If that hadn’t been enough, she’d also pondered the meaning behind his emphatic I’ll-call-you statement. Somehow Delaney didn’t think that it had simply been after-great-sex etiquette. She chewed her bottom lip. Mulled it over for the hundredth time. He’d seemed genuine. But how many other woman had thought that when handed the same line? Delaney wondered skeptically. She snorted. Hell, they’d probably all believed it.
Well, not her. Not anymore.
Besides, to be perfectly honest, she wasn’t entirely certain that she wanted him to call her. She’d tried to convince herself that it was simply the circumstances—rebound sex—or whatever, that had made last night so unbelievably special, but she knew better. Nothing in her past experience could hold a candle to what she’d shared with Sam last night. Delaney drew her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees.
Something about Sam Martelli and last night had seemed too…big, for lack of a better description. She liked him too much, enjoyed being with him too much. A smile inched across her lips. Enjoyed sex with him too much. Her belly clenched and her skin suddenly felt stretched too tightly across her bones. His naked image swirled into focus and loomed large in her mind, causing a delicate hitch in her breathing. A coil of heat tightened inside her and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to force the image away.
No doubt about it, everything pertaining to the hunky Italian made her feel too much. And at this point in her life, she couldn’t deal with too much. Too much simply wasn’t an option.
She’d blindly followed that first heady, hopeful rush of interest and anticipation in each of her failed relationships and she’d ended up humiliated and hurt. And Sam Martelli hadn’t inspired a mere rush of anticipation and interest—he’d inspired a flood.
And then some.
Only a truly warped glutton for punishment would want him to call. Delaney paused, poked her tongue in her cheek, then winced when the unbecoming truth surfaced. Guess that made her a truly warped glutton for punishment, she thought with a squeal of helpless frustration. What was wrong with her? She didn’t want him to call. She did not. It wasn’t called a one-night stand for nothing. It was only supposed to be one night. The end. Finis.
Hadn’t she decided to work on herself, to get her head on straight and to quit making wrong decisions? Yes, she had and, more importantly, she would. She simply couldn’t trust her own judgment when it came to men and, this close to this last catastrophe, she wasn’t going to allow herself to be the least bit inclined to try. Little victories. Baby steps. Men sucked. Those three succinct sentences aptly and poetically summed up her new attitude.
In addition to the newspaper prank, Delaney had also arranged for another surprise for Roger—River City Bank had lost her account this morning.
She’d never been completely satisfied with the service, but hadn’t moved the account because of Roger. Any time she’d try to broach the subject with him, he’d always turned the conversation to something wedding related, the sneaky bastard. Delay tactics, Delaney realized now. He’d always had a hidden agenda, an ulterior motive.
Had this happened before, Delaney would have left the account there to save face, wouldn’t have wanted to add any more grist for the gossip mill. Wouldn’t have wanted to be accused of moving the account simply out of spite. No doubt Roger was counting on that old mentality, and she’d dearly love to be a fly on the wall when he learned otherwise.
No, this was just a business decision, Delaney thought slyly…with the added perk of being vindictive.
She didn’t think that Roger would lose his job over her forfeited account, but he would certainly be called on the carpet. A small comfort, yes, but one she’d take.
There was only one item left on her to-do list today—sending the wedding gifts back. With a dejected sigh, Delaney looked around her living room at the stacks of boxes and a nudge of disappointment landed in her belly. What a waste. All that time and energy spent picking out things to furnish their home with and it had come to this.
Sending it all back again.
To be perfectly honest, she could take or leave the majority of the beautiful things in this room—the Lalique vase, the Waterford stemware, the silver tea service—but surrendering her china again really hurt. Beautiful Wedgwood Floral Tapestry, inspired by Josiah Wedgwood’s pattern book of botanicals. Gorgeous tones of blue and rose on a background of pale saffron. Both the dinner and salad plates were fully bordered with the heartbreakingly serene pattern and rimmed with twenty-two carat gold. It was a pattern that was similar to her grandmother’s china—which, to Delaney’s endless frustration—currently resided in her mother’s black lacquered china cabinet. She shuddered, remembering. That gorgeous china stuffed in that tacky cabinet was an abomination. Sadly, her mother and sisters had horrible taste.
Having been familiar with Delaney’s love of antiques, her grandmother had left her burled walnut dining room suite to Delaney. Delaney’d had the beautifully carved suite completely refurbished and had left it empty, waiting to fill it with her own wedding china. But who was to say that she had to have a wedding to have the damned china? Screw it, she thought, straightening her spine. She’d just buy it and be done with it. Would that all of her hurts could be soothed as easily. Still, she’d undoubtedly get more enjoyment out of that beautiful china than she would have Roger, anyway.
Once the initial pain of rejection had worn off, Delaney had been forced to admit that his calling the wedding off was for the best. She didn’t particularly care for his cowardly, last-minute method—which he would pay for—but better sorry now than later, she supposed.
When she’d really sat down and thought about it, she and Roger hadn’t really had anything in common. She’d forced interests in things that he enjoyed, manufacturing compatibility when really none was present. Why on earth had she done that? Delaney wondered miserably. What had made her do such a thing? Why did she feel compelled to change herself in order to hang on to men whom she basically forced herself to love? When she’d looked at previous relationships, she’d noticed the same common denominator—she changed to suit them.
Nicky had loved horses—she’d taken riding lessons. Vince had been a football fanatic—she’d learned the game and faked enthusiasm. With Roger, it had been gardening. She had the original black thumb—had killed her air plants, for pity’s sake—and yet from the moment he’d shared his interest in the hobby, she’d set out to become a damned expert.
Oh, she was well versed in the subject, could talk about it intelligently, but so far she hadn’t been able to keep a single plant alive. The landscaping company came out once a week and took care of her lawn, garden and houseplants. Any deceased plants were quietly taken away and replaced with larger, healthier specimens to simulate growth. Roger had bragged and bragged on her skill. Delaney chuckled. Little did he know…
But why had she done all of that? Was she so afraid of being alone she’d settle for any man, even one who wouldn’t make her happy? Was she so afraid of never having a family that she’d marry the first sperm donor she could get to the altar? Or was she simply in love with the idea of being in love? She hated to think that about herself, but at this point she simply didn’t know. And until she did, she planned to play her hand close to her vest. No more men until she figured out what she wanted in one.
Even Sam Martelli, tempting though he may be.
A thread of regret wrapped around her heart, but Delaney remained firm. The doorbell rang, dragging her mind away from the curiously depressing thought. She’d called a moving company to come and pack up all of the wedding gifts, had given Roger’s house key to Beth and asked her to meet the van in Germantown once everything was ready to go.
As a last bit of revenge, she’d instructed Beth to make sure that the boxes were stacked firmly against the front door, blocking the entry. Delaney smiled evilly. He wouldn’t be carrying Wendy’s slutty ass over the threshold when they got home, by God. At least not the one at the front door
.
Still smiling, Delaney swung open her own front door—and froze.
Sam.
“Hi,” he said, looking adorably bashful. That lazy grin held just enough uncertainty to melt her suddenly galloping heart. He wore a navy cable knit sweater and well-worn jeans and looked better than good—like capital S-E-X.
“Er…hi,” Delaney returned, thoroughly bewildered. Her brow furrowed. “What—”
“You-hoo, Delaney!” Mrs. Carter, her next-door neighbor and personal watchdog, called from her front porch steps. She eyed Sam with snobbish suspicion. “Is that gentleman bothering you? Should I call John?”
Delaney repressed a grin. “No, that won’t be necessary, thanks.”
Sam gave her a quizzical look. “John?”
“It’s her son,” Delaney explained. “Occasionally reporters, models and the garden-variety nut drop by. John has been known to physically escort them from my property.” Delaney chuckled. “Mrs. Carter is my own personal pit bull in support hose. She guards me well.” Delaney paused awkwardly. “What are you doing here?
He pushed a hand through his hair, mussing the curly brown locks. “I, uh, was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop your proofs by.”
“Oh.” To her horror, her mind went blank.
Sam’s grin faltered and he retreated a step. “But if this is a bad time, I can just—”
Reason returned, along with her manners and a swift diabolical longing. “Oh, no. Now is fine,” she assured, stepping back and opening the door wider to welcome him in. “Sorry,” she murmured apologetically. “I was expecting the moving company.”
“You’re moving?” he asked, as he followed her into her foyer.
Delaney’s lips curled into a self-deprecating grin. “No—” she gestured toward her cluttered living room where wedding gifts covered almost every available surface “—but all that is.”
He arched a brow and whistled low. “Wow. No wonder you hired movers. Where are they moving it to?”
“Roger’s.”
Admiration tinged his smile. “Ah, that’ll be a nice surprise when he returns home from your honeymoon.”
Delaney grinned and nodded magnanimously. “I thought so.”
Sam glanced around her wide entry hall, his gaze lingering on one of her favorite finds, a Spanish Baroque refectory table. “That’s a nice piece.” He ran a finger over the smooth dark wood. “Black walnut. Mid 1700s, right?”
Delaney nodded, impressed. “Right.”
“Where did you find it?”
“An estate sale down in Montgomery.”
He drew a deep breath and cast her a conspiratorial smile. “I’ve been known to haunt the estate sales myself. Antique malls, junk stores.” He shrugged one splendidly muscled shoulder. “I’ve even found a few good items on eBay.”
Something warm shifted in her chest and a smile stretched across her lips. The irony of realizing she had something in common with this man—whom she’d just seconds ago mentally swore off—after spending years wasting her time to invent mutual interests with previous losers, wasn’t lost on her.
“I’ve found some good stuff on eBay, too,” Delaney told him. “Who knows? We might have even bid against each other on some things.”
Sam conceded her point with an uplifted brow. “Anything’s possible.”
Oh, if only that were true, Delaney thought wistfully. What was it her grandmother used to say? If dreams were horses, then beggars would ride. Delaney blew out a small breath. “So you’ve brought my proofs?”
Sam started, then nodded. “Yes. Right.” He handed them to her. “They turned out great…particularly the ones on the bed.”
He uttered the last in a low rasp that struck a chord of longing and conjured images that weren’t the least bit boudoir-photo–related. Instead, visions of her and Sam, naked and writhing amid a wad of tangled satin sheets, flipped through her mind like still frames from an old reel-to-reel projector. Desire lit a fire in her loins and her breasts tingled with remembered pleasure.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Delaney said, in a breathless squeaky voice.
A beat passed, then two. “Aren’t you going to look at them?”
Not so long as you’re standing there, no, she thought and tried to come up with some reason why she wouldn’t want to look at them now, besides the truth.
Which was stupid.
He’d seen her yesterday afternoon. Hell, he’d even told her that she was the most miserably modest woman he’d ever seen. Furthermore, he’d seen her freak when the lights had come back on. He was perfectly aware of her modesty problem and so far, hadn’t been anything but tactful and courteous. She didn’t have to come up with some bullshit lie. She could simply tell him the truth. Her chest lightened. How utterly refreshing.
Delaney pushed a hand through her hair and her lips slid into a hesitant smile. “Look, the truth is I don’t feel comfortable looking at them with you standing right here.” She waved her hand airily. “I’m weird about it, I know. But if it’s all right, I’ll look at them later and get back to you.”
Sam’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, sure. Yeah, that’s fine.”
Delaney nodded. “Great.”
Still smiling, he just stood there and continued to look at her. One beat slid into five, then he looked away, winced impatiently and muttered, “Dammit, I’m blowing this.”
Delaney blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Nothing. Look, so long as we’re telling the truth, I wasn’t in the neighborhood and the proofs were just an excuse to see you again.”
Delight mixed with that heady rush of interest and anticipation flooded through her once more, making her all jittery inside. “Th-they were?”
The hesitant voice of common sense was trying to tell her this wasn’t a good thing—men sucked, right?—but the excited voice of new romance was doing a happy dance, drowning it out.
“I did. I wanted to ask you—” He faltered and another curiously vulnerable smile twisted his lips. “I wanted to ask if you…”
Delaney waited patiently.
“…if you’d like to, uh…”
Any day now, she thought, growing slightly exasperated.
“…go to Martindale with me this weekend?” he finished, in a rush of what appeared suspiciously like sudden inspiration.
Her brow knitted. “Martindale, North Carolina?”
He nodded and breathed a palpable sigh of relief. “Yeah. I’m shooting a wedding up there this weekend and…and I’d like you to go with me.”
Delaney bit her lip and started to shake her head. “I don’t think—”
Sam lessened the distance between them and that dark-as-sin gaze searched hers. He laid a gentle finger against her lips and there was an unmistakable intensity in the deceptively soft gesture. “Don’t say no, and don’t think. Just come with me.”
Delaney sighed. “Sam, I can’t—”
He tsked to silence her. His lips formed a tentative smile. “Come with me.”
God help her, she was tempted. Still… “Thanks, but—”
His lips lightly brushed hers, an entreaty, a promise. Once, twice, then he sucked lightly at her bottom lip, and when she opened her mouth in a silent O of surrender, he deepened the kiss into a fierce, erotic rampage that promised to push her to the very edge of everything wicked and depraved, drown her in redeeming release, and then lead her back again.
Finally, Sam slowly ended the kiss.
Delaney pulled back and blinked drunkenly up at him.
“Please,” he told her.
Ah, the magic word. How could she resist a man who knew when to say please? Whom she hadn’t met through work and didn’t have any hidden agenda? No ulterior motive? One who simply wanted to be with her? Delaney sighed, still intoxicated from that incredible mind-blowing kiss, and then uttered the one word that would most likely lead her down the road to additional heartache.
“Okay.”
9
SAM DIDN’T KN
OW WHAT on earth had possessed him to ask Delaney to come to Martindale with him. Two days later, with her sleeping form a couple of feet from him in the passenger seat of his Tahoe, he still didn’t know.
He’d picked her up just before dawn this morning, and after a few minutes of awkward conversation in which both of them seemed to be wondering just what in the hell they were doing, the weirdness of it all had faded and they’d begun to lapse into comfortable conversation. Delaney had started yawning around Johnson City, and Sam had finally convinced her to take a little nap.
He glanced at her now and something in his chest shifted. She’d dressed for comfort in a soft-green warm-up suit and a pair of broken-in tennis shoes. She’d pulled that sinfully long hair over one shoulder and plaited it into one long, thick braid that slid enticingly over her breast every time she moved. Sam’s fingers had been itching to loosen that braid all morning, itching to divide those long strands one section at a time until it all hung loose around her shoulders again.
Delaney’d had a little over a day to call and cancel on him, and Sam had waited grimly for that call. He’d fully expected her to bail, and he hadn’t breathed a sigh of relief until this morning when he’d knocked on her door and found her dressed, with her bags sitting at her feet.
When he’d gone over to her house Wednesday afternoon, he hadn’t planned to ask her to go to Martindale with him. He’d had no plan whatsoever. He’d just needed to see her again, to make sure that everything hadn’t been a fluke. He’d known it hadn’t, of course, but he’d still needed to see if he felt the same buzzing sensation when he saw her again.
He had.
And the condition had only worsened.
More goose bumps, more tingling scalp, more desire and, astonishingly, more need. He’d taken one look at her and gone instantly hard. He could have taken her on the refectory table, or against the front door. Wherever. He’d just wanted her. Sam made a mental note to ask his brothers about this. Hell, if this sensation only intensified as their relationship progressed, he didn’t know if he’d survive the damned “quickening.”
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