Her hesitation about another pregnancy turned out for the best in the end. A few months later, Isaac the toad cleaned out Delilah’s bank account, bought a pricey SUV off her credit, and left town with a skinny, lanky-haired nineteen-year-old.
Good riddance. Bruce Sr. was a lawyer and helped her through a divorce without her ever having to face the lying, sneaking cheat again.
But she did miss the thought of that baby, that little being she held in her for two sweet, short months.
“I just can’t live here anymore.”
Sarah reached a baby-scented hand across the table for hers. “I know, sweetie. But I’ll miss you so much.”
Chapter Two
It was the first of May, and Lincoln had thirty-one days to stalk Delilah, find out if he was going to love her, and if so, make her fall in love with him.
It was a hell of a plan, but the best they’d been able to come up with. Austin, Ben, and he each got a month, one month to meet her and pursue whatever relationship developed. They’d shot for it, odds and evens, and Linc got first up.
At the end of the month, by midnight on the thirty-first—that stipulated by the engineer— whatever had happened between Delilah and him, he had to put an end to it. Then they’d wait a month, and Ben would take his turn. That would be the second two-month cycle—one month to pursue, a one-month break to follow. Then Austin would take his shot.
Each one had to end it—whatever “it” was—at the end of the month. Whatever excuse they gave, they were required to put it out there as though they were quitting the relationship. The three of them weren’t to speak of it again, until, at the end of five months, after Austin had had his turn, they’d reconvene.
If nothing panned out for any of them, well, no harm, no foul. If one of them fell for her, then it would be up to him to reel her in—they’d each have an equal shot. If more than one of them wanted her, well, then it would be in her hands, and the loser would just have to man up.
Yeah, as a plan, it sucked. Just, it was better than anything else they could think of. Of primary importance was a strategy that assured they could maintain their friendship, and only slightly less important, their ability to work together as partners.
They considered, too, the ramifications for Delilah. They didn’t want to hurt her, but it was possible that they wouldn’t avoid it. They’d try. Worst-case scenario, they figured, was if she fell for Lincoln. Not that he considered that the worst case. But if she did, she’d suffer through the moment that he broke with her and the subsequent four months, while Ben and then Austin pursued her. If it happened with Ben, it would be a matter of two more months. For Austin, it would just be that short time when he terminated the relationship, and then the three of them met to see where they were.
That was the main reason the plan sucked—for some period of time, Delilah could have some bruised feelings. The upside would be that, if she found love, well, she found love. They each liked her. Each man thought it could happen with him.
Wouldn’t she consider it worth it in the end?
They all freaking hoped so. They trusted that, in the end, they’d make it right for Delilah. It had taken a bottle and a half of Bushmills to hammer out the deal as they sat around a fire out on his deck.
Ben and Austin had ended up sleeping it off at Linc’s. Austin had found his way to one of the spare rooms. Ben hadn’t made it past the first couch he came to.
Lincoln had spent the next two weeks mulling it over. It was still a shitty plan, and still, he couldn’t think of anything better. The deal gave them each a shot at her, and that was what they wanted.
Apparently, the woman had bewitching superpowers, at least for the men of ABL.
Shitty plan or not, game on.
* * * *
On Friday afternoons, Wright Marine Science closed up shop early, and the staff all headed down to the Boardwalk for happy hour.
At least, that was the case Brian Davis made as he leaned, not entirely welcome, against Delilah’s desk.
It was a huge relief that she loved her job. She’d had a week of orientation with the very pregnant Katie and then a week alone with Mr. Call-Me-Howard Wright. Howard was a delight—he was bright and enthusiastic about his science, with an energy that belied his age. He had loyal staff whom he respected and supported, and he was gradually turning over the reins to them. He was determined to devote more time to his second greatest love—the Priscilla, a 33-foot Hobie he sailed from the Harbor.
His wife, Dolly, he said, was his first. He claimed she encouraged his enthusiasm for sailing so that, when he did retire, he’d have somewhere to be besides underfoot.
Responsible, organized Katie had WMS running smoothly. She’d easily taught Delilah the payroll system, the simple accounting, and how to manage scheduling and ordering. So far, it had been a remarkably effortless transition.
Delilah’s transcontinental move had also been simpler than she could have imagined. For business purposes, Howard kept a two-bedroom condo in Capitola Village, and he insisted she use it while she took over for Katie. Right in the quaint village, it was a charming little townhouse in pristine condition. The decor was fresh and calming, done in lovely sea greens and blues. The furniture was sturdy, comfortable, and appeared brand new. The master bedroom contained a huge lake of a bed.
Best of all, it was just a short walk to the beach.
She loved the changes in her life. She was becoming a sun-worshipper, often tanning on the private, high deck of her home. She went to sleep to the sound of the water. Her work was close enough that she could ride her bike, and when she got there, she felt competent and befriended. She was thinking about getting a dog. Maybe she’d learn to surf.
“So, you should come.”
Apparently, Brian wasn’t going to accept a noncommittal answer. Howard was already gone for the day, or she’d have found something that needed his signature. She glanced behind her at his open office door a bit longingly.
“I have a couple things I have to finish up here, Brian.”
“I’ll wait.”
She sat back and crossed her arms, not quite brave enough to give him a little nudge off her desk. Brian was young—probably about twenty-five to her twenty-seven, and cute enough, but she really had no interest in a work-site romance. They so seldom ended well.
“Are you inviting me to join the group who are going, Brian, or are you asking me out on a date?”
He was sweetly eager. “A date, if you’ll go.”
“I won’t. I don’t consider it smart to date my work colleagues.”
He moved in a little closer. “Dee, sweetheart. You’re a temp. It’s not going to be a problem.”
“I don’t go by Dee.” Or sweetheart. “And yes, I’m a temp. So if you want to make a date with me in six months, I can pencil you in.”
He didn’t seem as off-put by that as she’d hoped. Fortunately, a man moving in through the door saved her. He was six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and strikingly handsome in a suit and tie—more formal dress than typical of Santa Cruz, Surf City, U.S.A. His honey-brown hair was brushed back, curls tamed into ripples, probably by a subtle touch of gel. His blue eyes were pale and piercing—and familiar.
“Hey, Brian.”
Brian turned, slow to move his attention away from Delilah. “Oh, hi, Linc. Howard’s already gone for the day.”
The newcomer moved closer, looming a bit, and picked up Delilah’s nameplate from her desk. “Then, could I have a word with, umm, Ms. Owens?”
Brian was a bit rude in his reluctance to give up his territory. But he couldn’t stand long in the face of those blue eyes and lifted brow. “Uh, yeah. Sure. See ya, Dee.”
Humph. Guess they wouldn’t be making that six-month date.
Blue eyes watched him out the door. Then that sharp gaze came back to her.
“Delilah Owens,” he said in a kind of shiver-causing, sexy drawl. “You still owe me the second half of a kiss.”
Holy shit. Delila
h rocked back and suddenly remembered. Graduation night, Harvard Square, Daedalus Bar, roof deck. “Umm,” was the most she managed.
“Lincoln.”
She nodded her head. “Lincoln.”
“Banks.”
She nodded again. “I’m surprised you remember. You’d had a couple.”
His eyes kept heating her up. “I remember our dance. And I remember that kiss.”
An interrupted kiss, following a hot, gazes locked, arms embracing slow dance with a stranger. One of his buddies had grabbed him and pulled him away for another toast.
She’d been with Sarah and some of their friends—they were celebrating, and they’d had a bit to drink, too. They’d left a few minutes later, and she’d never seen those beguiling blue eyes again.
Until now. “Uh, did you come to see Mr. Wright?”
“Well, I’ll admit that was my original intention. Has he taken the Priscilla out?”
So Lincoln Banks was acquainted enough with Mr. Wright to know his habits. “No. To be honest, he’s off to meet his regular AA’s new baby.”
“Ah,” he said, in apparent delight. “Katie delivered? Is everybody healthy? A baby girl, right?”
“Yes. Clara.” Apparently, the man knew his way around the office personnel, as well.
“Mr. Wright is taking her a sailboat.”
“And, by sailboat, you mean—”
“Well, he was carrying a gift bag from Lolly Tree Toys. But I wouldn’t swear to it that he doesn’t have the real thing moored at the marina, waiting for her.”
Lincoln laughed. He had dimples. Yikes, he was hot.
“It wouldn’t surprise me. Though, if I recall correctly, his real gifts to Katie’s first two were big deposits into a college fund.”
“Mr. Wright loves Katie.”
“That he does.” He’d been toying with her nameplate, running his fingers over the letters. Gently, he set it back on the desk, circled nearer, and looked at her. “How is it going for you, here? Are you adjusting okay?”
She tried not to fidget under that intense gaze. “Thank you. Perfectly well. Did you want an appointment with Mr. Wright?”
“No, this was just a friendly call. We sail together on the weekend once in a while. And I’m sure he’s told you to call him Howard.”
“Indeed he has.”
“Come to dinner with me, Delilah.”
“Thanks. But I don’t think so.”
He gave her a look that made her think he wasn’t going to take rejection easily. Probably not many women turned him down. He was, in fact, supremely tempting. But she was just barely settling in here. She didn’t want to rock her happy boat.
She’d called it right, though. He nudged her foot with his. “Come on. You have to eat. And I’m sure you don’t know anybody in town.”
She stood up. He’d gotten close enough that she needed a little space. “How do you know? It’s been five years since you saw me in Boston. I could have been living here for years.”
He shook his head. And stepped closer yet. “Nope. You have a little bit of sunburn right here.” He slid his finger along the V of her blouse, nearly caressing the rise of her breast. “You’re fresh off the plane. Just arrived from cold, rainy, gray nine-days-out-of-ten New England. Pretty soon I’m going to hear you start dropping some Rs, and putting others in where they don’t belong.”
She took another step away from that hot touch. She really, really hoped he couldn’t see how her nipples had tightened. But if he didn’t, judging by where his gaze was focused, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. “You’re wrong.”
That got his gaze up to her face. Man, could he make a wicked thing of the way he lifted a brow. “About the plane?”
“No. About the Rs.”
He chuckled, and somehow it was a sound that made her think of sex. Maybe everything about him made her think of sex. Damn.
“Give over. You owe me.”
“What, the kiss?”
He shook his head. “No. Well, yeah, though we can work up to that. But I got rid of Brian for you.”
She huffed. “You did not. I had him taken care of.”
“No way, babe. He had his ass planted on your desk, and he wasn’t leaving without you.” He walked to the closet behind her workstation, peeked inside, and pulled out her sweater. “Lock up. Let’s go.” He held the sweater for her rather imperially, and after a long moment of perusing him, she slipped into it. She hated to reward the behavior, but he was a significantly compelling man.
Downstairs, he took the keys from her and locked the front door behind them. He motioned to her bike in a rack at the side of the building. “We can stow your bike in my cargo area.”
She lifted her head. “How do you know that’s my bike?”
* * * *
Hell. Lying to a bright woman was tough. Maybe that was a sign that he was doing the wrong thing.
He’d covered the gaffe about knowing she’d just come from Boston. That had worked out all right in fact, given that he got a little feel of skin because of it. But he shouldn’t have known that she rode a bike to work, bugger it all.
In for a penny, in for a pound. He looked around the lot and saw just one beat-up old minivan. “There’s only one person who’s still gonna be in the building after five on a Friday. Some kid—I forget his name. Max? Jason?”
“Steven.”
“Yeah, yeah, Steven. He’s a new grad, right? And so excited about the work that Howard has to call him up at midnight to tell him to go home.”
She chuckled, and he embellished some more. He pointed at the van.
“His mother was so glad to be done carting kids to and from college that, when he graduated, she gave him the van and bought herself a Beamer. He’s stripped it inside, so he has room for a board and a sleeping bag. When he leaves here Friday night, he drives to whatever beach is supposed to have the best waves for the weekend and camps out. I think he comes back here Monday morning without ever having gone home.”
Entirely plausible bullshit. He hoped he had her distracted enough with unlocking the bike and watching him tuck it into the hatch of his Lexus RX Hybrid. He walked her around to the passenger door. “What do you like? Steak, seafood?”
She looked up at him as she settled into her seat. “Vegan. Gluten free.”
He prayed that was a joke, but her eyes were one hundred percent serious. Damn. He hoped he squelched his reaction, but didn’t hold back his heavy sigh and slumped shoulders as he rounded the vehicle.
He took her to a Mexican fusion kind of place. She didn’t object to a margarita, but he struggled to keep a manly face as she motioned for him to go first and he ordered some corn tortilla–squash–black bean thing. No cheese. No sour cream.
Her turn, she looked innocently at the server and asked for steak fajitas with guac and extra sour cream.
She laughed at the look on his face, and he had only one way to shut her up. He leaned across the TV tray-sized table and held her face. “This one doesn’t count. I can’t help myself.” Then he planted a hot wet one on her. The waiter had stayed around to gawk, so he told him to change his order to the same as hers.
Then he gave a hard look to Delilah. It took her a nice moment to recover from the kiss. “You have a little bit of a mean streak. Was that payback for me being high-handed about bringing you to dinner?”
She met his gaze in silent fake innocence, those pretty brown eyes hiding a surprisingly pleasing sharp mind.
“We had unfinished business. In Boston, you disappeared while my back was turned. After that dance, that kiss—”
“Half a kiss.”
He leaned in again. “If you hadn’t run, we’d have finished that kiss in my bed.”
She paled a bit, but dammit, he was right. And he was pissed, more than he’d realized. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. That immediate, hot flash of desire. That sense of rightness, of fit. And then she disappeared into thin air. He was incredibly frustrated when he los
t her.
“I left. I wasn’t running.”
He sat back and ran a hand through his hair, took a breath. “I think you were. And honestly, I understand. It was pretty intense. It was to me, anyway. Wasn’t it to you?”
He watched her own up to the truth. She sipped at her drink. “Yes. You’re right. It was.”
She’d run. But he settled for what she’d admitted now. “I went back, looking for you. More times than I’d want you to know.”
“My parents had come for graduation. My dad had a two-week leave so we went sailing at the Cape.”
He watched her eyes carefully, holding her gaze. “And when you got back, did you go to the Daedalus? Did you look for me?”
“Once.” She sighed, lifted a shoulder. “It seemed foolish.”
He reached across the little table and put his hand over hers, where it hovered near her salted glass. He rubbed his thumb over her fingers.
Then Aaron, the damn waiter, interrupted the moment.
They were busy for a while stuffing fresh tortillas with sizzling beef and peppers. The meal was delicious—and she stopped eating before hers was half gone.
It took him a bit to realize she was done.
“Hmm. Are you one of those women who never finishes a meal?”
Her eyes danced, and he found himself enjoying that as much as, say, touching her skin. Well, no, that was a lie. But he enjoyed it.
She leaned toward him. “Just be happy I’m not a vegan.”
“I am.” God, was he. “But—” He motioned at her plates. “Still.”
Three Men and a Woman: Delilah (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 2