Free. Relieved. Saved.

Pike swore fourteen was still going to be my year. I wanted to believe him, but I always doubted. Nothing has ever worked out for me, nothing until now. My cries are loud, but nobody speaks, and eventually, after time passes, I curl up in Pike’s lap and close my eyes while Matt continues to drive into the night.

CHRISTMAS HAS PASSED and Bennett has been home for the past couple of weeks. With the holidays, time has been consumed, leaving little interaction with Declan. We did meet up for coffee before Bennett returned from Dubai. The encounter was more pleasant than our usual tension. We just talked, and he told me about living in Scotland and falling into his father’s business. I almost feel bad for manipulating him so much—almost. My purpose is clear, and no one will stand in the way of me righting the wrong.

To appease Jacqueline, I agreed to meet up with her for lunch with a couple of the other girls. So when Baldwin drops me off at Le Sardine, a local French bistro in the west loop, I see the girls already sitting at one of the white, linen-covered tables.

“There she is,” Jacqueline says as I approach and take a seat.

“Sorry I’m late. I had to take a few calls.”

“Are you all set for New Year’s Eve?” Marcia asks as I take a sip of the water that’s set for me.

“I believe so. I’m just happy Bennett is here. A part of me was worried he’d have to go back out of town.”

“Please. He’d never miss this event, or a chance to show you off,” Jacqueline says. “The man is crazy about you. I’m a little jealous.”

Who is she kidding? Jacqueline is innately jealous and does a shit job at covering her attraction to my husband, but I give a charming smile, responding with, “I’m just happy he’s back home.”

Marcia’s attention goes to the front of the restaurant, and when I turn to see what’s caught her eye, I tense for just a moment.

“He is so fuckable,” she says under her breath, causing Jacqueline to blurt out, “Marcia! My God.”

“What?” she defends. “Look at him and tell me you wouldn’t let him do things to you.”

I watch as Declan talks to the hostess as Jacqueline responds, “You’re married.”

“I don’t care. It’s worth the risk, right?”

“Ask Nina.”

Turning my attention back, I question, “Ask me what?”

“About him,” Jacqueline says as she nods her head towards Declan.

“What makes you think I know anything?”

“Don’t be coy. He owns the hotel you’re planning the party at,” she states.

“Doesn’t mean I know him personally,” I defend. “But from what I do know, he seems like a nice man.” As I say this, Declan catches my eye, and with a slight smile, walks back towards the kitchen. Scooting my chair out, I politely excuse myself, saying, “With that being said, I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Marcia asks.

“To go say hello,” I tell her as I drop my napkin on the table and walk to the back of the restaurant.

When he turns to see me, I smile, and slide up next to him along the cold granite countertop that divides the dining room from the kitchen. “You following me?” I question with flirtation.

“Do you want me to follow you?”

Taking a pause, I turn on my game and respond, “Maybe.”

His smile meets his eyes.

“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” I say.

“I figured you were busy with family affairs. Didn’t know you were wanting to hear from me,” he says, flirting right back.

“I enjoyed our coffee date,” I tell him. “I like talking to you. Just missed it, that’s all.”

“Is that all you missed?”

“Declan,” I softly nag.

“Yeah, I know. You’re married.”

Needing to break him, I softly whisper, “I miss spending time with you.”

His eyes hesitate for a second, and then he grips my elbow, causing me to instinctively look over my shoulder to see that, for the moment, the girls aren’t looking at us. Declan quickly pulls me back to a private hallway that leads to the restrooms.

“What are you doing?” I ask and tug against his hold, but he has me pinned against a wall before I can say anything else.

His face is close to mine as we stare at each other. My heart pounds in fear that someone will see us, and he reads my anxiety, saying, “No one can see us.”

“What are you doing?” I ask again.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re flirting with me, Nina. You’re leading me on.”

“I’m not.”

His eyes roll down to my mouth, and then he speaks in a soft, guttural tone, saying, “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I whisper.

“What are you feeling?” he questions, pressing his body into mine, pushing my back flat against the wall. “Tell me what you’re feeling . . .”

Pressing.

“. . . right . . .”

Closer.

“. . . now.”

“I love my husband.”

“Is that you telling me or you trying to convince yourself?”

Releasing a fractured breath, I see the darkness in his eyes, and I make my move, saying, “I don’t know.”

His hand comes to meet my neck, almost forcefully, wrapping his fingers and thumb around its slender form, pinning my head back to the wall in a possessive, yet soft, chokehold. Taking a moment, he simply looks into my eyes and I finally see the hunger before he kisses me, sucking the breath straight from my womb. Lips crashing, heavy breaths, all the while, keeping me in his firm grip. His aggressiveness spurs me to grab on to his dress shirt, clenching the crisp fabric in my hands while he takes over. Sinking his tongue into my mouth, I taste the ice of his breath, or maybe it’s my soul I taste. I lure him in further as I slide my tongue along his, and when I do this, he quietly growls into my mouth, causing a slight vibration between us.

Abruptly, he pulls away, keeping his powerful hand around my neck as he takes a step back. He stares; he doesn’t speak, he just stares, examining my reaction. But my reaction is calculated, pulled straight from my playbook.

Quaking, aroused breaths.

Making the rise and fall of my chest visible to him.

Letting out an erotic but nervous hum.

Relaxing my muscles and sinking into the hold he has on me.

“Say it,” he demands.

I shake my head, denying his request, and when I do, the tips of his fingers increase the pressure around my neck.

“Tell me how you feel,” he urges.

I quicken my breathing and am able to push the deceit out in the form of a tear. Slowly spilling over, I feel the wetness linger down my cheek, but before it drips off my jaw, Declan’s tongue licks it away. The tender touch surprises me, and when I drop my head, he finally releases his hold on me and cradles my face, tilting it up to look at him.

His eyes soften, and I give him the words I know he wants, saying quietly, “I don’t know what the word is for what I feel for you, but I feel it.”

“Do you want it?”

With slight mock-hesitation, it’s game on when I respond, “Yes.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, and this time, he’s gentle when he moves me to kiss him. His lips are soft as they press into mine, but he keeps it short, and then says, “Come to the hotel after you’re done here.”

“Okay,” I answer without any question, and then he’s gone, walking away from me. I take a moment to compose myself before returning to the table, and when I walk back out into the restaurant, I do a quick glance and notice that Declan has already left.

“And where were you?” Marcia asks with gossipy intent.

“Restroom.”

“With?” she presses.

Narrowing my eyes, I tell her, “You’re insinuations are vastly inappropriate and offensive. If you’re wanting dirty gossip, you’re going to have to find it elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything,” she says, back-stepping.