by E. K. Blair
Nodding my head, my smile grows at the thought of paying Bennett back for all the shit that has happened to me. For the death of my father, for all the destruction he and his parents caused. I’ll revel in the only thing that will remain after Bennett is gone—money and power. Ruining Declan’s life along the way to my salvation is something that’s simply unavoidable if Pike and I want to keep our hands clean in this. So that’s it; we move forward with the plan.
This is the moment Pike and I have been waiting years for. We take the evening to discuss plans and timing, and agree that I’ll come back in a few days after Bennett leaves for Dubai. After we talk, Pike cleanses me, and then I’m back on the road. Back to gain my retribution.
AFTER MY MEETING with Mr. Bernstein at Chicago Magazine this afternoon, I’ve been working on the social piece that they want to publish next month in the February issue. The magazine is featuring a few “It” couples for their Valentine’s edition, and wanted to highlight Bennett and me by having me write the piece myself. I was instructed to write about how we keep the spark alive while noting the many pots we have our fingers in, such as the charities and foundations we work with and support. Bennett seemed excited when I called him a couple hours ago to tell him about the details of the piece and my meeting with Mr. Bernstein and the editor that was assigned to me.
When I wrap up my work, I start getting ready. Declan finally caved and texted me after a mere twenty-four hours. It didn’t surprise me he couldn’t wait any longer. The text was short and clipped, straight to the point, and I agreed to stop by. Although I’m nervous about sex with Declan again, I try to focus my attention on other things, but it still lingers in the back of my mind. After I’m dressed, I head out and drive to Declan’s place. When the elevator opens, he’s already wearing a smile as he steps out, holding his key card out for me.
“Here,” he says.
“What’s this for?”
“To save me the hassle of having to come down here to get you every time you want to come by. Take it.”
With a flirtatious smile, I say, “So, I’m a hassle?”
“You? Never.”
As we ride up in the elevator, he steps in front of me, pushing me up against the mirrored wall, and kisses me. With his hands around my neck, he controls every movement of the kiss as his tongue parts my lips so that he can take more. Our bodies are pressed together, and the heat of him overcomes me, so that when he finally pulls back, I feel a little flushed.
“Missed you,” he states as he looks down at me.
“Did you?”
“Always.”
He takes my hand when the doors open, and I can smell food cooking in the kitchen. I follow him as he leads me to the bar and pulls out a stool for me.
“What’s all this?” I ask as I take a seat.
“Dinner.”
“You cook?” I ask with a smirk as he grabs a bottle of wine and begins to pour me a glass of Pinot Noir.
“Why do you look so surprised?”
Shaking my head, I take a small sip before saying, “I guess I don’t really know much about you, so I’m sure there’s a lot about you that’ll surprise me.”
He smiles at my words as he walks into the kitchen and begins chopping a few vegetables.
“What are you making us?”
“Champagne almond chicken, roasted vegetables, and new potatoes.”
“Sounds amazing,” I tell him as I continue to sip my wine and watch him move with ease around his kitchen. “Who taught you how to cook?”
“My mum. I can remember back to when I was little and she used to drag a chair in front of the stove for me to stand on. I would watch her and help her when she needed something stirred up. Eventually she started having me crack eggs and doing other simple tasks,” he tells me as he scoops the veggies up and drops them into a steel bowl. “And as I got older, she and I would cook these elaborate meals.”
“She sounds like a wonderful mom.”
“She was.”
“Was?” I ask, and when I do, he looks up at me, and says, “Another day,” the same words he used when I asked him why he needed to control everything.
“What about you?” he asks me. “Do you like cooking?”
“I never learned.”
“Your mum never taught you?” he questions.
I shake my head, knowing the truth of never having a mom, but Declan only knows of the lies I’ve told him about my family, so I tell him, “No. She worked a lot and wasn’t around much. I do like to watch Clara cook when she comes over to prepare meals. Every now and then she lets me help out, but not often. I pretty much do what your mom allowed you to do on that chair. I only stir things and sniff around.”
I watch the creases deepen at the corners of Declan’s eyes when he looks at me and laughs.
“I’ve asked Bennett to cut back on her schedule, that I’d like to do more around the house, but he refuses. Clara has worked for him for a long time, and he likes knowing she’s there.”
Declan looks at me for a few moments when I stop talking, and then finally breaks the silence when he says, “Come here,” and motions for me to join him.
“Why?” I ask suspiciously.
“Because I’m going to teach you how to cook, darling.”
I smile, hop off the barstool, and walk over to join him. He reaches over and grabs a head of garlic, setting it on top of the chopping block, and then hands me a knife.
“I roasted that earlier. Garlic is always better when you roast it beforehand,” he explains as I look at him and nod. “Peel off two cloves and then lay the knife flat on top.”
I do as he says, plucking off a couple cloves. Declan stands behind me and holds his hands over mine, laying the knife flat on top of one of the cloves, and then grabbing the wrist of my other arm.
“Now, make a fist and slam it on top of the knife to mash the garlic,” he instructs.
With his hand on my wrist, I make a fist and bang it down on the knife, smashing the garlic beneath.
“Perfect,” he murmurs over my ear. “Do the same thing with the other clove.”
He keeps his hands on mine as I repeat the process. He then helps me prepare the sauce for the chicken, toasting the almonds and chopping up the shallots and mushrooms. Once I’ve poured in the champagne, he helps me line the dish with the chicken and pour the sauce over top.
“Would you turn the oven on? It’ll automatically set at 350, so just put it on bake.”
“Okay,” I say as I walk over to the oven and turn it on.
I watch Declan finish up, and when the oven beeps, he slides in the dish and sets the timer for thirty minutes.
“What are you smiling at?” he asks as he steps in front of me.
“You.”
“Why’s that?”
Reaching out to wrap my arms around his waist, I tell him, “I like you like this,” my words coming from a place of honesty.
“Like what?” he questions as he steps even closer, running his hands through my hair and tilting my head up to him.
“Just like this. You, laid back in your jeans and t-shirt, teaching me to do something new. I like sweet Declan,” I say softly as I peer up into his emerald eyes.
“You’re saying I’m not always sweet?”
I begin to laugh and then respond, “Most of the time you’re an asshole.”
His head falls back in a burst of laughter, and the sound causes me to laugh harder. His smile is wide when he looks back down, giving my words back to me, admitting, “I like you like this too.”
“I’m afraid to even ask,” I tease.
“Don’t ever be afraid,” he says before adding, “You’re soft. You don’t show it often, but when you do, I like it.”
His words immediately straighten my face as he runs his hand down my cheek, telling me, “I like it when you’re soft with me.”
“It’s not easy for me.”
“I know, but I want that from you.”
He’s oblivious
to the fact that I intend on using his words to create the perfect venom to bite him with. So with a gentle nod of understanding, I slip my arms around his neck as he dips his head to kiss me. His hands grip my ass and he pulls me off the floor and into his arms. Looping my legs around him, he takes me over to the couch and sits us down with me on top of him. We continue to kiss, his taste of need spilling into my mouth. Hard, fast, soft, slow, licking, biting, sucking, it’s all there in the heat of him as time falters in the moment. But we both snap our heads back when the fire alarm sets off and the smell of burning food takes center stage.
“Fuck,” Declan breathes in mild amusement as he looks over my shoulder, and when I turn to see the smoke-filled kitchen, I jump off his lap and rush over to find pillowed clouds of smoke billowing from the oven.
“Shit!” I squeak out and immediately open the oven door, only to be blinded by the rushing mound of smoke.
Declan moves next to me and reaches in with oven mitts to pull out the black, charred chicken. My look of mortification for somehow ruining dinner is contrasted by his laughter, which ticks me off. He tosses the dish on top of the stove and then runs over to open a few of the sliding glass doors to air the place out and then goes to shut off the screeching smoke alarm.
“What did I do wrong?” I ask when he returns to the kitchen, and when I see he’s still laughing, I snap, “Cut the shit and stop laughing at me.”
He leans over the stove, looking at the oven setting. “Shit, Nina,” he chuckles.
“What?” I huff.
“You turned the oven to broil instead of bake.”
Embarrassment builds inside of me, and I don’t say anything as I back up to the counter behind me and stare across at the meal I incinerated.
“Well,” he says when he turns to face me. “Looks like you weren’t kidding when you said you couldn’t cook.”
“I’m so sorry, Declan.”
“Don’t be. It’s fine,” he assures, running his hands down the length of my arms.
“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Grinning at me like that. It’s embarrassing.”
“Why?” he questions. “Because you’re not perfect?”
I narrow my eyes at him, saying, “There are things I can cook perfectly.”
“Is that so? Now you’ve piqued my interest.”
“Out!” I demand as I start pushing against him. “I’ll fix this. Just give me a few minutes.”
He turns back, saying sweetly, “You don’t have to fix anything. All the delivery menus are in the drawer by the fridge.”
“No. You’ve given me something to prove to you, so I’m going to prove it,” I tell him. “Just . . . get rid of the charred chicken please.”
“Okay then,” he chuckles, and when his dinner is disposed of, I start rummaging around the kitchen to find the few items I need.
Truth is, I was honest with him. I have no idea how to cook. Once Pike and I were on our own, we barely had enough money to pay rent in the gutter apartments we lived in. Hell, half the time we would wind up being evicted. We scraped by our whole lives, finding liquor to be a better investment than affording a safe place to live. At least when you’re drunk, you can escape the realities of life.
So as I stand over the pan on the stove with a spatula in my hand, I look over my shoulder to see Declan closing the sliding doors. I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t attracted to him, because I am. It’s a shame we couldn’t have met in a different lifetime, but to dwell on the never-be’s is nothing but an endless path of disappointment because this is the only life in which we will meet.
Plating our dinner, one of the few things I can cook, I walk over to the dining room table and set the plates down.
“Would you grab the wine?” I call out to Declan, and when he walks over to the table with the bottle, I smile up at him as he looks at his plate and laughs.
His eyes flick to mine, noting, “You look extremely proud of yourself, and I haven’t even tasted it yet.”
“Because I know there’s no way you’re not going to like it,” I remark as he takes his seat and places the napkin in his lap.
“From the girl who teased me about taking her to the Over Easy Café,” he says as he picks up the grilled cheese and takes a bite. I take a sip of my wine, and then he finally admits, “Best grilled cheese of my life.”
We both laugh as I pick up my sandwich and begin eating with him. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt comfortable like this. It’s different with Pike, probably because he knows every disgusting piece of me, but Declan looks at me as if I’m something clean and good. It’s all a lie, but for the moment, the lie makes me feel happy and maybe a little bit whole. So we sit here, in his multi-million dollar penthouse and enjoy our dinner of grilled cheese and Pinot Noir.
After dinner, I help Declan with the dishes. We clean the kitchen up, and when everything is back in place, I notice the burnt smell still lingering. Taking a lock of my hair, I sniff it while Declan watches.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“My hair, it reeks of smoke.”
“What about mine?” he says, walking over to me and ducking his head down.
Running my fingers through his thick hair, I tell him, “Yeah, yours does too.”
He then takes my hand and leads me down the hall and into his bedroom. Flicking on one of the lamps, he walks us into the large bathroom, which houses a massive, marbled, doorless shower with a large, seamless pane of glass on one side. His and hers sinks line two of the walls in dark cabinetry with tailored, white, apron-front sinks. And along the wall of windows is an extra-large, sleek, rectangular jacuzzi tub that is sunken down. The room is modern and masculine, just like the rest of the loft.
Focusing back on Declan, he’s running a bath, and when he turns to me, he stands in the middle of the room.
“Take off your clothes, Nina.”
“A bath?” I question.
He reaches over his head, pulls off his shirt, and tosses it aside, saying, “Yeah, a bath,” as he walks over to me and grabs the hem of my top. “Lift your arms.”
He removes my shirt and then slips my pants down my legs. I hold on to his shoulder as I step out, and with him knelt before me, I look at him as he slowly drags my panties down. When he has them off of me, he runs his hands up my legs to the center of my tiny V. With one hand sliding up between my legs, he splays it over my pussy and lower belly, holding it in place as he looks into my eyes. “So beautiful.”
His accent fucks those two words. No one has ever looked at me the way he does, and it spurs an awkwardness inside of me because if he only knew what this body has been through, he’d be repulsed by the sight.
After we take off the rest of our clothes, he holds my hand as I step down into the tub filled with hot water. When Declan gets in, I situate myself between his legs, resting my back against his chest as I lie back into him. His arms wrap and cross around my breasts as he holds me close, and the warmth of both him and the water take me over. Releasing a heavy sigh, I close my eyes, and sink further into his hold as my body relaxes.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmurs from behind me.
“Mmm.”
His chest vibrates in silent laughter before saying, “That’s all I get? Mmm?”
“I’m relaxing.”
He drags my hair off my one shoulder and starts kissing my damp neck, pressing his lips into my sensitive skin, causing me to shiver with goosebumps, which I know appeases him when he quietly chuckles.
We remain like this for a while, just taking in the warmth of the bath, nearly melting into each other.
“Should I be worried?” Declan says, breaking the long span of silence.
“About what?” I ask, my eyes still closed as I rest the side of my face against his chest.
“That I’ve been fucking you without a condom.”
“I told you before, I can’t get pregnant,” I remind him.
He
remains silent for a moment before responding, “Tell me why.”
Taking in a deep breath, I shift up and slightly turn to the side so I can look at him when I say, “I have stage three endometriosis.”
“I don’t . . .” he begins with confusion written all over his face, so I explain, “It’s basically where you have abnormal cell growth outside of the uterus. So the chances of me getting pregnant are pretty much non-existent.”
“Baby, I’m . . .” he starts, shaking his head, and he’s clearly more uncomfortable about it than I am. “When did you find this out?”
“In my early twenties,” I tell him. “I started having painful periods around that time. They became worse and worse until the pain got so bad that I was taken to the hospital because I didn’t know what else to do. They started running a bunch of tests and after a few months they finally figured out what was wrong.”
“Is there anything they can do?”
“No. When you have it, you have it. There’s no cure or anything.”
“And the pain?” he questions with apparent concern.
“I’ve experimented with a few hormone treatments for pain, but the side effects were pretty bad, so I had to stop. I only take prescription pain pills, but it doesn’t help that much.”
He runs his fingers through my hair and then cradles his other hand to my face when he says, “God, baby, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s fine,” I try assuring him. “This isn’t anything new to me. I’ve known this for years. It’s okay.”
“Do you want children?”
Shrugging my shoulders, I respond, “Does it even matter what I want? I mean, it’s not like life is giving me a choice here.”
“Of course it matters.”
“I won’t ever be a mom, so there’s no point in tossing dead wishes into the air.” I’ve done enough of that. I can remember Pike sitting next to me when the doctor told me that I wouldn’t be able to have children. It was never anything I had even thought about until he told me that I couldn’t. I cried for days while Pike held me. As if I was mourning the death of something that never was mine to lose. But that was over six years ago, and I’ve come to the realization that I’d probably be a shitty mom anyway. What would I be able to give a child? Before marrying Bennett, Pike and I survived by dealing drugs and barely scraping by. It’s not a life I want, so why the hell would I want it for my kid?
