“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 f**king 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 ass**le?” he continues. “Join the club. I’m a f**king 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.”
“What are we gonna do?” I ask.
“When’s the last time you had any fun?” I shrug my shoulders and he says, “So let’s have some fun.”
A COUPLE HOURS later, I’m back home. Declan called a little bit ago, saying he was on his way and to be sure I was dressed warm. So I’ve made sure to comply since the temperatures are no less than frigid as the snow continues to fall.
When the doorman calls to let me know Declan is here, I grab my wool coat, scarf, gloves, and knit hat. I see Declan standing in the lobby as the elevator doors open, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him dressed down in a pair of dark wash jeans and grey sweater under his black wool coat. He looks sharp, and when he turns towards me, his smile grows.
“You ready?” he asks as we walk towards each other.
“I’m not sure,” I respond warily. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“Come on.”
I follow him out the front doors and see his car parked along the street, but he leads me in the opposite direction.
“We’re not driving?”
“No.”
I slip on my ivory knit hat and wrap my scarf a couple more times around my neck while he watches with a smile and then holds his hand out for me. I don’t take it at the risk of someone seeing me, so when I begin to walk, he places his hand on the small of my back as he leads us across the street to Millennium Park.
“You know it’s closed, right?” I ask when he leads us to the ice rink. “The snow’s too thick.”
“It’s closed for everyone in the city, but you.”
“What?”
“Mr. McKinnon,” a young man greets as we approach the rink.