Rising, I sheathe my cock before cupping her peach-shaped ass and pressing her harder against the wall. Depositing a punishing kiss onto her lips, I grind my hips against hers until she moans into my mouth and hikes her thigh up my side in a single wordless gesture.
Dragging my cock against her wet pussy, I give her a tease, eliciting a smile out of her as her mouth waits, open and wanting, for another claiming, crushing kiss. I push myself into her, slowly, deliberately, inch by tortuous inch, and then I grip her long thighs, pulling them both up my sides before pressing her back against the wall.
Her warmth and wetness envelope me in a way that moves beyond carnal. There’s a strange comfort being with Daphne . . . it’s in the way she looks at me, in the way her body grinds against mine and her fingernails dig into my flesh, the way we’ve only just begun and get stopping feels like an impossibility. It’s as if we both know something about this just works in a way we never could’ve predicted, and yet we’ve accepted the fact that we’ll only ever have tonight.
Pushing myself inside her, deeper, harder, faster, I press my lips into the feverish skin below her collarbone. Peppering biting kisses along her shoulders, my fingers dig deep into the soft flesh of her curves, holding on with everything I have and giving her every greedy inch.
Carrying her to the bed behind me, I deposit her in the middle, climbing over her. Her legs part, and my fingers trail her slick seam in the seconds before I thrust my cock inside her all over again. She exhales, her head pushing back against the mattress, and I push myself deeper.
I could do this all night. And I never want this endless, snowbound, stranded night to end.
Taking a peaked, rosy nipple between my lips, I swirl the swollen bud, my cock throbbing hard inside her with each thrust. Every inch of this woman is soft and sweet and addictive.
Her hands travel down my sides, guiding the natural rhythm we’re creating, and when our eyes meet, my chest tightens and I swear I see a future – our future – flash before me. It’s a lifetime in a split second, and it’s not something that’s ever happened to me before.
I haven’t thought about my future in . . . years.
Shaking it off, I plunge and pivot myself deeper inside her, faster, thrusting so hard, she screams out in sensual agony, her hips bucking, meeting my every move. Daphne fucks me back, her body tightening and rocking against mine like she’s getting close. The tightness in my balls is the only thing I feel . . . and then I black out . . .
When I come to, I’m lying on top of Daphne, both of us heaving, our bodies stuck together. Climbing off, she crawls out of bed and heads to the bathroom. I’m reeling. Feeling it all. Feeling the things I haven’t felt in years; the kinds of things I wasn’t sure I was capable of feeling anymore.
She returns a moment later, naked as the day she was born, a satisfied crooked smile on her beautiful face. Crawling under the covers beside me, she flicks out the light on the nightstand without saying another word.
I head to the bathroom, hit the shower, and emerge ten minutes later. Words linger on the tip of my tongue – words I didn’t expect I’d ever need to say to this woman.
I want to see her again after this. I don’t want to tell her goodbye tomorrow and go our separate ways. There’s something between us, I know there is. I feel it. She has to feel it too.
Climbing in bed beside her, I press my body against her, letting mine take the shape of hers and slipping my arm over her.
“Daphne,” I say, my voice a careful whisper.
No answer.
On second glance, I see she’s already asleep. I won’t get to tell her tonight. But tomorrow . . . I’ll tell her tomorrow.
16
Daphne
“Car’s ready.” Cristiano ends a call on his phone and turns back to his suitcase, packing yesterday’s clothes. His hair is still damp from the shower, and the scent of soap and aftershave fills the cool hotel air. This man loves his showers, that’s for damn sure. “They’re dropping it off in fifteen.”
“Roads are fine,” I say, looking up from my phone. Suddenly I’m flashing back to last night, my body enveloped in a warm rush of excitement followed by a quick burst of sadness when I realize we won’t have time for a reprise. Cristiano’s easily the best sex I’ve had in my life. And last night was tragically our grand finale. “No closures on the route.”
“We should hit Scranton in about three hours,” he says. There’s less confidence and a bit more exhaustion in his claim, but I don’t hold it against him. It’s been a long, ridiculously unpredictable week.
I deposit my phone on my nightstand and move to grab my clothes so I can take a quick shower before we hit the road, but the second I walk away, it starts to vibrate, skidding across the wood. Spinning around, I spot the caller ID and answer it in the middle of the second ring.
“Delilah, hey. We’re leaving soon. I’ll be home in about five hours,” I answer.
“Daphne, it’s Zane,” says a voice I was not expecting to hear. My heart sinks to the floor.
“Zane, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, his voice calm. “Everything’s fine. I was just calling to let you know the doctor’s admitting Delilah right now. She’s in labor.”
“Oh, god.” I sink into the edge of the mattress, staring blankly ahead at a watercolor reproduction of a wheat field at sunset.
“She could be in labor for twenty-four hours,” he says, a slight chuckle in his tone like he’s trying to ease my worries. “Don’t freak out just yet. The next five hours could be fairly uneventful. You never know. Just focus on getting here safely, and I’ll let her know you’re on your way.”
My eyes water as powerlessness takes a hold of me. “Okay. Tell her I love her, and I’m going to do everything I can to get there as soon as possible.”
“Just don’t speed,” Zane says.
I chuff.
“I’m just trying to say what Delilah would say,” he adds. His voice is slightly breathy, and I hear footsteps in the background. “She’s in her new room now. You want to say hi?”
“Yeah.” I grip my phone tight. “Can she FaceTime?”
My phone beeps as Zane initiates a video call, and I move my screen in front of my face. The pale peach walls of my sister’s birthing suite blur into the white sheets of her bed. I hear my mother’s voice in the background, low and soothing, and then I hear a woman talking about measuring contractions and giving her something to “take the edge off.”
“Daphne?” Delilah’s face comes into focus. She’s wearing a thin white gown covered in tiny pink flowers. There’s a cuff on her arm and a myriad of wires in the background connected to something off camera. A steady beeping noise drowns out my mother’s voice, but I manage to hear her ask, “Is that your sister?” in the background. “Hey, sis.”
“How are you feeling?” My brows lift, and I force a smile because it’s all I can do to keep my composure in front of her. It kills me not to be there, by her side, holding her hand.
“Scared.” She laughs through her nose before wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Scared out of my freaking mind.”
“You can do this,” I say.
“I wish you were here.” Her head tilts to the side, and then she glances up and over the phone. Zane appears at her side, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. He then takes the seat beside her, slipping his hand in hers. He loves her so much, and I’m glad she has him, but she needs me too. Growing up, we’ve always felt less than complete when the other one wasn’t around. Maybe it’s a twin thing, I’m not sure.
“I’ll be there soon,” I say. “Give me five hours and I’ll be right there with you.”
“Is that Daphne?” My sister Demi crouches down on the other side of Delilah, waving and grinning wide. “Hi, Daph! We miss you. Wish you were here.”
She pouts, and then I spot my mother’s bushy blonde hair in the background. My chest squeezes.
“Is everything okay?”
my mom asks, brows furrowed as she squeezes in.
“Yes, Mom,” I say with a bittersweet smile. “I’m on my way. Don’t let her have that baby until I get there.”
My sisters laugh, and Mom swats her hand toward the screen. “You want me to put the phone up to her belly so you can tell your nephew that yourself?”
The hotel phone rings on Cristiano’s nightstand. He cradles the receiver on his shoulder, mumbles something, and then turns to me.
“Car’s downstairs,” he says.
“I have to go, guys. I love you, and I’ll see you soon.” I end the call, directing my attention to Cristiano who’s zipping his suitcase now. He hoists it with one arm and sits it by the door.
“Everything all right?” he asks.
“They admitted Delilah. She’s in labor for real this time.” My eyes water, and I look away.
He moves to my side, running his palms along my sides. Bringing a finger beneath my chin, he guides my gaze onto his.
“I’ll get you home,” he says, straightening his shoulders. There’s a certain sadness in his voice, as if he knows he could be sacrificing something he isn’t sure he’s willing to sacrifice. “Even if we have to take a detour . . .”
“No,” I cut him off before he can make any more promises. Shaking my head, I tell him, “You’re not missing that wedding.”
His hand slides down my arm, stopping at my wrist as he looks me in the eye. “You’ll be home in a few hours. I promise you, Daphne.”
17
Cristiano
The car is noiseless save for a hint of road noise and the chintzy clicking of the turn signal as I pull off on an exit that’ll lead us to Scranton. We’ve driven most of the last three hours in dead silence, Daphne biting her nails and me wondering when might be a good time to mention that I want to see her again.
A million thoughts run through my mind, most of which reach the conclusion that after the week she’s had with me, she may never want to see me again in her life. Granted, it’s not my fault any of this happened, but she might associate me with one of the worst weeks of her life so long as she lives. Yeah, the sex was hot. But that’s about the only positive takeaway from this week.
Amazing sex, but . . .
Long hours in the car.
Mediocre gas station dinners.
Lumpy hotel mattresses.
The possibility that she could very well still miss the birth of her sister’s baby . . .
I pull off the main road and veer toward a Shell gas station, the one I told my brother to pick me up at at twelve-thirty sharp. Scanning the parking lot, I spot his rusty Bronco and pull up beside it, killing the engine. For once in his life, he’s actually on time.
“You okay to drive the rest of the way home?” I break my silence.
Turning toward me, her gaze is averted and fixed on my seatbelt strap. She holds her phone up and turns it to me, the screen illuminated with a text that was sent a mere minute ago. I scan the message, reading the words, “DELILAH’S GETTING READY TO PUSH. JUST WAITING ON THE DOCTOR. SO SORRY, DAPHNE.”
Fuck.
She buries her face in her hands, exhaling as her shoulders fall.
“I’m so sorry.” I rub my hand along her back, but her body is rigid so I pull her into my arms instead. Hugging over the tiny console of this microscopic rental car, I wrap her in my arms and kiss the top of her blonde head, repeating myself because I’m at a loss for words, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Her voice is muffled against my shoulder, a melancholy whisper. “I just can’t believe the timing . . . we tried so hard . . . I didn’t think this would happen.”
Cupping the back of her head in my palm, I hug her tighter. I’m not a touchy-feely guy, at least not beyond the confines of a closed-door bedroom, but this feels right. She needs a friend right now.
Daphne pulls away after a moment, glancing at the clock in the dash. “You should get going. You’ve got a wedding to get to. It’s not too late for you, is it?”
Pressing my lips flat, I shake my head. “No. It’s not too late.”
She forces a smile, dabbing at her misty eyes. “Good. I’m glad this wasn’t a total loss for both of us.”
My hand still rests on her arm, my fingertips grazing the soft skin just before her wrist. I glance into her baby blues, knowing damn well it’s going to be the last time unless I grow a pair and fucking say something. It’s now or never. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what might have happened had I . . .
Knock, knock, knock.
My heart lurches in my chest until I glance over my shoulder and spot my younger brother knocking on my window. Rolling it down, I shoot him a quick glare because clearly he should be able to see I’m busy here.
“Give me a sec,” I say.
Fabrizio crouches down, peering through the car toward the passenger side. “You must be Daphne. Let me just apologize, on behalf of the entire Amato family, for the terrible inconvenience of spending the last four days stuck in this chicken nugget with this obnoxious asshole.”
Daphne laughs, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Nah, he’s been great.”
“Get back in the car,” I tell him. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Climbing out, Daphne follows suit and we reconvene at the trunk as I get my luggage.
“So I guess this is goodbye?” She shoves her hands in the pockets of a hoodie we picked up back in Iowa a couple days ago. It’s John Deere green with a bright yellow zipper and a cartoonish ear of corn on the back with the words, “Do I make you corny, baby?” screen printed across the back. It’s a size too big for her, which she insisted on in case I needed to wear it too.
I guess that’s the kind of girl she is, always thinking of everybody else. I think back to the moment I first saw her standing in line at the airport. A plastic ID rested on the tile floor a few spots back from her, and when I swiped it off the ground, I scanned the area for a match, never expecting it to be the girl I’d been admiring from afar.
When I bumped into her at the coffee stand a short while later and made her spill her coffee, she could’ve lashed out at me. She wanted to. I saw it in her eyes, a quick flash of frustration. But she smiled and told me it was fine.
And at the hotel – she let me stay in her room. Granted, it was supposed to be my room. But if it weren’t for that kind gesture, I’d have been sleeping on a park bench, celebrating New Year’s Eve all by myself and probably asking myself the kinds of questions a man never likes to think about unless he has to. Instead, I spent it with her. And it was so much better than I ever could’ve imagined.
I wait for the click of Fab’s driver’s side door before taking a step closer.
“I had fun with you,” I say, locking eyes. “This little . . . adventure . . . I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”
She laughs through her nose, glancing down at her shoes as she digs a toe into the gravelly parking lot.
“Thanks for coming with me.” Daphne lifts her gaze onto mine, peering up through curled lashes. “I know I fought you on it at first. I didn’t want you to come. But I’m glad you did.”
“I want to see you again.” I decide to cut the small talk.
Her eyes widen, as if it was the last thing she expected me to say to her right now.
“These last several days . . .” I pull in a deep breath. “I don’t know, Daphne. They’ve been frustrating and aggravating . . . and wonderful . . . and incredible. I’m not sure if you feel the same way, but all things considered, I wouldn’t trade them for a million bucks. Being with you, getting to know you . . . and you’re so easy to be around. So genuine. It’s effortless being around you, in a way I’ve never had with anyone else. I-”
“I want to see you again too.” Her mouth pulls into a half-crooked smile, and her blue eyes light up. It’s as if she’d been waiting for me to make the first move this whole time. “Give me your phone.”
I hand it over, and she programs
her number before giving it back.
“I have to go,” she says, glancing at the driver’s side of the rental car. “You’re going to call me, right? This isn’t part of your whole heartbreaker schtick?”
Smirking, I shake my head. “No, Daphne. I would never break your heart.”
Her gaze flicks onto mine. She parts her lips slightly, like she’s about to say something, but I silence her commentary with a kiss. A temporary goodbye. A sweet until-we-meet-again.
“I’ll call you,” I say, coming up for air, missing the sweet taste of her tongue and the cherry smoothness of her lips. “I promise.”
“Go,” she says, fighting a grin. “Get to that wedding.”
18
Daphne
“He’s so precious, Del.” I pout my lips, fawning over my freshly born nephew, Noah. “I’m so in love with him already. Look, he has your ears! And your mouth.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely a Rosewood mouth,” she says, beaming proudly.
Baby Noah’s not quite an hour old. I missed his grand entrance by fifty-four minutes and thirty-five seconds.
“I still can’t believe I missed this,” I say, reaching for my godson’s tiny hand. He curls his fingers around my pinky.
“It’s fine. Really. Stop beating yourself up about it and just enjoy the preciousness that is Noah Zane de la Cruz.”
“Speaking of Zane . . .” I sit up. “And everyone else for that matter . . . where is everyone?”
“Mom ran home to get Dad. Demi left to call Royal. Zane is out in the waiting room making calls.” She smiles an exhausted smile, her gaze fixed on her new son. “There was all this commotion and excitement and then they all scattered like leaves in the wind. Wouldn’t be surprised if one of them were standing on the roof of the hospital, shouting the good news.”
Rolling my eyes, I chuckle. “Well, enjoy the peace and quiet while you can. I’m sure they’ll be back any minute now, fighting over who gets to hold him first.”
Cold Hearted Page 38
