Bang(60)

“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 * and lower belly, holding it in place as he looks into my eyes. “So beautiful.”

His accent f*cks 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.