It could come to it before this was over.
He couldn’t help that. It would work itself out, or it wouldn’t. It would be a damn shame if they lost their friendship over it, or the company. But this was love. And war.
And if he wanted Delilah to see him as a trustworthy, honest, and forthcoming man, he was going to have to be sneaky and conniving as hell about it.
“Mrs. Owens. It’s Austin. How are you? Have you talked with Delilah lately?”
* * * *
Delilah left for a run a little after nine, just as the morning fog had started to lift, and just after she’d had a talk with her mom.
It was around ten-thirty when she came around the corner to her house and saw the black and chrome Harley parked in front and yet another pair of male feet—clad in boots this time— propped on her porch rail. Austin was sipping coffee, mirrored shades covering his eyes.
Regardless, she guessed where his gaze was. And it heated, when she came to a stop on her walk. She knew that because he slid the glasses down his nose, the better, apparently, to get a good look at her legs in her skimpy running shorts.
She sighed. There was another cup of coffee at his side and a pastry bag with, no doubt, whatever he thought might pass for breakfast. Of greater interest were the two black leather jackets slung over the rail. One big, like would fit his broad shoulders, and one substantially smaller.
He seemed to think she was going for a motorcycle ride.
She put her hands on her hips. And then wished she hadn’t because his eyes followed that movement, which resulted in a little flutter in her belly. “Austin.”
“Hey, Delilah,” he greeted, all innocence. “We’re going to see the redwoods.”
“I’ve seen them.”
He shook his head. “Not from the back of a Harley.”
Crossing her arms over her chest didn’t help either—it just drew his attention to her breasts. “You don’t know that. Anyway, I’m busy today.”
He grinned and stood—way, way too tall on the porch above her, his crotch at eye level. “Yeah? With what?”
“I’m committed at the market.”
He hooked his glasses into the V of his T-shirt, then bent to lift the extra coffee and hold it out to her. “Oh, that’s off. I told Melvern I was taking you today. Muriel said it was about time you had some fun.”
“Austin—”
“Scared, D.J.?”
With poor grace Delilah stomped up to the porch. She took the coffee but left him to gather up the jackets and the rest of breakfast while she opened the door. She paused and looked at him before she started up the stairs. He looked back, acknowledging what she was thinking.
He’d be watching her ass all the way up the stairs.
He was enjoying this too damn much, but there was nothing she could do about it. Reluctantly, she started up, and just as she suspected, he waited until she was a few steps ahead before he followed, making sure he got an eyeful.
She hitched a little when he spoke, about halfway up. “I’m sorry I missed your run. I always enjoyed watching you. With those long legs, you used to run like a gazelle.”
She rolled her eyes, knowing he’d get the sentiment if not the visual. “My mom said hi.”
“Did she?” He said it with a bit of a cocky attitude, like he knew her mom had her own little thing—a motherly one—about Austin.
On the main floor, she motioned around broadly before she headed up to her bedroom. “Make yourself at home.” Like he needed the encouragement—he was already making his way to the kitchen. “I’m going to shower.”
“Wear jeans,” he called after her. “Unless you have leathers.” Somehow he made that sound flirty. “Boots if you have them, cover your ankles, anyway.”
* * * *
Well, he was right about one thing. Seeing the redwoods from the back of a Harley was a whole other thing. It was, and she didn’t have to even try to convince herself it had nothing to do with having her legs hugged around a hot, gorgeous hunk of man. It was mind-bogglingly beautiful, and it put her in a forgiving mood.
The Harley was loud, and so they didn’t try to talk much. That left Delilah with plenty of time to ponder her fates. Three months in Santa Cruz and three remarkably attractive men had come knocking on her door.
She wondered whether she should post it on the Internet—let other single women know about the area’s little bonanza of hot single men. Well, she hadn’t found a keeper—or, a stayer—yet, had she?
Twenty-four hours earlier, she’d have laughed in the face of anyone who’d suggested that she be having libidinous thoughts about any man on earth. But this was Austin. He was making his intent plain, and she didn’t think she’d be able to resist his charms.
Sarah had called it, and so had he. She’d had the hots for him. He’d been the dreamy focus of her first-ever sexual stirrings. Only Nick’s repressive presence had kept her from making a complete fool of herself over Austin. Her brother had been more than clear about it. One hot summer afternoon when she was fourteen, she’d interrupted the guys tossing a football in the backyard. She’d come out in a very tiny bikini, on the pretext of tanning.
Seventeen-year-old Nick had stepped in front of her, hands on his hips. “Go back in the house,” he’d said. “And don’t come out until you have some clothes on.”
So she might have looked at Austin, and longed, but nothing had ever come of it. Then Nick had died, and the thought of any contact with him had been just too painful.
Until now.
She guessed it was the healing power of time. But nothing had ever felt more comforting than those moments in his arms when they first saw each other.
She knew she should have resisted his kiss—she’d made her best effort at it. Drawing on thoughts of Linc and Ben, she’d schooled herself to be wary. She didn’t really know him, after all. They’d both lived a full decade and then some since they’d seen each other. He so very obviously wasn’t a sweet kid anymore. He was a man—one who didn’t hold back and who had the skills and the will to get his way.
But the boy she’d known was still in there. She could see it in his blue eyes—that pleasure in humor and gentle teasing. That hot regard for her, familiar from those moments in the past when Nick wasn’t around.
He drove her up small forest roads, finally stopping at a little clearing. He took a light blanket from his saddlebag, and her hand, and walked them into the woods.
After a bit of a walk, when there were no other hikers within hearing distance, he laid the blanket down under a tree. Then they lay down on top of it, their leather jackets folded under their heads as pillows. Hers fit her perfectly. And was brand-new.
When they looked up, it was to gaze at true majesty. “Wow,” she said.
“Yeah,” he replied.
He took her hand and held it, and they lay there in very content silence. A lot of time passed before he bent his elbow and brought both their hands up, so hers was resting against his chest.
“How long since the asshole left you?”
She turned her head to meet his gaze. “How do you know he was an asshole?”
He lifted one brow. “Did he leave you?”
She turned away. “Yeah.”
Austin rolled onto his side, lifting up on his elbow to look her over. “Then he was an asshole.”
She had to admit she liked the way he thought. A corner of her mouth lifted, though she shouldn’t encourage him.
He took her hand, placed it on her abdomen, and put his over it, locking his fingers with hers. “Though I have to say I’m glad he was. Saves me having to knock him out of the way.”
She turned enough to glance up at him. “Cocky, are we?”
He didn’t give her the grin she expected. “After twelve years I get to make a play for you. It’s just not going to happen that some blind, stupid idiot gets to stand in my way. And you’re going to have a hard time holding out against me. Just in case you were thinking to try.”
He watched her intently. He’d spoken with solemn conviction, like he was taking a vow. “So, however long it’s been, has it been long enough?”
She chewed her lip some before she answered. “It’s been a month. And I don’t know.”
He put his fingers on her cheek and gently turned her head to look at her, evaluating, for a long time. “All right,” he said. “I’ll ask again next weekend. But you should stop doing that with your mouth.”
Chapter Ten
Blue balls. Big boner. A Harley throttled up between his thighs. All in all, the ride down the mountain was...interesting.
Still, Austin wasn’t unhappy. He’d declared his intentions up there under the redwoods, and Delilah hadn’t waved him off, bless her hot little soul.
Not that she’d exactly green-flagged him, either, but she hadn’t shot him down.
So his cock throbbed for nearly an hour, and she wouldn’t have to move her hands more than an inch or two from where she held his waist to find that out for herself. Apparently, the whole blue balls deal was a thing he’d have to get used to. There had been plenty of opportunity already for his dick to get all hopeful and worked up—seeing her chew that lower lip, watching as she sashayed her ass up the stairs in those little running shorts, and then having to wait while she showered.
He had an imagination. Like he couldn’t picture her all naked and alone in there?
He guessed it was a matter of conditioning. You can get used to anything if you do it long enough. And you’re desperate.
But it made for a damned awkward dismount when he pulled off the road at a little retro drive-in. They sat at a picnic table eating burgers. She pretended to be mad that he stole most of her fries.
Once he got her home, he wormed his way into sharing a beer on her deck—the lower one, when it was the upper one that was his goal—by reiterating that he was going hands off until the next weekend. That happened on her front porch, and she gave him a good hard look—maybe he didn’t fake innocence as well as he thought he did—before she opened the door to him.
He ended up cheating a bit when he said goodnight. He put his hands on her hips and brought her close enough to steal another kiss, though not close enough to give her an indication about what was going on behind the fly of his jeans.
But he got that sweet mouth, and he lost himself there. It took a while to coax his way past her lips. When he finally did, it was sweet as honey and heady as whiskey.
He really intended just a touch of lips, and when she lifted her face to receive it, he knew that was what she was expecting. But just a touch wasn’t enough. That first contact was like a spark to kindling. His breath stilled, and when he lifted back up to look at her, he could tell she knew what was coming.
“Dammit, D. J.”
She didn’t turn away. So he took her the way he wanted. He rubbed his lips against hers, then brushed with his tongue. When she gave a quiet little moan he scraped with his teeth and got her lower lip into his mouth. Then she opened, and she was all his.
He went deep, using his tongue to explore, teasing hers to respond. Finally, she followed him, like a timid kitten taking a small taste of his mouth. That was such a hot turn-on he just about fell to his knees.
He ended it while he still could. Lashing down the raging urge to carry her upstairs, he pulled back. Breathing hard, he fought images of tossing her over his shoulder, relating to his caveman ancestors in a way he’d never identified before.
To his great satisfaction, she was working a little to catch her breath, too. He lifted a thumb and rubbed her lips, hoping to seal his taste there.
“Tuesday,” he said. He figured she’d say Monday was too soon, and there was no way he was waiting until Wednesday. “Let’s ride up Highway One and eat seafood along the coast.”
He thought she might still be lost in the kiss, but she nodded vaguely, so he took advantage. “What time do you get home from work?”
“Usually six,” she said.
He patted her cheek, told her he’d pick her up then, and left quickly. Otherwise, he’d take her mouth again, and he wouldn’t leave at all.
On Monday he was cranky as hell and couldn’t believe he hadn’t pushed her to spend the evening with him. He lay in bed that night wishing he could call her without feeling entirely lame, and he dealt with the blue balls, big boner thing in the time-honored fashion.
He took it out on her Tuesday evening. He was there at six, and the second she opened the door to him he had her out on the porch, backed up against the wall, and having to breathe around his tongue.
“I missed you, pretty girl.”
“In just one day?”
“It’s been almost forty-eight hours since I’ve seen you, and, fuck yeah.”
She tried to be all hard-ass about it, rolling her eyes.
“Deej. Baby. Tell me you missed me, too.”
She tried another stern look, but he ignored it.
“Come on. ’Fess up, or that dude peeking out his window right there is going to get a hell of an eyeful.”
“It’s you he’s looking at.” She smiled and then grabbed him by the ears and brought him down for one short kiss. “I might have missed you a little.”
He kissed her forehead. “That’s better. Now, we taking a ride on my Harley or in your bed?”
He thought she might be considering her options, but it turned out to be the Harley. They went north, stopping once to wander along the beach, then following the highway above the sea to eat at a restaurant that clung to the cliff’s edge. The ride home was to a spectacular sunset, ending in Santa Cruz’s evening mist that had them feeling all alone in the world when he walked her to her door.
He took both her hands, lifted them up, and used his mouth to play with her fingers. He knew if he tried kissing her, he wouldn’t stop.
But he liked the way her eyes darkened as he took a finger into his mouth. He sucked it and then nipped with his teeth. “Thursday?”
Appearing a bit bemused, she nodded.
“What would you like to do?” He bit the pad of her forefinger and stroked it with his tongue. She watched, looking mesmerized. Fucking good to know.
“Umm.”
He hid his grin. “How about we take a ride out to Natural Bridges State Park and watch the evening surfers? One of them is bound to crack his head on the rocks.”
That got her attention. “And that’s fun to watch?”
If you had a couple beers first. “Oh, yeah.”
She looked a little skeptical, but she agreed.
So Thursday night they sat on a blanket eating fish tacos, and it hardly bothered Austin at all that not a single surfer wrecked trying to shoot the bridge. By sunset they were lying on the blanket, and one hot thing led to another there. Austin leaned over and started kissing her, and her little moan was a very sweet beginning. He held her face and took her mouth over and over, until she curled her fingers into his hair and chased after him when he lifted up. Eventually he got a hand on her breast and a knee between her legs, and there were no secrets then about what his cock was doing.
They were humping each other to within an inch of an explosive orgasm when he finally found a thin tether on his sanity. They weren’t exactly alone on the beach, though all the families were gone, at least, and most of the others left there were couples up to about the same thing that they were.
He lifted his head, realizing where they were and just how close they’d come to a major beach violation. He patted her hip. “Come on, pretty girl.”
Austin didn’t think Delilah would have stopped. She was a little irked, in fact, when he eased up the pressure of his leg between her thighs.
And wasn’t that a freaking hallelujah moment. His sweet little Delilah was a hot sex bitch. A few minutes into the kissing she’d become an avid partner. By the time they were thoroughly exchanging spit, he’d got that hand on her breast. She liked it a lot, arching up to fill his palm, and even putting her hand over his to increase the pressur
e. Then he got up under her T-shirt, loosened her little bikini top, and practically had her coming just by playing with her nipple.
Well, maybe not playing so much. She liked it hard—pinching, twisting, tugging. Everything he did, she seemed to want more of. She was so worked up, he didn’t think she even noticed his thigh between her legs until she started riding it.
It had been about over for him then. He lay nearly all the way over her and got a hand on her ass to secure her as he started to hump back. He pressed his forehead into her chest and just about tore her breast bare so he could take her in his mouth.
Only one thought stopped him, and even then it was an extreme effort of manly control. It was this—when he found his first wild orgasm with this freaking siren, he was going to be buried balls deep in her hot little cunt.
That was going to be fucking soon. But not on the beach.
So he bundled her up, his dazed little sexpot, and put her back on his bike. He pretended she wouldn’t notice he was walking bent over like a damn humpback.
This time, on her front porch, he didn’t touch her except to put a knuckle under her chin and lift her to meet his gaze.
“Make dinner for me Saturday.”
She nodded vaguely. “Okay.”
“Then I’m intending to stay the night.”
Her eyes cleared a little then, searching his. Finally she gave the smallest nod. But it was a fucking nod.
He moved his thumb and rubbed it hard into her lower lip. If he did any more he’d be lucky to get her through the door before he was fucking her.
He had to close his eyes against the image of it. Then he opened them, saw the simmering heat in hers, and just about caved.
No. Not yet. “Goodnight, pretty girl.”
* * * *
Delilah spent Saturday morning trying to distract herself with weaving. It was an impossible task. The prospect of seeing Austin that evening loomed large. Of having him in her home, her space. And then in her body.
Three Men and a Woman: Delilah (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 16