by Amy Andrews
Ah. Yes. Della nodded slowly. He was probably right. It was probably best not to have his pickup parked outside her place, and the bar was only a ten-minute walk from Della’s house.
“You don’t have a gift, I see?”
He laughed, and it was rich and deep and stroked against her highly sensitized skin like crushed velvet. “Sorry, I’ve been a little busy today.” But that laugh, that big ol’ smile told her he had innate gifts and he knew how to use them. “I’ll bring something tomorrow night.”
Della beamed. He was already talking about tomorrow night.
“Well?” he prompted. “Are you going to invite me in? Show me what you’ve done with the place since this morning.”
Realizing she’d been standing motionless in the doorway in full view of the neighborhood, like an idiot, she grabbed his hand, murmured “Entre vous,” then tugged.
His smile strummed at the muscles slung between her hip bones as he followed her inside, and her breath hitched as the door clicked shut. But if she thought that would be his cue to start ravaging her, she was sorely mistaken.
“So,” he said, his voice low as his body fitted in behind hers, close but not touching, heat enveloping hers, cranking up that hum a little more. “Give me the tour.”
She gave a husky laugh. “You saw everything this morning.” And she was way more interested in showing him her everything.
His mouth lowered, his lips buzzing her ear and the side of her neck before dropping a light kiss on her nape. Della had no clue how she managed to stay upright with everything inside her melting like a roasted marshmallow. “I haven’t seen the finished product.”
Trembling ridiculously, Della made a valiant effort to pull herself together. Tucker was a grown man, not a horny teenager—of course he wasn’t going to jump on her as soon as he got inside. No matter how much she wanted him to.
“Okay, well…” She cleared the huskiness from her voice. “This…” She gestured around the room they were standing in. “Is the living room.”
The house was hardly big, so the tour didn’t take long, although Tucker dragged it out as long as he could, lingering over her bookshelves, opening all her kitchen cupboards, connecting her washing machine hose for her, and practically reciting all the Latin names for the plants in the back garden.
Up until this point in her life, Della would never have thought a house tour could make her all hot and bothered, but then, she’d never been on one with Tucker Daniels. He was super attentive, sticking close, his hand always at her elbow or the small of her back, his eyes constantly wandering over her face and mouth and neck. He asked questions and listened intently to the answers, and he smelled amazing—beer and citrus.
She was seriously considering ditching the whole nursing idea and becoming a realtor.
By the time they got to her bedroom, she was so turned on she was about ready to burst Incredible Hulk–style out of her clothes. “And this,” Della said, taking a step inside, “is my room.”
The main event. Finally, finally, finally.
Tucker, just behind her, leaned into the doorframe, as he’d done earlier. “Rosemary’s curtains look great.”
“Yeah.” Della admired them for a moment or two. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”
A finger trailed down her nape. “You’re amazing.” Goose bumps stippled the flesh of her arms.
Della glanced over her shoulder at Tucker, who was smiling at her gently. Her heart swelled, her ribs suddenly tight bands around her chest. She smiled, too, turning to face him, sliding her hand into his and tugging as she walked backward into the room.
“You want to check out the comfort level of the mattress?”
Their arms stretched as Tucker stayed put. “Not tonight.”
“Tucker…” Della let go of his hand. “You’re killing me now.”
A slight smile curved his lips. “If we’re going to do this—”
“Oh, we’re doing it.” There was no if about it.
“Okay then.” His smiled broadened. “Let’s go over the rules.”
“Rules?”
He nodded. “Four rules. Number one—we take this slowly.”
“Yes. Absolutely. Selena has recommended the same thing.” Della understood the necessity of it, that it might not all be plain sailing and that slow and steady was the best approach.
“Good.” He nodded. “In that vein, number two—we’re just going to start with kissing. Nothing else, just kissing.”
Kissing sounded good. She’d really like to start now.
“Number three—we only progress when you’re absolutely sure you’re ready. And by that, I mean you’re thinking with your head, not your hormones. And yes, I’m going to keep checking in with that.”
“That’s fine, and I know we need to take this slow, but that doesn’t mean you need to treat me with kid gloves, either, Tucker.”
“Maybe…but fooling around is a journey, and it’s important to be okay with every stage of it. All I’m saying is that I’m happy to stop and linger at any stage for as long as you need.”
Della narrowed her eyes. “And I appreciate that. As long as you realize I’m not going to be happy with just some kisses and some groping on the couch forever and ever. I want to go all the way. I want to do everything.”
It was gratifying to see the pronounced bob of Tucker’s Adam’s apple. “Don’t worry. We’ll get there.”
They’d better. But if he dragged this out too long, she’d totally take whatever he’d taught her and use it against him, and to hell with rule number three. She might not be a polished seductress, but she was a fast learner.
“Rule number four—I need you to tell me at any time if you’re feeling uncomfortable or…triggered.”
“Of course.” Her voice softened. “I promise.”
“Thank you.” He smiled at her for long moments. “Rule number five.”
“Hey. I thought there were only four?”
“I’ve just thought of another one.”
“Lucky me.”
“We keep this private, between us.”
“Absolutely. That goes without saying.” Did he seriously think she was going to blab this all around Credence, so Arlo would find out and act all weird? So everyone in town would act weird?
Hard pass on that.
“I don’t like the idea of sneaking around, but I think the transition back to just friends will be easier if every man and his dog isn’t in our business.”
“I agree.” She quirked an eyebrow as she took the three steps that brought her body within a whisker of his. “You done now?”
“Yep.” He nodded. “That’s it.”
“So…” She walked her fingers up his chest, loving that she could touch him freely. “What now?”
He grinned. “You’re going to feed me some lasagna, and then I’m going to kiss you good night at the door and go home.”
She screwed up her nose. “That sounds…frustrating.”
“Trust me,” he murmured, his voice low, “by the time we get around to going all the way, we’ll both be insane with frustration.”
Della felt that silken promise right between her legs. It couldn’t come quickly enough.
Half an hour later, they were standing at her door, and Della’s heart was beating so damn fast she thought it was going to explode out of her chest. Or just stop altogether. Watching Tucker eat, listening to his very satisfied noises as he devoured his food, had been so damn erotic she’d constantly lost her place in their conversation.
So. Much. Conversation.
Idle chatter about the customers at Jack’s tonight and the new Marvel movie out next month and the kinds of herbs she could plant in her garden. But the way he was looking at her now was far from idle.
“Thank you for the food,” he murmured, one hand on the doorkno
b.
Della shrugged. “Thank Ronnie Carter.”
“I’ll be sure to, next time I see her. But it was also heated up perfectly, and that crusty bread you served with it was—”
“Tucker Daniels.” Della cut him off with a frustrated snap. “I have been more than patient tonight, and I’ve agreed to stick by your rules, but I swear if you don’t kiss me in the next few seconds I’m going to—”
His head swooped down, cutting her off, and Della’s skin, which had been gradually charring under the slow burn of erotic tension, holding all that gooey marshmallow inside for the last hour, finally disintegrated, and it oozed out. She melted against him, moaning helplessly into his mouth as it covered hers, her eyes shutting, her arms creeping around his neck to press herself closer.
And he let her, maneuvering her until her back bumped against the door, his big frame holding her pinned to the spot. “Yes,” she muttered, her voice almost demonic as he slid his hands into her hair, cradling her head, letting his lips stray from her mouth, pressing them along her jaw, tracing a path to her ear, buzzing her lobe twice before returning to claim her mouth again.
He used his hands to tilt her head and Della whimpered as his tongue teased her lips, brushed along the seam, licking at the bow, swiping at the corners, dipping in and out in an erotic dance that had her seeing stars. Her breathing was out of control, her pulse loud and erratic. Her nostrils were full of the aromas of him—beer on his clothes and coffee on his breath and a faint trace of citrus. It was a dizzying mix, all rising in a bloom of heat inside her skull until she was burning up. An urgent tingling between her legs felt frighteningly primal.
This was where tonight had been leading—hell, this was where months of suppressed longing and awareness had been leading. She’d known it would be like this between them ever since that night in Denver.
Of course, he wasn’t the one out of control this time—she was. He was breathing hard, and his body was definitely hard against hers, but there was a control to the way he held her head, to the slant of his kisses, the stroke of his tongue. She was the desperate one, reveling in his mouth, greedily eating up the kisses he meted out, twisting her fingers in his hair, making frustrated little noises at the back of her throat, too damn out of her mind to care what she sounded like.
“Tucker,” she whispered urgently as his mouth left hers again, the tingle between her legs becoming an actual physical pain. “Please, I…I…”
She didn’t even know what she wanted, but he shushed her, whispering her name as his lips played around her ear, sucking in her lobe, dropping kisses down the side of her neck, tracing his tongue to the hollow of her throat, lapping at it until she was seeing stars and begging him to kiss her again.
He took his time, though, getting back to her mouth. His tongue thoroughly exploring her throat—licking and sucking, his teeth scraping and nipping, causing her to mewl and extend her neck as a zap of electricity traveled straight from the sting of his teeth to her clitoris. She gasped and bucked against him at the impact, and he nipped her again.
Damn it, she wanted his lips back on hers, but she didn’t want this potent stimulus to stop, either—something he obviously knew, as he nipped her again. He was in total control here, and she was drowning in sensation. All she could do was hold on and follow.
And it was just kissing.
She welcomed his mouth back with a ferocity she didn’t know she was capable of, and by the time he pulled away from her, twenty minutes had passed, and it felt like seconds. Della blinked, totally dazed, her head fuzzy as she tried to compute what had happened and why on earth he was stopping. She was breathing erratically—so was he—and her body was a giant pulsing throb. She thanked God his hands had slid to her hips, anchoring her against the door, because her legs felt like they were stuffed with cotton candy.
His gaze trekked over her face and neck, wandering over her hair, pausing at her cheeks, which were so hot they must be bright red, and lingering on her mouth. Whatever he saw there, he obviously liked, as his lips, wet and gleaming under the light, spread into a wide, slow grin. “Now that’s what I call a good-night kiss.”
He was unabashedly smug, obviously satisfied with whatever expression she was currently wearing. “God, Tuck…” Della tried to bring her breath under control, but she was still panting heavily. Who’d have thought just kissing could make a person feel like they’d been sprinting around a track.
If this was just the kissing portion of his tutelage, she was going to self-combust long before they got to the really interesting bits.
“You’re just going to leave me like this?” She reached for his shirt and fisted her hand in it—out of frustration, mostly, and also because she didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him to finish what he’d started. To pick back up where he left off.
He smiled, lifting a hand to stroke a finger down one side of her face. “Tomorrow night will be here before you know it.”
“Tucker.” She wasn’t in the mood to be mollified. She was in the mood to be done against her door, damn it.
“If you think it’s easy to leave you standing here wanting more, you’re wrong. If you think I don’t want more, then you’re crazy. But anticipation is the best part about fooling around, and denial never killed anyone.”
Right at this moment, Della sincerely doubted that. “Fine.” She squared her shoulders. “Lucky for me, I have a little something that won’t leave me in the lurch.”
Three, in fact.
“Good idea,” he said with a nod. Then he leaned in and gave her a peck—a peck—on her forehead before moving her sideways. “See you tomorrow night. Think of me when you’re getting off.” Then he pulled the door open and strode outside.
Della glared after him. As if she could think about anybody else…
Chapter Fourteen
Somehow—Della wasn’t quite sure how—she hosted the inaugural meeting of the Credence book club at her house the next night. She’d been working a morning shift at the old folks’ home when Rosemary had lamented that Credence didn’t have a book club. And suddenly, she was hosting the first meeting that night, with one of Winona’s books being discussed.
Ordinarily, Della wouldn’t mind being put on the spot and having everything come together so quickly, and she was really looking forward to future meetings. But she hadn’t been able to think of much today—other than Tucker, and what he’d done to her body last night just by kissing her, and what Tucker was going to do to her body later tonight—so she didn’t think she’d be much good at concentrating on anything else.
But Rosemary was persuasive, and before she could really muster a suitable excuse, it had all been organized.
Given the content of their first book, Rosemary hadn’t been able to get any other residents from the old folks’ home interested. Well, Bob Downey was up for it, but Rosemary had told him women only for this one. Ruth, however, put her hand up immediately, and Winona was, of course, also in. Then Molly and Marley had volunteered, and, with assurances that the night would be done by nine o’clock, Della had given herself up to the inevitable.
Plus, it was a little bit special. Hosting her first-ever event in her own house. Having friends over for an impromptu get-together without having to consider anyone else. Not that Arlo would have cared, but with Todd, that hadn’t been an option. Friends hadn’t been an option.
She could actually do what she liked, and that freedom was enough to make her giddy.
Everyone brought food to share and a bottle of wine, so between Winona’s highly entertaining stories about being an erotic romance author and the booze, Della couldn’t remember a time she’d laughed so loud and so long.
Which felt really, really good.
The conversation drifted back and forth between the book and other topics, one revolving around sexy underwear. It was no surprise that everyone sitting at the table—excep
t Della—owned and frequently wore sexy underwear. Even Rosemary. Ordinarily, Della would have clammed up at this further proof of her freak-dom, but she was feeling more and more relaxed around these women.
Relaxed enough to ask why, when none of them were in current sexual partnerships, they wore lingerie. When there was no one else appreciating the effort. And given how much it could cost, wasn’t it just an…extravagant indulgence? Della’s controlling father hadn’t been able to abide extravagance, and sometimes his voice still played in her head.
It had been no wonder she’d leaped at the first guy who’d offered her a way out from under his suffocating rule.
“Not at all,” Winona assured. “I wear it almost every day.”
“Is that to put you in the right headspace for your writing?” Della asked.
“No. I mean, yeah…it can help, but I wear it whether I’m writing or not.”
Marley nodded. “It feels so good against your skin, and you walk around all day like you have this secret no one else knows.”
“Right,” Ruth agreed. “It makes you feel sexy just by putting it on.”
“It’s pampering,” Rosemary piped up. “Like buying yourself flowers. Why wait around for a man to buy you flowers when you can just go and buy your own? My Winston was a god among men, but he wasn’t really a romantic. And I’ve always loved flowers. So, I’d buy myself a bunch every week or so—nothing flashy or expensive—and I’d put them in a vase, and they gave me such pleasure. Doing things that give you pleasure should never be bad.”
As if the universe had heard Rosemary, there was a sudden banging on the door. Della glanced at the time. Quarter past nine. Gah! She’d been having such fun she’d lost track of time.
And pleasure, it seemed, had come knocking.
“Oh dear,” Rosemary said as they all stared at the door. “Do you think the neighbors have called the cops on us?”
Winona snorted. “What’s Arlo going to get us for? Reading erotica while in a small town?”
But it wasn’t Arlo. He’d called around earlier, and even if he hadn’t, she knew it wasn’t him. She could feel Tucker on the other side of the door.