Page 62 of Declan

I grab a bottle of wine from the fridge, screw off the cap, and skip the glass altogether. Drinking straight from the bottle feels more appropriate.

I’ve just taken my second swig when there’s a knock on the door.

I freeze.

For a second, I debate not answering. Letting him sit out there and wonder what it feels like to be ignored. But curiosity and maybe just a little self-sabotage win out. I march over and yank the door open.

Declan stands there, looking like hell. His cut is off, but he’s still in a black tee and jeans, face tired, hair a little disheveled.

“I messed up,” he says simply.

I cross my arms over my chest. “You think?”

He nods, eyes searching mine. “I shouldn’t have hung up on you. Should’ve explained. But things were tense. I didn’t want to lie to you.”

“Then don’t.” My voice is sharp, emotions bubbling to the surface. “I showed up with dinner. I was excited to see you. I made time for you. And you made me feel like I was in the way.”

He takes a step forward. “You’re not in the way, Lena. But this is my life, it’s not clean or predictable. There’s no schedule. When something happens, I have to handle it. No matter what.”

I scoff. “And what am I supposed to do? Just wait around hoping you decide you have time for me?”

“No,” he says softly, “you’re supposed to tell me when I fuck up. Like you are now. And I’m supposed to come here, apologize, and try to make it right.”

“You’re smooth, you know that?” I snap, but even I can hear the hurt starting to crack beneath the anger.

He steps even closer, his voice lower now. “Only when it comes to you.”

I hate that my body reacts to him before my brain can catch up. The way he looks at me, like he sees right through the walls I throw up. Like he knows exactly where the cracks are.

He lifts his hand, brushes a strand of hair from my face. “I missed you, too, you know.”

That’s all it takes. Something in me softens.

He leans in, slow but sure, giving me the chance to pull away.

I don’t.

When his lips touch mine, it’s like setting fire to every nerve ending in my body. I grab his shirt and pull him closer, and he groans against my mouth. His hands settle on my waist, then roam, anchoring me to him like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

We stumble back into the apartment, lips never parting. My anger melts into want. Into need. Into everything I’d hoped for when I bought that stupid lingerie.

“Next time,” I whisper against his lips, “you better be home when I show up.”

He grins, brushing his forehead against mine. “Next time, I’ll be waiting at the door.”

Then he kisses me again, deeper, rougher, and everything else disappears.

Chapter 18

Declan

Sunlight filters through the cracked blinds, painting soft lines across Lena’s bedroom walls. I blink against the light, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Her bed is smaller than mine, her pillows fluffier, and the faint scent of coconut and whatever shampoo she uses clings to the sheets. It’s different, but not bad. Actually, it feels good. Comfortable. Like I belong here.

I shift, propping myself up on one elbow so I can look at her. Lena’s still asleep, her face half-buried in the pillow, hair sprawled across her cheek. Peaceful. She looks peaceful. It’s a rare sight, and it hits me harder than I expect.

I never planned on this with her. But I’m here, and for once, I don’t feel the weight of everything else pressing down on me. Not right now.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand earlier, but I ignored it. Probably the club, Wesley, or someone needing something. I’ll deal with it later. For now, it’s just her.

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