Clara was a pretty good distraction. Delilah was perfectly happy, gently swaying in a glider while the baby napped in her arms, and single guy eventually gave up trying to wrest her attention away.
The upside of it all was that she managed to produce a couple bamboo baskets a week. By the middle of July, she’d made several sales. She’d scouted the open-air market once more and chosen a booth that was owned by an aging, new-agey kind of couple, Melvern and Muriel. Melvern did nice woodworking, carving little sculptures out of driftwood, and Muriel made pretty scarves and items on a lap loom.
They agreed to display her baskets for a percentage of her sales, and she agreed to spell them in their booth periodically when they needed a break.
Without speaking of it, she and Ben had worked out a little rotation for their Saturday afternoon games. That first weekend after he’d left, Delilah hadn’t had the spirit to face the team. Sunday morning, Shelly had called to inquire about her absence.
“Was Ben there?” Delilah had asked.
There was a telling pause before Shelly answered. “Yes. He’s hurt you, hasn’t he?”
Delilah couldn’t exactly deny it, but reassured Shell that Ben really hadn’t done anything wrong.
Shelly humphed at that. Delilah smiled, knowing Ben was in for an ass kicking next time Shell saw him. That felt entirely right to her. Then Shell said, “Ben told me he won’t be there next weekend. So you should come.”
She had, and she’d enjoyed playing again. She’d skipped the next weekend, and another Sunday call from Shelly had confirmed that Ben had been there, and wouldn’t be again the next week.
And so she’d played that afternoon and then gone to the market to relieve Melvern and Muriel for dinner. They’d come back in time for the three of them to close up the booth for the night.
The sidewalks were still crowded as Delilah walked home alone. Summertime evenings in Santa Cruz were busy as both locals and tourists enjoyed the long light and warm weather.
She was distracted, her attention captured by a display of small hand-woven baskets in a shop window, and didn’t see who jostled her. In another couple steps, she heard a deep male voice.
“D.J.!”
She paused for a minute with a small, tender twist of the heart.
Her brother Nick had called her that, his shortened version of Delilah Jane. It was a sweet memory.
She started walking again and then stopped short with the next sound. “Deej!”
At that she could no longer presume there was some other D.J. walking the streets of Capitola Village. She stopped and turned around.
From several paces away, Austin Hart looked back at her.
Wow. He’d been her first boy-crush, her brother’s friend who was both attractive and safe at the same time.
There was nothing boyish about him now. He was a big man, bulky in the way that his muscled but slim, youthful body had predicted. His cute, sweet face had matured, handsome now with an angled jaw and more steadiness than twinkle in those blue eyes. His blond hair feathered over his forehead. He was tan, dressed in a loose linen shirt and soft jeans. He was a local.
She scanned him as he stood there, looking strong and athletic, whole. She wondered about his right leg. It was the injury he’d gotten the very day Nick had died, a devastating event that had been overshadowed by the even worse calamity of death.
In that moment it was back. The horrible grief that had never been shared. The loss of Nick, her beloved brother and Austin’s best friend. And the loss of Austin’s future in football, the game that he so loved. A loss that Delilah had known would grieve him terribly, but that she had never been able to acknowledge.
It shamed her now, to think of how she’d abandoned him, wallowing in a grief so deep that she hadn’t even been able to answer his texts.
Her lips moved without sound, but she could see he knew what word she’d formed. “Aussie.” Nick’s nickname for his friend.
His eyes glowed, and there was a world of unspoken communication in that moment. He said, “Hey, pretty girl.” The words were incredibly soft on his lips. He took a step, and she did, and then she was in his arms.
Her arms went around his neck and shoulders, and he clutched her and rocked so she was lifted up off her feet.
They stayed just like that for long minutes while passersby were forced to step around them.
After a while she started whispering. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She repeated the same words over and over, louder, until he shushed her. But she kept at it, until he set her down and took her face in his hands.
He wiped tears from her face that she hadn’t even known were there. “Shh,” he said, and enforced it by pressing his thumbs against her lips.
Finally she stopped, and he smiled.
“Delilah Jane,” he said. “Why are you crying?”
He lifted his thumbs as she started to speak. “I never spoke to you. I never told you—”
“What?” he asked, when she broke off.
“How sad I was about Nick, how sad I knew you’d be. How sorry I was for you. How much I missed you. Both of you.”
The tears started again, and his thumbs were at her lips, stopping her again.
He moved his thumbs to brush at the tears and pressed a kiss to her lips to keep them closed. “You’re an idiot, Deej. There’s not a thing you needed to say that I didn’t already know. I’m only sorry I couldn’t be there for you. With your parents.” He looked at her somberly. “With you.”
She nodded, knowing that had added to the pain for both of them, all of them. Then she managed a small smile. “Idiot?”
“Sorry. You’re probably not an idiot…anymore.” He smiled back and kissed her forehead, then turned her around in the direction she’d been going. He slung his arm over her shoulder. “Where are you headed?”
She hesitated, awkward for a moment, before she put her arm around his waist. There was really nothing else to do with it, but he pulled her in against his shoulder when she did, and she became suddenly aware of just how big he was. How much of a…man he was. “Home.”
“Home? You live here now?”
“Hey, can’t you tell? I’m tan. I wear shorts everywhere and drive a hybrid. I’ve got the Santa Cruz cruise.” That was the slow walk, the no-worries-let’s-surf attitude that distinguished the locals from the tourists. Some of the tourists picked it up by the end of their stay. Those were the ones who’d be back, often for good.
He grinned and made a show of looking her over. “Oh, yeah? Maybe. I think you still have a bit of Boston on you. That’s where you were last I talked with your mom.”
She’d known that Austin called her mom a couple times a year and that he always asked about her. “What are you doing here?”
“I came after grad school. I work for a small biotech. What about you?”
“I’m working as an AA for a marine ecology research lab. It’s a temp job. I haven’t decided whether I’ll stay after.”
“You’re not sure you like it here?”
“I love it. But, well, it’s complicated.”
He looked hard at her. “A man?”
She looked away. “Not anymore.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Do you need me to kick someone’s ass?”
That had her laughing, and it was a good feeling. Then she sobered, when he stopped her and motioned to a little café. “Let’s have coffee.”
* * * *
Delilah was skittish. Austin was afraid she’d bolt rather than sit at a table with him. But he dared her with a glance, and like she always had back in the day, she fell for it. She’d never turn down a challenge issued by either Nick or him. He stifled a grin as she straightened her shoulders and walked through the door he held.
He watched her both coming and going. Man, she’d turned into a beauty. He liked her height—she was probably five-nine now, a couple inches taller than he remembered. He was over six feet himself, and didn’t like to hover over a
short woman. They were a good fit—that had been obvious when he first held her. She’d come into his arms spontaneously, before she had a chance to remind herself about whatever vow she’d made to stay off men.
She had lush curves now, too, none of that lanky, gangly girl he’d known. She’d moved with grace even back then, and it looked good on her now.
Very good.
He couldn’t talk her into dinner or dessert, so they settled for just coffee. It was another sign of her edginess. He knew for a fact she hadn’t had dinner. She’d come home by bike from her Ultimate game—he’d stood at a far field and watched her play—and spent just enough time in her condo for a quick shower and change. Then she’d gone to that booth where she’d worked the last few hours.
She was obviously comfortable with the old geezers there—she’d kissed and hugged them good-bye. But she wasn’t comfortable with him, just as soon as she looked at him as a man rather than an old pal from when she was a kid. He’d seen it happen when they’d stopped talking about the past, when he’d turned her and put his arm around her. She’d thought about it before she’d set her arm ever so lightly about his waist. He was pretty sure she’d done it only because he’d pulled her in good and tight, and she’d have had to make a thing of it to step away from him.
Damn Lincoln and Ben. Damn that asinine agreement.
She was going to have to get over it. He didn’t have enough time to gentle her along.
He watched her, not so much listening, as she chattered on about things she’d done in the area and favorite places she’d seen. He didn’t think she was a chatterer—she never had been. She was nervous. He didn’t mind that.
She commented about his leg, how it must have healed well. He was gratified that she’d noticed—that she’d looked—and told her he was good, that he even played a little flag and coached Pee Wee in the fall.
He let her go on and saw it when she became aware of herself, aware of him. She wound down to a halt, almost mid-sentence. He just kept looking at her—her eyes, now that her pretty mouth wasn’t moving.
She squirmed a little, hunching her shoulders like she was hoping not to be noticed. Fat chance. He lifted an eyebrow. Another challenge.
“I’m feeling some…testosterone here.”
Some? He must be off his game.
“Is that a non-romantic way of saying you perceive I want you in my bed?”
She paled a little at that. “I wasn’t expecting romance.”
“Why not? You think I didn’t have the hots for you when I was eighteen?”
“You should be married. You’re, what, thirty?”
Austin leaned forward, his forearms on the small table, so he was close. “First, if I was married, there wouldn’t be any testosterone.” He rethought that. “Not that you’d be feeling, anyway. Second, you know I’m not married, just like I know you used to be. I’d bet my last dollar your mom keeps you up-to-date on me just like she does for me about you. And by the way, this needs saying. If I ever meet that sorry ex of yours, I’m going to pound him into the ground, just like Nick would rightly expect me to.”
She leaned back, distancing herself, paler still. “You know I think of you as a brother.”
“Yeah, and I thought of you as a sister, back when Nick was around to kick my ass for thinking otherwise.”
“If we’re going to see each other again—”
“No ‘if’ about that, Delilah.” He was pretty sure that was the first time he’d used her actual name. “And no conditions for when we do.”
Slow, deliberate, she stood. She kept eye contact with him right up until she turned and walked off.
He grinned. What a woman. He tossed a twenty on the table and went after her.
* * * *
Delilah knew he wouldn’t let her go off alone and that she couldn’t outrun him. So the best she could do was ignore it when Austin came alongside, staying just about half a step back. He didn’t touch her or speak, probably knowing better than to give her the opportunity to rebuff him more obviously.
He walked to her home and came right up onto the front porch with her. She turned and faced him, and feeling crowded, put a hand on his chest to back him off a step.
It didn’t work. He wouldn’t be moved, plus, he captured her hand and held it there. She tried ignoring that, too.
Suspicious, she peered up at him. “You knew where I live, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “My Harley’s parked behind your girly little hybrid.”
That explained the jeans and boots. “My mother?”
“I told you we talked.”
He’d said it. Though he’d been wrong about that other thing. Her mom hadn’t mentioned Austin to her for a while now. For sure, she’d never said he was living in Santa Cruz. Delilah would have remembered that.
“You stalked me.”
He was doing something with her fingers she didn’t like. He shrugged. “Not really. I just knew where to look for you.”
Delilah backed up as he leaned in, but she didn’t have far to go with the door right behind her. The amused look in his eyes was annoying in the extreme.
He was close, his gaze meeting hers, his lips a breath away. “I think you used to have a crush on me.”
She shook her head just a hair. “Nuh-uh.”
He almost laughed. “Remember when you gave me hell for going out with Sissie Ford?”
“Yeah, ’cause she was an idiot.”
“Well, maybe. But you had a crush.”
It happened then, what she’d known was coming. He kept her hand pressed against his chest with one of his, and lifted the other to sink into her hair at the back of her neck. He held her then, as he brought his lips to hers. Or, more, it was her lips to his, as he lifted her to him.
She sighed out a little protest—too little, too late.
His lips were firm and soft at the same time, brushing lightly over hers, then chafing, before really taking hold. She had every intention of keeping hers sealed, and for the longest time, he seemed content with that. He did nothing but hold her hand against him and move his mouth over hers.
Then his tongue was there, seeking a way in. She held him off until he murmured to her. “Open, Delilah. Give me just a taste.”
He took advantage, the moment she started to form the word no.
He was there, then, his tongue inside her mouth, tenderly learning her. It was a sweet seduction that gently eroded her resistance.
She was so taken by it that when he finally pulled back, she followed him for a moment. At his mutter of satisfaction, she caught herself and pushed away just as he tried to renew the kiss.
Amusement showed in his eyes as she fumbled one-handed for her keys. Finally, he let go of her other hand, and she managed to open the lock and quickly step through the door.
He held a hand to it as she started to push it closed. He nodded his head to the little hall that led to her carport. “You going to let me walk through to my bike?”
“No,” she said, but she didn’t try pushing the door shut with his hand there.
He laughed, the bastard, and ostentatiously lifted his hand away. She hoped he enjoyed his good long walk around the block. “See ya, Delilah.”
She couldn’t help watching through the door as he lightly descended the stairs and turned to circle the block. And couldn’t help, either, when she hurried upstairs and stepped out on the deck. She couldn’t see him, but she heard his footsteps as he came around below.
And then he spoke, as though he knew she was there, had expected it. “Sissie Ford never kissed me like that, Delilah.”
“You kissed me, Austin. I didn’t kiss you.”
“De-liar.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle at that little throwback to their youth. “What are you, like, twelve?”
She could almost hear the smirk in his little pause. “Inches.”
She laughed out loud then. “Go away.”
“All right. But the next time you kiss me, be
sure and get your tongue out of my throat before you start denying it.”
“Really. Go away.”
“Night, Deej.”
“Night, Aussie.” She said it quietly, not sure he would hear it. But he waited as though he did, a short pause before he fired up the Harley.
She stood there listening, a soft smile on her face, long past the time when she knew it was nothing more than her imagination telling her she could still hear that powerful motor.
* * * *
Austin had set his alarm for five-thirty. He was very happy with that first little contact with Delilah. He’d put her on notice about his intentions, and he’d got a damn fine taste of her out on that front porch.
He hadn’t held back—much—and still she’d played with him. Verbally, and from the safety of her deck, but it counted.
God, she was sweet. Sexy as hell. And bright—he had to remember that. She’d caught on that their meeting hadn’t been accidental.
He’d worked like hell to set it up that way. He’d watched her at the market and delayed to have a quick word with the old guy, Melvern. Then he had to haul ass to catch up, get ahead of her, and then turn around so he could innocently make eye contact as they passed by each other. Even then, she wasn’t paying attention, all caught up in a window display, and he’d had to do some fancy footwork to have his shoulder brush hers. He hadn’t made friends with the tourists he’d had to bump out of the way.
So he was grateful he had Mrs. Owens to help cover him.
He was pretty sure that with the three-hour time zone difference, Delilah wouldn’t have called home last night. But he figured she would this morning.
Austin was certain that her experiences with Linc and Ben would have put her on guard around men. Something had happened between her and each of them. He knew Linc had been about to tell them he was in love with her, that day they talked about it in the café at work. And Ben couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, ever since he’d given that Sunday date when he was ending things with her.
Each week that passed had just seemed to piss Ben off more. Linc was subtler about it, but it was clear to Austin that they all wanted to slug each other.
Three Men and a Woman: Delilah (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 15
