Three sharps knock sounded on her door while she towel-dried her hair. She opened to Del braced in the doorway, dressed only in Ben’s old board shorts, which hung dangerously low on his hips. He smelled of seawater and antiseptic, with an adhesive bandage rakishly positioned on his forehead.
“Ouch. Nasty.” She raised a hand to touch.
Del snagged her fingers and tugged them down, pressing his lips against them. Whether from shock or delayed reaction to the cold water, or even because the bare skin on display was mouth-wateringly gorgeous, butterflies the size of stingrays swooped around her stomach.
Shaye backed into the room, and he followed—not letting go of her hand and not breaking intense eye contact—as if they participated in some sort of ballroom dance.
When he was far enough inside, he flicked the door shut with a bare foot.
“Come here.” He reeled her in.
Shaye wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek on his chest and closing her eyes, the soft thud-thud-thud of his heartbeat pulsing through her skin. His hands skimmed up and down her spine then settled on her waist.
Del didn’t speak, just held on.
“Thank you.” His voice rumbled up from deep in his chest and vibrated along her lips, which had somehow pressed to his collarbone. “You saved me.”
Her heart battered her ribs, once, twice, three times.
“I didn’t save you, Hollywood.” She couldn’t explain why his words touched her so much. But the seriousness of his tone, the rawness shimmering through it, triggered a knee-jerk reaction of making light of the situation. “Ben was the one who hauled your butt to the surface.”
A big hand moved to her head, smoothing damp strands of hair and then slipping down to rest on her nape. “You dived in after me without hesitation.”
He swallowed hard, his breathing ragged.
“Even with your fear of boats after what happened to your dad,” he said. “You went into the water.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t had time to think of her father before diving in.
If it’d been a member of Ethan’s crew, she didn’t know if she’d have reacted the same. No heroics were involved—in fact, if Ben was next to her, she probably would’ve shoved him overboard to rescue Del.
But Ben hadn’t been there, and so she’d jumped in without rationalizing all the reasons why she couldn’t. The only reason that mattered, the only emotion pounding through her bloodstream, was the fear of letting Del Westlake go when she wasn’t ready.
Not yet, goddammit. Soon…but not yet.
“You could’ve drowned.” His breath whispered against her temples, stirring her hair.
“Rubbish. All Harlands are born with gills. I don’t like to swim and dive, but it doesn’t mean I can’t kick ass in the water like Ben and Piper can.”
His soft chuckle tickled her ear. “You kicked ass, all right. And Henry’s as happy as a pig in shit, since Cruz managed to keep his camera rolling.”
“God.” Images of her floundering around with seaweed hair on international television floated through her mind. Ugh. “Really? They’re going to use it?”
“All about the ratings, so Henry says.”
Shaye sighed and wriggled out of Del’s arms, avoiding the temptation to anchor herself to him and drop them both onto the room’s queen-sized bed.
Bet Henry would love footage of that for his show.
“It’ll bring more publicity for Ben, I guess—and more sympathy for you, being rescued by a girl.”
A flash of his cocky Del smile. “Feeling sympathetic toward me too, cupcake?” He closed the gap between them. “Wanna kiss my boo-boos better?”
Shaye shoved at his chest with both hands, forcing him to walk backward to the door. He grinned down at her the whole time, making her tingle from happy-place to toes.
“Kiss your own boo-boos, Hollywood.”
Del paused at the door, opening it but not stepping outside. He parted his mouth to say something then shut it again, shaking his head.
“What?” she asked.
He cupped her chin, mesmerizing her with his steady blue gaze. “I’ll never forget the look on your face as you swam down to me. You were fearsome, like a mermaid warrior. Fierce and strong and beautiful. Your dad would’ve been proud of you today, Shaye.”
Her chest compressed with unbearable pressure, her eyes stinging as if they’d been exposed to salt water again.
Del leaned forward and pressed a light kiss on her forehead. Then he left, pulling the door shut after him.
If Shaye didn’t know better, she’d think the man had started to care about her, too. That maybe, he couldn’t bear to let her go, either.
Chapter 14
If Del had been a diabetic, he’d be in a sugar coma by now.
The staff had finally left for the night on Halloween Eve, so Del attacked Shaye’s party food list with a vengeance. Maybe spun caramel garnishes and the perfect crème brûlée were more his style than chocolate-chip-fake-spider cookies, novelty cupcakes, and witches’ poison toffee apples—but like hell would he renege on his end of the deal.
The swinging doors hissed open.
“Need a hand?” Shaye’s voice echoed through the empty kitchen.
Up to his elbows in a huge bowl of cookie dough, Del was tempted to tell her he had it under control. Which would be a total lie, but at least he’d salvage his pride. She’d left with the rest of the guys at half past ten, with a smug grin and the laughing instruction to “have fun baking cookies.”
He glanced over his shoulder. She wore her brown hair pulled high on her head, but damp strands had already escaped the messily tied bun. Not long from the shower, obviously—the tantalizing scent of flowery body wash drifted off skin barely covered by shorts and a tank top, which slid off one shoulder to expose a tantalizing red bra strap.
The woman was more dangerous to him than any poison apple.
“It’s under control.” The baking maybe, because he sure wasn’t. What little control he had drifted through his fingers like powdered sugar as she sashayed over to lean against the counter next to him.
“Plus, you’re not dressed for the kitchen,” he added.
God, she was all big green-eyed innocence and girl-next-door freshness. Shaye crossed her arms, lush breasts pushed up and outward.
Ah, hell. Not so goddamned innocent.
Del swallowed with a papery mouth. “If you’re only here to distract me, I’d rather you find someone else to annoy.”
“I distract you?”
Since he refused to glance over to see if she was serious or teasing, Del scooped up another spoonful of cookie dough and rolled it into a ball. “It’s a wonder I can function in this kitchen at all when you’re around.”
“Oh.”
Definite smugness in her tone, and the scent of flowers wafted closer.
“Actually, I came to help,” she said. “I’ll take over the cookies while you do the frosting for the cupcakes.”
Bossy wee thing…but since he didn’t want to be baking kids’ food until two in the morning, it seemed wiser to agree. “Great. I’ll work over here.”
He moved away before another glimpse of her perfect tits drove him half out of his mind and walked to an opposite workspace where he’d set out a block of butter to soften.
“You’re welcome.” Shaye’s voice, dripping with sarcasm, came from behind him.
An easy silence developed, the quiet rhythm of two people doing what they loved. More so in Shaye’s case, since he didn’t particularly enjoy baking. But he did enjoy working close to her, even if she was hellishly distracting.
“So…I talked to Carly at the bridal shower the other day.” Shaye slotted the next tray of cookies into the oven. “She mentioned Jessica.”
Hairs rose on his nape, but he made a non-committal grumble in his throat and continued to beat the butter and powdered sugar.
“I’m not the type of girl you’d normally pick, Del, am I?”
&nbs
p; “No.” Cautious now. How many times had he put his foot in his mouth with a woman? Too many to count.
“Guess I’m pretty boring compared to the women you date.”
Pointing out he rarely bothered to date women was probably not wise.
Muscles twitched along his shoulder blades. “Did you come here to pick a fight?”
“Not especially.” Shaye turned to the cookie dough, displaying her cute short-shorts-covered butt. “Just making an observation that I’m not your type.”
His hand slowed. “What type do you think I go after?”
Oh, yeah, she was spoiling for a fight. The temperature in the kitchen cranked up a few degrees. She wasn’t the only one frustrated and horny.
“I couldn’t say. But not someone like me.” She raised an insolent shoulder. “I’m not a party girl. I don’t drink or do drugs or sleep around, and I don’t shop on Rodeo Drive.”
His temper spiked. “Jessica sometimes drank too much, and she occasionally smoked weed. But she didn’t screw around, and she didn’t give a shit about Rodeo Drive. She was a nice girl—”
“Really? The kind of girl you’d have eventually married?”
He let the fork he whisked the buttercream with drop. “For your information, I nearly did marry her.”
Her hands stilled in the mixing bowl, followed by three beats of deadly stillness. Another flare-up of foot-in-mouth-itus.
“This complicated relationship you mentioned the first time you kissed me,” she said, her spine rigid. “You weren’t only seeing Jessica, you were going to…marry her.” She straightened her backbone farther, the fine bones of her shoulder blades shifting.
He sucked in a deep breath and then another, trying to see through Shaye’s snark to the emotions beneath. Insecurity? Jealousy?
“Were is the key word here, and it’s not as if Jessica’s been on my mind every fucking day since I arrived in Oban.” Shaye had commandeered his undivided attention in that area. “But in hindsight, yeah. Maybe I should’ve mentioned Jessica and I were more than just dating.”
“Ya think?” Shaye’s hands gripped either side of the bowl’s rim. “Having an ex-fiancée is a not-so-small detail to keep from the boring chick you’re messing around with.”
Was that all she thought they’d done? Mess around? His fingers flexed open and shut over and over. “Will you stop saying you’re boring? You’re not bloody boring, you’re simply caught up in some pastel-colored delusion where no one’s ever screwed up and where the perfect man will one day waltz into your world.”
Shaye spun to face him, her eyes blazing fire.
His blood fired hot in return, fed by every flaw he knew about himself. “Let me tell you something else, cupcake. I’m not perfect. I’m just a guy and a pretty ordinary one at that. I belch after a beer, hog the TV remote, and scratch my balls because I damn well can. I won’t pretend to like Pride and Prejudice, I don’t remember birthdays and anniversaries, and the day I get on my knees and grovel for a woman’s affection will be the day I ask Dr. Joe to ring the psych department for a straitjacket.” He stabbed a finger at her. “But I want you, and you want me—and it pisses you off because you can’t bear getting messy with a man who’ll never measure up to your unrealistic expectations.”
“You are such a jerk.”
“And you want a life-sized Ken doll, not a real man.” He turned to his frosting. “Someone like that dickhead, Ward.”
A soft missile hit him dead center of his skull, dropped to his shoulder, and slid to the floor with a plop.
“What the—?” He whirled back, his heel grinding cookie dough into the linoleum.
A second missile struck his forehead before he had time to raise an arm. Cookie or not, when thrown with enough force, chocolate-chip loaded dough stung.
Del swiped the mixture off his face, spotted Shaye’s hand move, and lunged to the left. “Hey!”
“Asshole.”
Another ball smacked into his ear. Man, she had a killer aim. He snatched a cupcake off the tray, and lobbed it across the room. It sailed straight past Shaye’s shoulder and bounced off the swinging doors.
“You throw like a girl, Hollywood—not like a real man.” She scooped up more ammunition and ducked around the edge of the counter.
“Oh, really?” He stalked after her.
Pop—dough ball to the shoulder.
“Yeah, really.” She danced backward, keeping a safe distance between them.
Del rounded the counter—had her dead in his sights. She could go right and circle around to where they’d been working, or left, out of the kitchen doors.
No way would he let her leave now. Not when things were getting good.
Splat—dough ball to the chest.
The last of his temper vanished in a blaze of heat. Goddamn, but getting messy with Shaye Harland would be fun. His lips split into a wide grin, probably a risky target, but he’d walk on the wild side.
“You should quit that before I catch you,” he said.
“Not scared of you, Hollywood.”
Smack—dough ball nailed to his upper thigh. Too damn close to his junk for comfort—and considering what he planned to do after he caught her…
“Oh, you should be.” His grin stretched wider at the flash of tanned leg as she slipped around the corner to their work area. “I’m gonna do real bad things to you once you finally break down and beg.”
As planned, his words needled her into distraction. Shaye spun to heave another ball at him—but this time, he was ready. Del went in low and fast, knocking the last couple of missiles out of her hand and scooping her off her feet. He grabbed two sweet butt cheeks in his hands and backed her up to the counter. Soon as he’d wedged himself against her so she couldn’t escape, he snatched up her right hand, which crept along to his neat rows of cupcakes.
“Nuh-uh.”
She glared daggers at him.
“I might throw like a girl,” he said. “But I’m still bigger and stronger and faster than you are.”
Her knee jerked, and he thrust forward, grinding into the cradle of her hips. Her eyes widened. Yeah, the oven wasn’t the only piece of hot equipment in this kitchen. Lush breasts rubbed against him as her breaths heaved in and out, her pebble-hard nipples stabbing into his chest.
He bent and nipped her bra strap between his teeth, tugging it sideways until it slid off her shoulder.
“Del.” Her voice aimed for tart lemon, but sugar softened the sour, so he licked a strip of skin from shoulder bone to the pulse bumping in her throat.
Shaye wriggled, kneading him so sweetly he nearly swallowed his tongue. He was a man starved for her touch, and the wriggle signaled the buffet was about to open. Traversing the silky skin of her neck, he tasted a sliver of vanilla and sugar where she must’ve touched herself while forming the cookies.
Desire clogged up his lungs. Edible. She was so deliciously edible.
Lips closing on her earlobe, he rocked into her again, and a soft moan slipped from her throat. He sensed the moment her struggles changed from desperate to get away to desperate to get closer. She sagged, her fingers twisted into his shirt relaxed, splaying across his chest. He pulled her closer, and spacing hot kisses along her jaw, he reached out and yes…his fingers connected with the cool sides of his mixing bowl.
“You wanna get messy with me, baby?” He sucked on her lower lip, tugging it gently with his teeth, soothing the little sting with a flick of his tongue.
Hooded green eyes stared dreamily up at him. She nodded, so he swiped his fingers through the frosting and smeared it across her mouth.
Shaye’s eyes flew wide open, and she smacked his chest. “You—”
He kissed her before she could say anything else—diving into the kiss, throwing the full weight of lust and frustration and need behind it. She tasted of sugar and slick heat, every inch of her mouth a new texture and sensation to explore. He sucked off frosting, rubbed his lips over the stickiness coating her chin.
&nb
sp; Fingernails raked his shoulder then dropped, creating a spine-tingling trail down his biceps. He lost himself in the kiss; not even the bowl rattling on the countertop could deter him. Had he expected Shaye to capitulate without a fight? Not bloody likely; otherwise she wouldn’t be the woman he wanted so desperately.
He pulled away to smile at her and got a face-full of frosting.
He swept his tongue around his lips, taking in more of the citrusy-orange flavor.
“Good?” She smiled up at him, batting her long lashes.
He scraped a hand down his face then smeared the leftover orange tinted cream over the enticing swell of cleavage exposed by her slipping bra.
“Admit it,” he said. “I give good frosting.”
Her eyes crinkled in the corners, green irises now missing the dangerous glitter of temper.
“Does this mean I’m forgiven for being an asshole?”
“It means I’ll be mad at you later, so take off your shirt, Hollywood.”
Del made short work of stripping off his tee. He tossed it on the floor and glanced back at her. She had another glob of frosting on her fingers.
“Are we going to get messy now?” he asked.
And please, God. Let her say yes.
“Very messy.”
She slapped a hand on his chest, dragging her fingers over his pecs until her short nails gently scratched his nipple. With her free hand, she hooked him by his pants waistband and tugged him closer, bending forward to lap at his skin like a kitten.
A fucking sex kitten.
Her tongue circled the nipple that seconds ago she’d toyed with using her nails. Del’s pulse exploded into a gallop. The wet heat of her mouth traced from one side of his chest to the other, her tongue flickering across his skin until she latched onto the other nipple, flicking the sensitive nub over and over. The pleasurable tug of it arrowed straight down to his balls. No innocent, this woman.
He ran his hands down her arms and caught the tank top’s hem. “Your turn.”
She released his nipple with one final rasp of her tongue. From the strength of her suction, he figured a red patch would form on his skin.
Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3) Page 20
