by Alice Ward
I wrinkled my nose. “It looks hoppy.”
He laughed, a deep rumbling sound that vibrated through my chest. “It is. Want to try? It has an unusual blend of fruits. Citrus. Pineapple, maybe some mango.”
That caught my attention. “I love mangos. The taste of course, but I also love the experience of eating them. The attention to detail needed to get all the flesh from the pit. The messiness. The…” I trailed off, realizing I sounded like a true dork.
He was smiling, little crinkle lines at the corners of his eyes deepening the effect. He really was handsome. Older. In his early to middle thirties, I would guess. I turned more fully on the stool until I was facing him, my knees pressed inside his thighs, so close to his…
Very slowly, he lifted a hand in my direction, but it stopped between us in a shaking hands gesture. Automatically, I pressed my palm against his, and I realized he was about to introduce himself. “I’m—”
“Shhh,” I shushed quickly, interrupting him, and he gave me a confused look. I felt the blush creep up my cheeks and rushed to explain myself. “Forgive me if this sounds really stupid, but things like this don’t ever happen to me. It feels like a dream, and I realize I really like the fantasy feel of having you pay attention to me.”
The grin was back, curling up just one side of his mouth, transforming his handsome face into a much younger one. “Do you like fantasies?”
My insides curled. “Yes. I often find them more palatable than real life.”
He nodded, growing more serious. “I understand and can relate. I’m actually leaving tomorrow morning to escape reality for a while.”
My stomach squeezed again, but this time for a different reason. He was leaving. Better to keep this encounter in the fantasy realm then. “Leaving New York?”
He lifted his beer, took a long sip, and handed it to me. I searched his ring finger for any hint of a white line, but didn’t see one. Good. At least he wasn’t married, from what I could tell. “Leaving the States. For a year at least, maybe longer.”
The truth again. He was letting me know that he was unavailable after tonight. Or maybe it was a lie and he used the smooth line on all the women he picked up and wanted gone by morning. Searching his amber eyes, I realized I didn’t care.
I looked down at the beer and lifted it to my nose, inhaling deeply. It immediately wrinkled, and he laughed. “Told you it was hoppy. Can I get you something lighter?”
Feeling brave, I went ahead and lifted it to my lips. Took a sip. Then shivered, thrusting it back at him. It was super hoppy, but he was right, I also tasted the fruit in the background. And grass? “Yes, something lighter please, by a lot.”
My mystery stranger ordered me something that wasn’t Michelob Light, which was my normal beer choice, and I was pleasantly surprised at how pale it was. I took a sip, then another. “Much better.”
He laughed and picked up his glass. “To fantasies turning into amazing realities.”
I tapped my glass to his, my toes curling again. He was so sexual, in a raw, primal way. I was drawn to him. Comfortable with him. This was new.
I’d had boyfriends before, one for as long as a year, most as short as a few months. I had a strict five-date rule before I had sex with a guy, thinking three dates just wasn’t enough to get past the I’m on my best behavior persona. Plus, if a guy didn’t have the patience to wait, I knew he wouldn’t have the patience for other important things in my life. Things like long drives and hikes into the mountains, or spending hours forming clay bowls on my little potter’s wheel. Five dates seemed to be the magic number to determine if our interests aligned.
Until now.
He licked a bit of foam from his upper lip, and his tongue made me jealous. I wanted to do that for him, then chew on that bottom lip for a while. The man, in the span of just a few minutes, was making me feel beautiful, and that knowledge made me feel powerful. I liked the fantasy my mystery stranger had woven around me. Liked the way he looked at me. The way his hand kept reaching for mine.
“Call me Delilah.”
He raised a brow, the right side of his mouth quirking up. “Delilah, huh? Are you going to be my downfall? Shall I skip the struggle and just shave my head now?”
I laughed, enjoying the banter between us, the ease in which it was delivered. Reaching up, I flicked the dark strands back from his forehead. “I like your hair, so you can keep it. What should I call you?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Samson, of course.”
I grinned. “Is it bad that we’re using Biblical names for a hookup? Does that automatically send us to hell?”
He looked at me curiously, a high level of intelligence behind those incredible amber eyes. “Do you believe in hell?”
My grin faded as we launched into a discussion so unexpected. Wasn’t religion, or lack of it, one of the things you avoided talking about in polite company? “I don’t know. Until I’ve seen something with my own eyes, I find it difficult to believe it’s real.” I found myself growing wistful. “Although I have to admit that the idea of having a heaven filled with angelic loved ones waiting on the other side is appealing. What about you?”
He looked down into his beer again, the line on his forehead reappearing. “I feel the same, although I sometimes wonder if hell could be much worse than the horrors so many people often experience on earth.”
I nodded, thinking of the encephalitis baby from earlier today, born with a seriously misshapen head. How the parents mourned the little one, kissing him as if he was the most beautiful child ever born.
“Why so sad?”
I blinked at Samson, and just thinking of his name made me smile. “Sorry, just had a difficult day at work.”
Curiosity sparked in his gaze again. “What do you do?”
I smiled and popped an imaginary balloon with my finger. “Hey now. Are you trying to spoil my fantasy here?”
He took my hand, turned it over, and traced a finger over my palm. “So, what does Delilah do for a living?”
I had to think about it for a moment. I didn’t remember wanting anything other than to be a nurse and deliver babies. Of course, that dream had almost been hijacked when I was sixteen and had vowed to become a wedding planner. I remembered buying all the bridal books and begging my aunt to let me use the sheer curtains on the farmhouse windows as a veil.
“Delilah is a wedding planner.”
My hand thunked into my lap as Samson let go of me and raised his hands as if in surrender. It made me laugh, and I slapped at his thigh, batting my lashes as I got into my role. “I deliver the dreams of brides everywhere.” Deliver. Had to get that in there somewhere.
Samson took a long drink of his beer. “Yeah, dreams until the seven-year itch starts itching and divorce lawyers come knocking on their door.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Cynical much?”
He made a “ha” sound, then shook his head and grinned. “Actually, not really. My parents had their fortieth anniversary not long ago. I have evidence that marriage can work.” He made a face, a comical-looking twist of his lips. “Why exactly are we talking about marriage?”
I fluttered my lashes. “Why, Samson, are you falling under my spell already?”
“Yes.”
There had been no hesitation. No grin. Just a small dilation of his pupils that seemed to darken his eyes, and my heart began to thud in my chest.
He leaned closer and lifted a hand to my face, but instead of touching my cheek, he went for the ponytail holder at the nape of my neck. Very gently, he pulled it down the length, then smiled as my hair exploded into a mass of curls around my face.
“It’s the exact same color as your freckles,” he said, tucking a strand behind my ear.
It was such an unexpected comment, an observation that felt oddly intimate, then his hand was at my face, cupping my cheek. I leaned into the warmth. The strength. Emotions I’d never experienced poured through me at the gentle touch. “They were called deformities today.
”
The universe was robbed of all oxygen as he shook his head, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to my right cheek, then the left cheek, then the very tip of my nose.
“Will you come to my room?”
His room.
Not his house, or apartment. His room. A hotel. Because he was leaving the United States tomorrow, and would be gone for at least a year. Or so he said. I didn’t know his name — by my choice. I didn’t know his occupation — also by my choice. I knew nothing about him — again, by my choice. On top of all that, if I went with him, I’d be betraying my very clear and established five-date rule.
I didn’t care.
Those three words were the perfect summary of how I felt about all the reasons I shouldn’t be alone with this stranger. But I still didn’t care. I wanted this more than anything I’d wanted in… since I was eight.
“Yes.”
The relief I saw in his eyes was further proof that this was right. One night. I would give myself that willingly.
I’d rather live in regret for the rest of my life for going with him than to live it in regret wishing I had. “I need to tell my friends.”
He nodded, my hand trapped between his two warm ones, his thumbs rubbing circles on my skin. “Tell them I don’t plan to have you home by midnight.”
I smiled. “I hope not, but I do have to be gone by six in the morning.”
“Early morning wedding?” I loved the teasing sound of his tone.
“Exactly.”
“I have to be at the airport by five-thirty, so…”
I glanced at my watch. “So… we better hurry.”
He leaned forward, his lips coming to my ear. “Yes. Because I don’t want to be rushed.”
The butterflies that had begun fluttering in my stomach moments before multiplied, their wings causing a tornado to whirl through my system. “I’ll be right back.”
On shaky legs, I walked to the table where my friends were sitting, trying not to grin like a fool as they all gaped at me, Amy fluttering a hand in front of her face. I grabbed my bag, attempting my best look of nonchalance. “I’ll be heading out now.”
Amy continued to gape at me. “You slut!” Then, she clapped her hands together and jumped up to give me a hug. “It’s about time.” She peeked around me at my mystery man at the bar. “And you got a winner, my friend. Like seriously, Olympic champion all-star.” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you trust him? Does he trigger any psycho buttons? He seems too perfect.” Before I could answer, I was being dragged behind her six-foot frame.
“Amy,” I hissed, but she had a good hold on my wrist. “Stop. You’re embarrassing me.”
She didn’t stop until she was face-to-face with the man I was about to go home — hotel — with. With her three-inch platforms, she was nearly eye to eye with him. “Hi, I’m Amy. And you are?”
His eyes slid to me with a grin. “Samson. Nice to meet you, Amy.”
Amy’s brows drew together but she didn’t comment on the name. “And where are you taking my friend?”
“The Hyatt down the street.”
Amy’s fists came down on her hips. “A hotel. You are dragging the most wonderful human being on the planet to a hotel?”
A high school teacher, Amy could be pretty scary at times. This was one of those times.
She didn’t seem to affect him in the least. “Well, Amy. That’s where I’m staying so I can catch an early flight tomorrow, so it’s there or…” he patted the bar beside him, “this.”
My mouth fell open, then I forced my lips shut before I laughed at Amy’s expression. Then she laughed too, seeing the humor in it all. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay, then. Just know that I have her on my Find My iPhone app, so don’t go dumping her into the Hudson, got it?”
Samson nodded solemnly. “I promise. Any other instructions?”
“Feed her. She probably hasn’t had anything to eat besides peanut butter crackers all day.”
She knew me so well.
He nodded. “Check. Anything else?”
Amy looked at me, her eyes softening. “Be good to her. She really is the most wonderful human being on the entire planet.”
The smile was back and his fingers linked with mine as he smiled down at me. My insides curled. My toes curled. My lips curled into a responding smile.
“That’s an easy promise to keep.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alice Ward is a USA Today bestselling author whose books consistently break into the Top 100 on Amazon. Three of her books were Top 10 Amazon bestsellers, one of which - The Surprise - reached an all-time high of #4.
She writes hot and steamy contemporary romance novels and is prolific, releasing at least one new book every month. Her books are widely read, especially by women and any other lovers of the romance genre. My Stepbrother, My Lover, was her first smash hit.
Alice has been in love with love since she was a little girl. She had quite the collection of Barbie dolls growing up and spent much of her playtime crafting the perfect Barbie wedding day (and when she wasn’t doing that, she was working on attempting the perfect cartwheel).
When Alice outgrew Barbie dolls, she began to write her thoughts down in her diary. This was how she discovered that she had a knack for telling romantic stories. Her first fans were her close girlfriends, and her stories were a hit among them. They, along with her family, enthusiastically encouraged her love for writing.
Alice now lives in Miami with her wonderful, hunky husband. The beach is her all-time favorite place to relax with her laptop and write. When she needs a break from writing (and when no one’s looking) she loves thumbing through celebrity gossip magazines. It’s her guilty pleasure.
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COPYRIGHT AND DISCLAIMER
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 Alice Ward
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.