by Eve Gaddy
He drained the whiskey and slapped the glass down. Imagine that, liquor wasn’t helping. Nothing was going to make him forget Delilah and what having her in his arms had felt like. Nothing short of a complete memory loss.
“That’s not the face of a man who got lucky tonight,” Delilah said from the doorway.
Damn it, she should have been asleep hours ago. He looked at her and wished he hadn’t. She wore a long baby-blue T-shirt, one she’d borrowed from him, that hit her mid-thigh. And that was all.
He must have been an ax murderer in another life. Otherwise, why was he being tortured for trying to do the right thing?
“Go back to bed, Delilah. I’m not in the mood for small talk.”
She ignored him, walked over and sat beside him. Picked up the empty glass and said, “Can I have some of that or aren’t you sharing, either?”
He gritted his teeth and splashed the dark amber liquid into the glass. Caught her scent and his stomach clenched. How the hell did a woman who’d arrived on his doorstep with only a backpack manage to smell like that? Innocence and sin mixed up in one tidy package.
He watched her throat as the whiskey went down. He didn’t want to, knew it was a mistake but he couldn’t help it. Soft skin, he knew. Skin that begged to be touched. Kissed. His gaze fell to her breasts, full and unbound. Her nipples showed through the thin fabric. He wanted to touch her, cup those sweet breasts in his hands, taste her, like he hadn’t the night before. He wanted to see her, all of her, naked and beautiful in his bed. Sweat popped out on his forehead. He forced his gaze to return to the television.
“What are you doing up?” he asked.
“I couldn’t sleep. I kept…thinking.”
He started to touch her, but didn’t. That way lay madness. “Are you still obsessing over that guy? I told you, you’re safe here.”
She laughed humorlessly and put the nearly empty glass on the table. “I’m not safe anywhere while he’s still alive.”
“Do you wish you’d killed him, then?”
She shook her head. “No. Even though—” She broke off. “No, I don’t wish I’d killed him. I couldn’t handle killing a man. Even a man like him. But I wish I’d never met him. God, do I wish that.”
He couldn’t think of a reply to that. He splashed more liquid into his glass, then shrugged when he saw her watching him and gave it to her.
She swirled the whiskey around, then took another drink. He willed himself to ignore her. Ignore the heat, the scent, the need. Ignore the images from the night before that bombarded his mind. Images of Delilah, her face alive with passion.
“I wasn’t thinking about him.” She looked at him. “I was thinking about you. And me. I can’t stop thinking about what happened between us.”
Oh, shit. Wordlessly, Cam took the glass from her and drank some more. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.
“You can’t forget last night either, can you?”
And he’d been right, damn it. “Last night?” He forced a laugh. Looked at her and smiled. “Baby, I forgot it thirty seconds after it happened.”
“I don’t think so,” she said softly. “I think you left with that woman because you were trying to forget. You were trying to pretend that there’s nothing between us.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I left with her because I wanted to get laid,” he said, choosing the crude words purposely. “Last time I checked that was none of your damn business.”
“I know it’s not. Don’t you think I realize that?” Her voice was low and she didn’t look at him. “I’ve been sitting here for the last two hours, trying not to think about you…and her. Trying not to imagine you making love to her.”
She raised her eyes and met his. “Trying not to wish it was me you’d gone home with, me you were making love with.”
He didn’t speak. But he took a step nearer the cliff.
She moved nearer to him. Put her hand on his chest and leaned in close. So close he could feel her heat, so close he was surrounded by her scent.
“Tell me,” she said quietly.
He didn’t answer.
“Did you sleep with her, Cam?”
Lie, he told himself as he looked into her eyes. One lousy lie and it will be over. She was dangerous, far too dangerous for him. He couldn’t risk what she made him feel. Couldn’t risk falling in love with her.
But he’d been risking everything from the moment he saw her. And she wanted him. He searched her eyes, looking for doubt. He didn’t find it.
“No, I didn’t take her to bed,” he said and fell.
She leaned closer still. “Why not?” she whispered.
“I didn’t want her.” He gripped her arms, stared into her eyes. “I want you, Delilah. And you know it. I want you so much it’s eating me alive.”
His defenses were crumbling, along with his resolve. “Once I kiss you I won’t stop. Not this time. Not until I’m inside you. Hell, not then, either.” He was giving her a chance to back out. A chance to come to her senses. Because he knew that once he tasted her again, he wouldn’t stop until he’d had her. Until he’d tasted every inch of her, and more.
She didn’t speak but reached down for the hem of her T-shirt and drew it up slowly, over her belly, her breasts, then her head. Tossed it aside. All she wore was a tiny pair of pink thong panties, the ones he’d dreamed of taking off her last night.
“Touch me,” she said, her voice like a siren’s.
He took her hands, carried each one to his lips. “Be sure, Delilah.”
“I’m sure,” she said, and placed one of his hands on her breast.
Her skin was soft, warm and alive. Her breasts were every bit as beautiful as he’d imagined, firm and full with pale rose nipples and milky skin. He cupped her breast, caressed it, slid his fingers over her nipple and watched it pearl. He was living a dream. A beautiful, erotic dream.
“You are so unbelievably beautiful.”
She laughed, then her breath caught as he cupped her other breast and massaged it gently. She leaned forward and kissed him, slid her tongue into his mouth and teased him. “Take your shirt off,” she said after a long, wet kiss. “I want to touch you. To feel you.”
He didn’t want to stop touching her long enough to do it, but the thought of that soft fragrant skin against his own bare chest was too much to resist. She helped him, their fingers meeting at the buttons. Then she lay back on the couch, parted her legs and held out her arms. He slipped between her legs, his erection snug against the damp silk of her panties. He kissed her, pushing gently against her, until her legs wrapped around him and she urged him to be faster. Harder. If he didn’t get her naked soon, it was all going to be over. He wouldn’t last long, not with Delilah so warm and willing in his arms.
Their lips met, clung, parted. She slicked her tongue slowly over his lips, dipped it inside his mouth, whispered, “Cam, I want you. So much.”
“The bedroom.” He took her mouth, hungrily, greedily, wondering if he could wait that long.
“Here. Now.”
She punctuated her words by an upward thrust of her hips. A bump and grind he thought might just kill him.
Delilah was running her hands over his back and chest, then lower. Stroking him, cupping him through the denim. “Take your jeans off,” she said, her voice husky.
He stood and started unbuttoning and unzipping. She hooked her fingers in her panties, ready to slip them off. “Don’t,” he told her, catching her hand. “Let me. I’ve been thinking of getting you out of those for weeks.”
She stopped, looking pleased. “Really? You didn’t act like it.”
“But I thought it.” He finished taking his jeans and briefs off and leaned down to slide the panties slowly down her legs. “Every night. Every day, too.” He sat beside her, cupped her, eased a finger inside her and watched her eyes go blurry as he bent to kiss her mouth. She was hot, wet, inviting. As ready as he was.
He wanted it to last, wanted to make it good for her. He s
troked, caressed, pushed her higher until she trembled on the brink of orgasm, ready to explode any moment.
It was a miracle he managed to get the condom on before he plunged inside her. Hot. Tight. She felt so good. Their eyes met and they both groaned.
“Yes,” she whispered. Her legs tightened as he thrust once, twice. Again. Pushing inside and withdrawing until they were both slick with sweat and panting. She lifted her hips with each thrust, straining to meet him, matching his passion with hers until his heart nearly burst in his chest. He kissed her lips, groaned her name and came as she shattered around him.
DELILAH HAD AWAKENED in the night, wrapped in Cam’s arms. His hands at her breasts, cupping them, stroking them. She’d thought about telling him, known she should. Even opened her mouth to tell him to stop, that they needed to talk. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She couldn’t ruin it, not yet. She wanted this night, and she took it, knowing there wouldn’t be another. Couldn’t be another. He kissed her, his hands slid lower…and she was lost.
But now it was morning. She had to face what she’d done in the cold light of day. And she had to tell Cam the truth. She raised up on her elbow to prop her head in her hand and look down at him, tracing her fingers over the stubble on his jaw. Lord, he was a good-looking man. And a good man. A decent man. A man she wished with all her heart could be hers.
His eyes opened, he blinked sleepily, then smiled, a slow, wicked smile.
Her heart fluttered. If only… “We need to talk,” she said.
“Later,” he said, drawing her down into his arms and kissing her lingeringly.
“Cam, wait,” she said, turning her head. “We have to talk. Now.”
His smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
The doorbell rang before she could begin.
Cam sat up and shoved a hand through his hair. “Damn it, I bet that’s Gabe. I forgot he was coming over this morning.” He glanced at the clock. “For once he’s on time. Why now?”
Great. His brother who hated her. Cam must have read her thoughts because he said, “He’s not a bad guy. A little pigheaded maybe.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to. Your face said it all.” Cameron grinned. “Don’t worry. He’ll come around when he gets to know you.” He kissed her lightly, then let her go.
No, he wouldn’t. He’d hate her even more when he heard what she was going to tell Cam. “Are you going to tell him about us?”
He got up, pulled on his jeans, looked at her over his shoulder. “I doubt I’ll need to. However pigheaded he is, he’s not stupid.”
Her nerves were jumping when she walked into the kitchen half an hour later. She’d showered, dressed, even put on makeup in an attempt to bolster her courage. She straightened her back, squared her shoulders. She’d faced worse than Gabe and survived. Facing Cam later would be worse. Much worse.
Delilah greeted Gabe and went to the stove. “Let me do that,” she told Cam, who was scrambling eggs.
“Thanks.” He handed her the utensil and smiled, an intimate smile that told her he was thinking of the night before and not breakfast. She couldn’t help smiling back.
And damn it, Gabe must have seen it, too.
“You’re sleeping with her. I should have known all those protests were complete bullshit. Hell, I did know it.” His tone was bitter. Angry.
He glared at Delilah as if he wanted to squash her like a bug. Then he turned to Cam. “Are you out of your freaking mind?”
Delilah pulled the pan off the fire and spooned eggs onto three plates. Not that she figured anybody would eat them. Gabe apparently had a lot of mad stored up.
“Are you nuts?” Gabe got up and strode over to Cam, getting right in his face. “Did your fortieth birthday fry your brain?”
“Butt out,” Cam said. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. She’s playing you like a sailfish, bro, and you’re just tail walking on the water, too dumb to even realize you’re hooked.” He looked Delilah up and down and sneered. “I know her type. And so should you.”
“I do know her. And she’s not what you’re thinking.”
Gabe transferred his gaze to Cam. “She’s the type who takes a man for everything he’s worth and after he’s all used up, she walks out.”
“That’s enough, Gabe.”
She could see his fists clench and knew he was barely hanging on to his temper. She just wanted it to be over and Gabe gone.
But Gabe wasn’t through. His eyes were angry and flinty-hard when he spoke to her. “Cam might be blinded by his do-gooder complex, but baby, I don’t have one.” He jabbed a finger at her, not quite touching her. “You have trouble written all over you and I don’t want my brother in the middle of it when it finds you.”
He turned to Cam. “You’re not thinking with your brain. You’re thinking with your—”
“Shut up, Gabe.” Cam put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “I told you to butt out. I meant it.”
Gabe looked from one to the other, his face grim. “Ten bucks says she’s out of here the minute she finds a more likely mark. And you’ll be damn lucky if she hasn’t taken you for everything you have before she walks.”
Cam shook his head. “You’re way off base, Gabe. You don’t know Delilah.”
Gabe pulled out his wallet, tossed a crumpled ten-dollar bill on the counter. “Back it up with money.”
Their eyes met but neither spoke. Delilah knew something more was going on. The tension alone was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Cam stared at the money, then looked at his brother. “You don’t want to do this, Gabe.”
“Match it. Unless you’re not as sure of her as you say you are.”
Cameron said nothing. Almost casually, he took out his own wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. He laid it on the counter beside Gabe’s. “You’re on, Gabriel.”
She didn’t understand what was happening but she knew it was more than a simple bet. She couldn’t stand it any longer, couldn’t stand causing more problems between Cam and his brother. “Don’t.”
Cam looked at her. “Don’t take the bet?”
She shook her head. “Gabe’s right. Not that I’m after your money, but he’s right about me. I’ve been lying to you, Cam.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THERE WAS A LONG, intense silence. Cam heard Gabe curse but right now he wasn’t concerned with his brother. He wanted to know what Delilah meant.
“Lying about what?” he asked her. She looked sick. As sick as he was beginning to feel.
“Can we do this alone?” She looked at Gabe. “Would you—would you leave us alone, Gabe? Please.”
He looked at Cam, shook his head, then walked out the door without saying another word.
“I tried to tell you this morning,” Delilah said, “before Gabe came over.”
He hadn’t had talking on his mind. In a detached way, he noticed she was twisting her hands together nervously. “What did you lie about?” he repeated.
“When I let you think I was running from my boyfriend.” She hesitated, looked at him, her eyes dark, midnight blue and swimming with tears.
He knew then. The sick feeling in his gut told him. But he asked anyway. “He’s not your boyfriend, is he?”
She shook her head, her eyes still locked on his. “He’s my husband.”
Her words hit him like a nuclear blast. She’s married was all he could think. Goddamn it, she lied to me. “You didn’t think I needed to know that before I had sex with you?”
“I didn’t think—I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“That’s something we can sure as hell agree on.” He turned away, then back to look at her. “Stop looking at me like that. Do you think I’m going to hit you?”
“Avery did,” she said simply.
“Yeah, well, unlike him I don’t hit women.” He knew it was mean, but he didn’t care. He wanted her to hurt as much as he did. “I asked you straight
out and you told me you weren’t married.”
“I was afraid. I didn’t know you and I was terrified of what would happen if he found me. I had nowhere else to go. It just seemed better to not tell you.”
“And later, after you knew me? You couldn’t tell me the truth then? You couldn’t tell me before I—” He stopped, furious. Goddamn it, why hadn’t she told him before he’d made love to her? Before he’d fallen in love with her.
She shook her head. “I should have. After that night, when I thought I’d seen Avery…”
The night he’d first kissed her.
“I promised myself nothing more would happen between us. And I meant it. I swore I wouldn’t… But it was too late.”
“So is this like a game to you? To make me crazy with wanting you until I can’t take it anymore and then once I finally make love to you, boom, you tell me you’ve been lying to me? What a kick that must have been.”
“No!” She started toward him, her hand outstretched. “How can you think that?”
He backed up and held up his hand. “You don’t want to touch me right now, Delilah. Just…don’t.”
She halted, stunned pain in her gaze. “Cam, last night meant more to me than you can possibly imagine, and I’m not sorry it happened. Because it’s the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me.”
He’d done it again. Trusted a woman and been slammed in the teeth. “How stupid, how gullible do you think I am? Do you think because Janine made a fool of me that I’ll swallow any garbage you care to spill?”
She shook her head, a trail of tears tracking her cheeks. “I’m sorry I hurt you. Sorry I didn’t tell you. You have every reason, every right to hate me.”
“Damn you,” he said, and walked out. Hate her? He wished he could. She was a liar. She was married. And he was in love with her.