And Dom did check his messages, though that wasn’t why he delayed going inside. He delayed because he wanted to hear Delaney’s voice. It didn’t matter that he’d be home the next day. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering how she was, wondering when he’d see her again. Thinking of how it would be.
That was why he found himself spacing out in meetings, not because he was tired but because she was on his mind. So forget slow-playing things.
He needed to talk to her now.
“Hello?” a voice said on the phone.
And it was like being bathed in sunshine. “Whatever you do, please, don’t say anything about profit-to-earnings ratios.”
He heard her warm chuckle. “Tough times?”
“If I have to listen to myself run through this same routine one more time, I’ll go nuts.”
“Just babbling, or foaming at the mouth? Because the foam might mess up your suit.”
“How about I stick with wild-eyed?”
And he was rewarded with another chuckle. “Where are you, anyway?” she asked.
“Boston.”
“Ah. Baked beans and baseball, right?”
“You’d be amazed. I almost got attacked last night by a pack of feral Red Sox fans chanting ‘four in a row.’ This is a very dangerous city.”
Her laugh was rich with pleasure. “I guess it is. So are you wowing them all?”
“The feral Red Sox fans?”
“The investors.”
“Hard to say. My face is numb from talking. They keep listening and nodding, though, and calling the underwriters about buying stock, so I guess we’re making it work.”
“Poor baby. When do you get to come home? Or are you out there forever?”
“Let’s see. We started out in Philadelphia Tuesday morning, then we drove up to Manhattan in the afternoon. We were there until Wednesday night when we took the high-speed train up here. That should make today Thursday, in which case we head to the airport as soon as our last meeting is done. I want to see you,” he blurted before he knew he was going to say it.
“You do?” She sounded pleased, a little breathless.
He wasn’t exactly sure how many hours had passed since he’d left her at the airport Monday night, but it had been way too damned long. “I’m thinking of keeping a limo on permanent retainer to drive us around.”
“A nice, upright guy like you?”
“Oh, it’s upright, darlin’,” he assured her. “It has been since the last time we were together.”
This time, the laugh was throaty enough to have him tightening. “What, is your wrist broken?”
“If I say yes, will you play nurse for me?”
“Try again, bucko.”
“I thought you told me absence made the heart grow fonder,” he complained.
“And you said out of sight, out of mind,” she reminded him.
“Then I guess I’d better get myself back in sight. How about if you come over for dinner tomorrow night?”
“You’re going to cook for me?”
“I’ll figure something out. Maybe stop and get some peanut butter and jelly on the way home.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “Come here.” The words hung a moment in the faint hiss on the line.
“What, tonight? I don’t get in until almost eleven-thirty.”
“My parents let me stay up after midnight.” She paused delicately. “Unless you’d rather sleep.”
“Forget the last meeting, I’m heading to the airport now.”
She laughed. “Tonight is soon enough,” she said and gave him the address. “I’ll be the one waiting up in the little red silky number.”
“I WANT TO SEE YOU.”
Even now, hours later, replaying the words in her head gave her that recognizable flip in her stomach. Out of sight out of mind her ass. No, she wasn’t looking for anything more than a casual affair, but as the week had worn on and she hadn’t heard from him, the yearning for him had built steadily. The desire.
The need.
“Earth to Delaney, there’s a game going on here.”
She turned to see a woman about her age with dark, curly hair, oval glasses and a beaming smile. Meghan Fuller, her next-door neighbor and closest friend on the local kickball team that was currently playing in the warm afternoon at a local park. The two of them sat on the bench with their team-mates, awaiting their turns in the rotation. It had sounded goofy as all get out when Meghan had first told her about it, but now Delaney was hooked. Being in the league was an excuse to get out, have fun, drink beer. All good things.
“I know there’s a game,” Delaney responded. “I’m just thinking.”
“Let me guess—it’s either world peace or a guy.”
“World peace is time consuming,” Delaney said with dignity. “And as for a—” She broke off and jumped to her feet, cheering, while Phil Marsh, their best player sent the ball deep into left field, scoring two runs.
She could do with a little scoring, herself.
“Anyway, as for a guy, I’ve got a hot date tonight.”
“Good,” Meghan said, tightening the laces on her shoes. “I’ve been worried about you. Things have been quiet lately.”
Delaney shrugged. “I’ve been busy.” Thinking about Dom.
Inviting him over had been an impulse born of desire, of the ache to have him with her, near her, in her. Hearing his voice on the line had felt so good. Not that she’d been waiting for him to call or anything. Not much, anyway.
And now she didn’t want to wait any more. Knowing he’d be with her in mere hours made it almost harder than when she hadn’t heard from him at all. He’d be there, she thought as she rose to go to the on-deck circle, they’d be in bed.
Let the orgasms begin.
She refused to let it be anything more than that. What was the point of getting on some weird roller coaster ride of what it all meant and where it was all going? It didn’t have to mean anything. It didn’t have to go anywhere. He wanted her, she wanted him and he was coming to her. That was enough.
Really.
Delaney walked up to the plate. “You go, girl,” shouted Meghan. The pitcher rolled the ball to her in an underhand lob. And with instinctive timing, Delaney took two steps and made contact with the ball, kicking it well past the infield as she bolted for first base amid a rush of cheers.
First base? To heck with that. She was going all the way.
THERE WAS NOTHING QUITE like being home. The minute Dom stepped out of the jetway, he felt the usual surge of pleasure. The concourse was nearly deserted, the shops and restaurants shuttered. He didn’t care. Expectation buzzed through him. In half an hour, he’d be at Delaney’s front door.
And five seconds after that, he’d have her in his arms.
The desire for her that had been his constant companion since, the reception—hell, since Mexico—intensified. All week, it had been drumming through him. All week, he’d worked to ignore it. He couldn’t now; being this close only made him more impatient.
It had never been like this for him with any woman. He’d never known this steady thud of need, waking and sleeping. It didn’t matter if he was in the middle of a phone conversation, the middle of a meeting; she was never off his mind for more than a minute. And once she was on it, he was sunk.
It was only because they hadn’t really had sex again, not properly, he told himself, but he knew that wasn’t it entirely. He’d had his dry periods; they’d never put him on the knife-edge of anticipation like this. Sure, they’d had sex before. Sure, he knew what it was like with her but it was as though all of that had been wiped away and the urgency was more intense than it had ever been.
He walked down through baggage claim and out to the limo stand. Something about the feeling was completely new. It should have alarmed him. After all, he was at a critical point for the business. All his hard work, all his father’s hard work came down to these few weeks. He couldn’t afford distractions, he couldn�
��t afford to lose focus. He couldn’t afford an obsession.
But just then, as he told the driver the address and they pulled away from the curb, he didn’t give a damn. All he wanted was to have her in his arms. Every minute that passed before that, sitting at the traffic lights, driving down the boulevard, was wasted time.
He drummed his fingers restlessly.
Any other night he’d have paid attention to the blocks of neat stucco houses in her neighborhood, the tidy yards and trees. Instead, all he could think of was Delaney, the feel of her, the taste, the touch. Imagining how it would be to hold her again.
Imagining what they’d do.
And then the driver was pulling to a stop before a Mediterranean-style bungalow with a front yard full of cactus. A bungalow where the porch light was shining like a beacon.
Dom got out to take his bags. Quickly, quickly now. He was almost there. It wasn’t a matter of miles, it was a matter of feet. He only needed to get inside to see her, be with her. Have her.
And then the front door opened and she was there.
He must have signed the charge slip, Dom thought later, even though he didn’t remember it, because the car drove off. He didn’t know, couldn’t care because all he was able to do was watch Delaney as he walked through the low wrought-iron gate in the design of a sun, following the path to her, his heart beating like a trip hammer.
She opened the door wider, shrugged aside her robe to stand there looking like an advertisement for sin, from her red silk teddy to the fishnet stockings and the red spike heels that made her legs look as if they went on forever. Her hair was tousled, her eyes large and dark. And her mouth rosy and ready for sin.
“Welcome home, stranger,” she said.
He took the final step and swept her to him.
12
IT SHOULDN’T HAVE surprised her that Dom lived at the beach, Delaney thought, driving into the glare of the Friday afternoon sun. He’d always loved it. When they’d been kids, he’d been one of the boys who’d biked twenty-five miles down the river trail to Newport Beach in the early mornings to surf. So the beach bum had grown into a businessman. And maybe he’d chosen to leave his Orange County roots behind and move to L.A., but he’d stayed by the water.
She’d have picked him for one of the glossy condo complexes in Marina del Rey, something stylish and loaded with services. Instead, he’d chosen something south of Long Beach, an older neighborhood, a bit more eclectic.
He’d chosen smart, she thought as she turned onto his street. They were in the middle of one of those September hot spells that sent temperatures soaring into the triple digits. Here at the beach, though, the offshore breeze tempered the oppressive heat. He’d be able to smell the ocean, maybe even hear it. And he’d have a view.
Dom didn’t live in some L.A.-inspired fantasy of another era, or in one of those pretentious architectural monstrosities that cropped up every other place. For his home he’d chosen classic 1930s beach house: flat roof, horizontal lines, cedar-shingled sides weathered to a soft gray by the salt air.
It looked quiet, unassuming and immensely comfortable.
And was unlike anything she’d imagined. Dom Gordon, he of the fancy suits and cross-country business meetings wouldn’t choose this kind of a place to live. Jake the Snake, though, Jake the Snake would in a heartbeat. With a half smile on her face, she followed the front path and knocked.
And he opened the door.
He didn’t look like the businessman now. Unshaven and tousled, he looked like some beachcomber with the sand still in his shoes. His shorts were a soft, faded buff that might have been khaki in some distant lifetime. His shirt was a sun-bleached blue. His feet were bare.
And something about his smile sent her heart stuttering just a bit in her chest.
They’d spent the night before tangled together. She’d parted from him only that morning, not ten hours before. How was it possible that the need was so strong?
She smiled back at him. “Hi, Dom Gordon? Special delivery for you.”
HE COULD DEFINITELY GET used to opening his door to find her on the porch, Dom thought. She wore a dress the color of sunrise, something swirly and girly and sleeveless. The soft fabric managed to flow over her body in a way that made him more conscious of what was beneath than any skin-tight outfit might have done. A line of buttons ran down the front.
“Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a uniform and carrying a package?”
Her smile flashed. “I forgot.” And she stepped over the threshold and flowed up against him.
Was there anything better than an armful of silky, fragrant, springy girl? Dom wondered as he pulled her close. If it was the right girl, that was, one with laughing eyes and pixie hair and that tiny gleam of mischief in her smile. One with a quick, clever mouth that teased as much as it satisfied. And then there were those tempting buttons. But before he could get very far with unfastening them, she broke away.
“Nice place. Won’t you give me the grand tour?”
“A tour?” He watched her, sunbeam bright in his front hall, a glow of color and energy. He could persuade her, he knew. With his hands and his mouth he could have her hot and eager and naked in minutes, he’d felt it in her kiss. But suddenly, that didn’t seem nearly as interesting as stretching things out, watching her in his home. Getting her in his bed. Always before, they’d gone at it fast and furious. Why not a change of pace? Why not prolong things, show some finesse?
To test himself, he smiled again and reached out to tangle his fingers with hers. “You want a tour, you’ve got it. This way.”
“Something smells incredible,” she said, sniffing. “Is that dinner?”
He grinned. “Maybe we’d better start with the kitchen.”
“So I guess we’re not having PB and J. You really cook?” She followed him down the half flight of stairs into the marble-floored kitchen, all granite counters and sleek, brushed aluminum appliances.
“You kidding? I’ve been working on this all day. Gorgonzola-stuffed figs wrapped in bacon for starters. Pistachio-encrusted salmon with lemon dill sauce and roasted asparagus. Oh, and chocolate lava cake.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. I can boil water,” she offered. “Oh, and heat pizza. That’s pretty much it.”
“Then you’ve got the basic survival skills.”
“No, my basic survival skill is ordering off the menu.”
He came to a full stop. “I don’t usually go to town like this. I just wanted to do something special for you.”
Her gaze sharpened and she meandered to the counter, trailing a finger along the granite surface. “It must have taken you quite a while.”
“Oh, a bit,” he allowed, enjoying watching her.
She turned to him suddenly with a raised brow. “I bet the hard part was painting the Guest Gourmet logo on the foil packages,” she said, nodding at the stack of catering containers that sat out.
“Nope, the hard part was dialing the phone. That part took ages.”
“You dialed yourself? You didn’t even have your assistant do it? That’s really sweet. I’m touched.” She leaned in to press a kiss on him.
“You keep doing that, you’ll be a lot more than touched,” he assured her.
“I’d hate to get you all distracted so you burn the salmon.” She moved away as he was deciding to forget about stretching things out.
Dom released a long, slow breath. “Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Vodka? A margarita?”
Her eyes brightened. “A margarita? Really?”
“Viva la Mexico.” He pulled a small pitcher out of the refrigerator. “Made from scratch with the secret recipe of my buddy Chuck, the Margarita Master.”
“Sounds great.”
“Frozen or on the rocks?”
“Rocks,” she decided. “We’ve got a tour to do. Besides, you’ve already spent all day cooking.”
“I’m glad you appreciate the sacrifices I’ve made for you,” he said, pouring them both drinks.
He handed her one and raised his glass. “To round two.”
She paused a minute before clinking her glass against his. “Round two.” She took a swallow, then after a pause, another. “Wow, Chuck the Margarita Master knows his stuff.”
“I’ll give him your compliments.” Dom stared as she licked a droplet off her lip. He cleared his throat. “Okay, on with the tour.” On with the tour because if they didn’t finish that and dinner soon, all his good intentions would go right out the window.
“How long have you lived here?” Delaney asked as they walked up the steps to the raised level of the living room.
“Six years.” He’d wanted the place the minute he’d seen it, all open space and gleaming wood floors and soaring white walls. He had a taste for clean minimalism that he knew could look bare, but he also scattered around objects to hang the mind and imagination on—a curve of bleached driftwood, worn smooth by the tides; a fist-sized sand dollar he’d found washed up on the shore; a lump of glass the color of sea water.
And on the walls, in colors vivid or subtle, the paintings he’d begun to collect, one at a time over the years.
“Living room,” he began.
“Oh!” Delaney broke loose from him to stride to the floor-to-ceiling windows that let out onto the wide deck beyond. She glanced over her shoulder. “The palm trees!” she exclaimed, then looked at the line of palms silhouetted against the ruddy tones of the afternoon sky.
Her expression held enchantment. Her pleasure was his. He unlocked the door so she could step outside. “Wait about an hour, when the sun’s right at the horizon. It’s amazing.”
She leaned against the railing and turned back to him, eyes bright. “Can we eat out here?”
“Sure. The tour can wait. Have a seat.” He nodded to one of the chairs.
“If I lived here, I’d be out here every day,” she said as she sat.
That had been the idea when he’d bought the place, but somehow, by the time he got home it was always too late and he was too tired to do more than think about it, if that. “I use it when I can. When I’m not at work,” he explained. Or at a dinner meeting, or on travel.
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