” he says. “May I pour you a cup?”
“No, thanks.”
“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.”
