Beguiling Delilah: Romancing the Guardians, Book Six

by Lyn Horner

  Thanking her once the meal concluded, and mentioning they would like to stay one more night, to which the woman cheerfully agreed, Delilah bid her good night. She climbed the low hill to the guesthouse, hearing Leon close behind her. Paying him no heed, she marched up the steps and in the door, letting it swing back, hoping to hit him. Hearing the meaty sound of wood slapping flesh, followed by a spate of angry Navajo and the slamming of the door, she grinned to herself.

  Leon grabbed her arm and spun her around, making her gasp in surprise. “If you thought to break my nose, you nearly succeeded,” he barked, rubbing his hawkish beak.

  She hadn’t meant to hurt him, not really. Opening her mouth to apologize, she was snared by his wounded little boy expression. Unable to help herself, she burst out laughing.

  “You think it’s funny?” he fumed, obsidian eyes shooting arrows at her. “Let’s see if you think this is funny.” Hauling her against him, he imprisoned her with one arm, clamped his free hand around the back of her head and slammed his mouth down on hers, painfully crushing the tender inside of her lips upon her teeth.

  Whimpering, she forced her hands between them and pushed at his encroaching chest, but he was immovable. Then, suddenly, his kiss softened. She caught her breath when his tongue gently grazed the seam between her lips, coaxing them apart. Without thought, she opened her mouth to him. He dove within, tasting, touching every moist crevice, drawing a soft moan from her throat. She slipped her arms around him and arched into his hard, masculine body, wishing there weren’t so many layers of clothing between them.

  His hands cupped her nether cheeks and pressed her pelvis tightly to him, making her feel the hard length of his erection. Desire raged through her like a scalding river, drenching her panties, driving her to frantically rub herself against him. A feral growl vibrated through his chest. Tearing his mouth from hers, he kissed his way to the ultra-sensitive spot below her ear, nipping and licking her there, causing her to cry out softly as pleasurable sensations raced along her nerves endings.

  Raising his head, Leon gazed at her with passion-glazed eyes. “Tell me you want me, Lila, or tell me no, but do it now while I can still make myself stop.”

  “I want you, Leon,” she said breathlessly, barely noticing his use of her nickname. “Don’t stop. Please!”

  “Alright, she’at’ééd, let us try out that big bed.” Swinging her up into his arms, he carried her into the larger bedroom, pausing to hit the light switch before standing her on her feet beside the bed. Without a word, he began to undo the buttons of her turquoise tunic.

  Suddenly shy, she caught his hands, gazing at his throat, unable to meet his gaze. “Leon, I am no longer young. My body may disappoint you.”

  He shook his head, turned his hands over to grip hers and kissed them tenderly. “Do not fear. You are beautiful. All of you, I am sure.” He chuckled. “And remember I am years older than you. It is I who might disappoint you.”

  She managed a tremulous smile. “I doubt that.” She bit her lip but didn’t object as he opened and removed her tunic. When he unclasped her bra, she shrugged off the lacy undergarment and shivered, feeling his hot gaze caress her breasts.

  “Such pretty things,” he murmured, lifting both soft mounds in his hands and teasing her nipples with his thumbs, drawing a gasp from her throat. Then he bent to lick one stiffened bud. Taking it in his mouth, he sucked, shooting a fiery bolt straight to her pleasure center, making her cry out and clutch his head.

  He worked his magic on her other breast then returned his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply while his hands slipped under her fitted, elasticized leggings and pulled them down past her hips. Within seconds, he stripped her bare and laid her on the bed.

  “You are so beautiful, you steal my breath,” he said in a raspy whisper, gaze roaming her body like hot hands, making her blush and quiver. Yanking his shirt off, he swiftly released his braids and shook loose his steel-gray hair.

  She watched in lusty fascination, lips parted and pulse racing. She had glimpsed his form in the dark -- was it two, three nights ago? – but seeing him in the light, with his muscular copper chest gleaming and that long hair draped around his shoulders, caused her mouth to go dry. He looked every bit the primitive savage he might have been in days of old. Her hands itched to touch him, her fingers to twine through his long mane.

  Shedding his denim pants and footwear, he was down to his boxers, tented impressively, when he stopped and looked at her, a contrite frown sweeping across his face. “Lila, I do not have any protection with me. I did not think, I am sorry. We should stop.”

  Giving a sad smile, she said, “It’s okay. I can’t get pregnant, remember?”

  “But what of disease? Do you not worry?”

  “I have been with no one in a very long time, and you told me you haven’t wanted a woman since your wife died. I think we are safe, don’t you?”

  His frown melted into a sly grin. “Safe and ready to party.”

  She giggled at his uncharacteristic use of such a term, but when he dropped his last article of clothing, her laughter died a sudden death. Breath catching in her throat, she stared in awe at his formidable erection. Then he lay down beside her, the hot, hard length of him searing her hip.

  Slipping one arm under her, he fused his lips to hers, kissing away rational thought while his other hand stroked slowly from her throat down to her breasts. He spent long moments tweaking and rolling her nipples between his fingers, then replaced them with his mouth, making her moan and arch upward. When she was writhing with need, he slid his hand across her quaking belly, halting at the juncture of her thighs. Cupping her mound, he massaged gently, inciting a fiery throbbing that made her rub herself against his hand.

  “Part your legs for me, querida,” he whispered in her ear.

  Recognizing the Spanish love word, she did as he said and was rewarded by his intimate explorations, touching her as she had not been touched in so long. Hovering on the brink of release, she clutched his shoulders, whimpering, “Please, Leon, please!”

  “Sí, mi amore.” Shifting to lie between her legs, supporting himself on one elbow, he positioned his penis at her opening. He stared into her eyes, holding her gaze as he slowly entered her, pausing when she hissed at the stretching of delicate tissues.

  “I am hurting you,” he said, voice rasping.

  She rolled her head back and forth in denial. “I am fine,” she choked out. “It has been a long time, that’s all. Don’t stop!” Grasping his hard buttocks, she raised her hips, forcing him deeper, ignoring twinges of pain that quickly eased.

  He grunted and gritted his teeth, but complied, pushing into her all the way. She clung to him, breathing hard as he began to move. Gradually increasing the speed of his thrusts, he took her higher and higher until she crested the pinnacle, crying out in ecstasy.

  A second later, he growled with his own release, pouring his life-giving fluids into her. A flash of regret struck because she was incapable of bringing that life to fruition. Burying the painful thought deep in her heart, she held him close when he collapsed in her arms. Despite having to take shallow breaths, she did not want him to leave her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Leon lifted himself off Delilah, breathing hard, and rolled onto his back. She turned on her side, snuggling against him with one leg bent over his thighs, brushing his balls. Her hand roamed his chest, her touch soft and caressing.

  “I love your hair loose,” she murmured, smoothing tangled strands over his shoulder.

  “Do you? I feared you might hate it.”

  “No, no, it’s so sexy, it gives me shivers down my spine.”

  “Humph. You mean like a captive of some wild Indian?”

  She rose on one elbow to stare into his eyes. “If I said yes, would you be offended?”

  Crooking his lips, he shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe a little, but then I might take it as a compliment. My ancestors lived free until white men invaded our land. I am proud of them
for fighting back.”

  Still holding his gaze, Delilah traced a fingernail slowly down the center of his chest, past his waist to his limp aziz. “Even if they took captives, women captives, and . . . ravished them?” she said in a sultry voice, plucking at his sensitive head.

  He grunted, feeling himself harden. How was this possible? He was not a young buck, after all. “You must be a witch to rouse me again so soon,” he growled. Moving fast, he flipped her onto her back and settled over her, cutting off her startled cry with a hungry kiss while skimming a hand down her body to the damp folds between her legs.

  When he inserted a finger in her opening, she moaned under his mouth and lifted her hips in welcome. Glorying in her response, he positioned himself and plunged into her, setting a fierce rhythm that propelled them both to a swift, explosive release.

  This time, when he rolled to his back and tucked her against him, she sighed and fell asleep almost immediately. He dropped off soon afterward.

  * * *

  Delilah woke to the touch of light upon her face. Drowsy eyes fluttering open, she squinted at the pale sunbeam, filtered by trees, that spilled through a window a few feet from the bed. She lay on her side facing the window, but became aware of a warm body spooned around her backside and a man’s arm draped over her, his hand enfolding her breast. Just like that, memories of making love with Leon surfaced.

  Twisting to glance over her shoulder, she found him peering at her with a lazy grin on his face. “Good morning,” he said.

  “M-morning,” she croaked nervously, then cleared her throat. “What time is it?”

  “It’s early. The sun came up only a little while ago.” As he spoke, his hand gently squeezed her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple.

  “Even so, we must get up. We have much to do today.” Pushing his hand aside, she scooted away from him and sat up, clutching the bedcovers to her chest, covers he had evidently pulled over them during the night. The air was chilly, causing her to shiver and raising goose pimples on her bare arms.

  “What is so important that we cannot lie here a while longer?” Reaching out, his big, warm hand caressed her back, his touch making her shiver again, for a very different reason, and slam her eyes shut.

  “We . . . we need to come up with disguises, which will mean a trip into Nice.” Forcing down a desperate yearning to melt into his arms, she threw back the covers, jumped out of bed and made a dive for her suitcase, lying beneath the window. “I also want to drive to Monaco. It’s not far.” Grabbing what she needed from the case, she dashed for the doorway to the hall.

  The bed creaked as Leon sat up. “Wait! Why do you want to go there?”

  “Don’t worry, I think you will enjoy the scenery,” she called over her shoulder, leaving his question unanswered as she hurried to the bathroom.

  After a quick bath and wearing clean clothes, Delilah felt better facing Leon, who had also dressed and braided his hair. However, her body zinged every time he so much as brushed her arm while they walked down the hill to the main house. Last night, he had brought part of her back to life, giving her such wondrous pleasure that her senses were almost painfully attuned to his presence.

  Despite the early hour, Celine Beaudreau was already awake and busy. She spotted them coming down the trail and called out her kitchen window for them to join her for breakfast.

  “Something smells mighty good.” Leon said, clearly eager to follow the yeasty aroma wafting from the kitchen.

  Although Delilah wanted to get going, she couldn’t resist the wonderful scent any more than he could. Soon, they were enjoying warm, fresh-baked bread, jam and coffee, a traditional French breakfast, plus the addition of sliced apples. When they finished eating, Delilah expressed their thanks and told Celine not to expect them for dinner since they were going into Nice then on to Monaco, and would be back late.

  “I hope you have a pleasant time. Do be careful on the roads,” the grandmotherly woman advised. “Some drivers are not very courteous.”

  “As well I know,” Delilah replied with a grimace.

  Back on the autoroute a while later, she struggled to cope with the speed freaks and her constant physical awareness of Leon. He was like a magnet pulling on her senses. Trying to distract herself, she asked, “What type of disguise are you considering?”

  He shrugged. “I must change my hair,” he said, fingering one braid.

  She shot him an anxious glance. “Change it how?”

  “I will have it dyed and cut short.”

  Her heart sank. “But . . . but it must have taken years to grow your hair so long. I don’t want to see you shorn like a sheep because of me.”

  Chuckling, he crossed his arms. “Do not think of it that way. There is a belief among my people, the Navajo, that hair is our memory. When mine is cut, I will begin new memories, not a bad thing.”

  He reached out to brush her cheek with the back of his hand. “Besides, if giving up my hair keeps you safe, I am happy to do it.”

  Deeply touched, Delilah swallowed hard.

  Finally arriving in Nice, she parked in a large parking garage near the Promenade des Anglais that overlooked the beach and the beautiful sea beyond. As they stepped out onto the famous boulevard, Leon stopped to take in the panoramic view of the azure Mediterranean.

  “I have never seen such beauty,” he said in an awed tone.

  “It is glorious, but this place holds bad memories now for all French people. This is where the Bastille Day attack took place on 14 July 2016, when that madman drove his truck into the crowd. Did you hear about it where you live?”

  Looking startled, Leon glanced around as if expecting to see victims lying in the street. “I read the report in our local newspaper, but I forgot the name of the city where it happened.” He shook his head. “I do not understand how any man could do such a thing. Many died, did they not?”

  “Oui, eighty-six in all, and many more were injured. But come, let us not speak of it. I must shop and you . . . must see to your hair.” Capturing his hand, she led him at a fast clip away from the Promenade, toward one of Nice’s better shopping areas.

  Locating a men’s salon with a hairdresser who spoke a few words of English and acted thrilled by the prospect of cutting and dying Leon’s hair, Delilah left him in the young man’s capable hands. With an idea for her own disguise, she went in search of what she needed.

  An hour and a half later, she strode up the street in her new wardrobe, toting a shopping bag filled with her old clothes. She was nearing the salon where she’d parted ways with Leon when she spotted a man standing outside near the entrance, thumbs hooked under his belt. Was that him? No, it couldn’t be! But the man was wearing the same jeans and plaid shirt her lover had worn.

  He turned his head to glance her way, and she wobbled in her high-heeled boots. Mon Dieu! It was him, but he looked ten years younger with his hair cut stylishly short and dyed jet black. One lock dipped over his copper brow, making him look like a pirate. A very sexy pirate!

  * * *

  Leon stood waiting for Delilah to return. He wished she had found him a cheaper place to work on his hair. This one charged a fortune. Combined with what he’d kicked in for food and highway tolls during their journey from Paris – over Delilah’s objections – he was running low on money.

  Glancing down the street, he saw a woman approaching, swinging a large shopping bag by its handles. Wearing a floppy white shirt with long puffy sleeves and a belted-in waist, over a short red leather skirt and thigh-high black boots, she had curly, white-blonde hair that reminded him of a sheep’s fleece. Thinking no Navajo woman would dress like that, he looked away.

  Then he did a double take, this time recognizing Delilah’s pretty face and the shoulder bag she always carried. He gaped at her as she walked up to him, grinning like a coyote that had just caught a plump hen. And he was the hen.

  “Is this really you?” he blurted, looking her up and down in disbelief.

  Her grin widened
. “Indeed, Monsieur, it is I, but who are you? Surely you cannot be the man with that beautiful long hair I loved. Although, I confess I also find your shorter, dark tresses quite inviting.” Proving so, she dropped her bag, stepped close, body brushing his, and wove her fingers through his cropped hair. She made his scalp tingle and his blood heat.

  “Stop,” he said, narrowing his eyes. He captured her hands and brought them down, holding them between his. “This is not a place for such play.”

  She made a face but said, “Oui, you are right,” and stepped back. Freeing her hands from his, she planted them on her slim hips and studied him, frowning critically. “Those clothes must go. You need some that suit your new hair style and your hot girlfriend, don’t you think?”

  With a sassy wink, she picked up the shopping bag and handed it to him. Then she twined her arm around his and steered him along the sidewalk past storefronts until they came to a small shop with weird looking clothes, ugly jewelry and whatnot in the window. Leon resisted going in, but Delilah dragged him through the door and set about choosing the craziest clothes she could find for him.

  A while later, he stormed out loaded down with more shopping bags full of their regular clothes. He felt ridiculous in tight, lowcut pants, a bright, flower-patterned shirt and suede vest with more flowers embroidered down the front, plus shiny black ankle boots that didn’t deserve to be called boots. The only useful item Delilah had picked out was a pair of wire-rimmed sunglasses, but it was her high-handed insistence on paying for everything that really infuriated him.

  When the sales clerk totaled the cost of the outlandish items – in U.S. dollars -- Leon had shaken his head, aghast at the price. He’d started for the dressing room meaning to change back into his own clothes then look elsewhere for a cheaper costume. But Delilah had cut him off, informing the clerk she would pay, ignoring Leon’s protests and wounding his pride.