by Sarina Bowen
“Got it.”
“Are you still…” I clear my throat, trying to find the right question.
“Crazy?” she offers.
“No. Come on. Phobic is the word I was looking for.”
“Yes.” She sighs. “It hasn’t gotten worse, but it hasn’t really gotten better, either. I still don’t drink anything that I haven’t opened or poured for myself.”
I hand her the unopened bottle of soda water and smile at her.
“Thank you, Ralph,” she whispers.
“Anytime,” I whisper back.
We’re staring at each other. I know this whole night is crazy and not what she expected. But it’s already perfect. All I ever wanted was to apologize for standing her up and to make another drink for her.
“We should probably eat this food while it’s hot,” she whispers.
“Yup.”
We give our lingering, hungry gaze one more long beat. Delilah looks away first. She opens a drawer to reveal knives and forks.
We arrange ourselves on the sofa, side by side, our plates on the coffee table. She gives me a shy smile as she cuts her first bite of food. Then I watch Delilah tuck away a healthy portion of fine roast beef and plantain fritters.
It’s almost embarrassing how much satisfaction it gives me to feed her. “Better now?” I ask, popping a fritter in my mouth.
“Much better.” She puts her fork down and leans back with a sigh. “This day, though.”
“Do you want to tell me why you’re kind of a wreck?”
Her laugh is bitter. “Is it that obvious?”
“Was your meeting awful?”
“Yes. But that’s only one symptom of the problem.” She crosses her legs on the sofa. “It’s…everything. Brett Ferris was so integral to my life that when I finally left him for good, everything got more stressful.”
I didn’t really come here to talk about that asshole, but maybe there’s no choice. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Not as sorry as I am.” She sighs. “Everyone that makes my week easier is his employee. My former assistant worked for him. My security company was hired by him.” She points at the door, indicating the bodyguard outside. “He’s probably spying on me. But what do I know about hiring a security company?” She puts her head in her hands. “My accountant is Brett’s accountant. You get the picture. Only Becky has defected. She quit her PR firm to work for me full time. I didn’t even know how to hire someone or how to run a payroll. The first week I stopped by an ATM and paid her in cash.”
“So there’s a lot of admin stressing you out?”
“Yes.” She looks up at me. “And then there’s the stalker.”
“The—what?” I set the remains of my dinner down. “You have a stalker?”
She nods, and picks at the cuticles of one hand. “I get a lot of weird mail. That’s been going on for a while. But there’s this one guy who found my home address somehow. He writes these creepy notes about how we’re going to get to know each other better.” She shivers. “He writes them on cocktail napkins. So that’s fun.”
I cannot hide my flinch. “Cocktail napkins. From anywhere specific?”
“It’s from a different bar every time. There was an interview in Spin once about how I wrote lyrics on a cocktail napkin—” She gives me a shy glance. “Your cocktail napkin. I’d forgotten my notebook.”
I do remember that, and I’d read that interview. But I didn’t know until now that she’d written “Hype City” sitting across from me at the bar.
And now I have chills. Although this story isn’t about me. “I’m sorry,” I say. “No wonder you haven’t fired your security guy.”
“Yeah. I’m not in a hurry to replace Mr. Muscles, because at least he’s careful.”
“Mr. Muscles?” I crack a smile. “That’s what you call your bodyguard?”
She gets a playful look in her eye. She leans a little closer and whispers. “He has no neck.”
“I noticed that,” I whisper back.
Her smile fades. “The creepy letters aren’t really my biggest problem. Brett is holding my album hostage.”
“Your album…Lucky Hearts? The new one?”
“You know the title?” She perks up. “That’s a good sign. I’m worried that people will forget about me before he releases it. It’s been ready for months. He won’t release it until I sign on for a third.”
“But I heard a new song a few months ago.”
“You listen to my stuff?” She tilts her head to the side, like she doesn’t really believe me.
“Sometimes,” I hear myself say. But it’s a bold-faced lie, and my friends would convulse with laughter if they heard that. So I have to come clean. “I only listen to your stuff whenever I’m conscious.”
She squints at me, like maybe I’m making fun of her. But I’m not, and it’s vital she knows. So I turn and scoop her off the couch. My arms are full of warm, cynical girl, just like I’ve always wanted. I deposit her in my lap.
She lets out a squeak of surprise, and then we’re nose to nose, with her straddling me.
Finally.
My pulse kicks into overdrive now. She feels way too good in my arms. “You should know that I own your first album on vinyl as well as CD. And of course it’s on my phone.”
“You…really?” She blinks at me at incredibly close range. “Vinyl?”
“Yup. But it’s never been played because I don’t have a turntable. And I don’t know why you’re so surprised. I told you I wanted to hear ‘Sparkle On’ make it big on the radio.”
“Yes, you did.” She swallows. “As did I. Didn’t know it would turn my life into a freak show, though. You were right about Ferris.”
“Ah.” I tighten my arms around her. “You know, a man usually likes to hear that he’s right. But in this case, I’m sorry.”
She looks down at my chest, as if taking in the fact that we’ve never been as close as we are right now. “Are you?”
“Am I what? Right?”
“No—are you sorry. Seems like you turned up about ten minutes after I finally kicked him to the curb. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“No, it really is. I was watching Dallas versus L.A., and there you were. But do you remember last year after your Madison Square Garden concert—taking a photo with a bunch of women from a shelter in Brooklyn?”
“Yeah. A battered-women’s shelter, right?”
“That’s the place. Those women had my tickets. Second row. I’m still trying not to hold it against them.”
“What?” Her eyes widen. “You were going to come to the show?”
“My friends surprised me with the tickets. Or they tried to. We got snowed in on the West Coast. There was a freak snowstorm in Seattle of all places.”
“Oh.” She traps her bottom lip between her teeth, and it’s right there. I want to bite it, too. Her weight feels good on my lap, and it’s a struggle not to pull her closer to me. “You gave your tickets to battered women? You really are the nicest guy in the world.”
“That wasn’t my idea,” I admit. “Georgia—our team publicist—thought of it when we got stranded.” I lift my hand and push a strand of dark, shiny hair out of her face. “But…” I clear my throat. “The fact that you’re single right this second? That doesn’t make me sad at all. I hope you’re okay with me saying that.”
“Well…” She gives her head a nervous shake. “If only I felt free like I’m supposed to. I’ve needed to walk away from him for a long time. I’m still not free of him.”
“But you will be,” I whisper, because my self-control is starting to slip.
“Eventually.” She puts a palm on my chest, and all my synapses fire at once. My body begs her, Touch me more. “Listen, Ralph—” She sighs. “Silas. Whatever your name is. I really don’t need another man to complicate my life.”
“Who said anything about complicated? There is nothing complicated at all about me right now.” I flatten one of my hands on her lower back an
d then rub the muscles sweetly.
Her eyes flutter closed, because she likes it that much. But then they snap open again. “Why didn’t I know your real name before now?”
“It wasn’t meant to be a giant secret. Ralph was a nickname I picked up in high school. And Danny from Roadie Joe’s—the son of the owner? He made me that name tag to wear behind the bar.”
“Everyone called you Ralph in high school?”
“Most everyone. And they still do. All because once I quite famously ralphed everywhere.”
She laughs, deep and low, and I can’t believe I went three years without hearing that sound. It gives me goosebumps. I lift a hand and catch her smiling face in my palm. She quits laughing suddenly, as I stroke a roughened thumb over her soft cheek.
“It’s really good to be here with you,” I whisper. “It means a lot to me.”
A pink spot appears on each of her cheeks. “You aren’t such rough company yourself.”
Delilah
I’m sitting in his lap, damn it. I have no self-control.
In my defense, it’s a really nice lap. And Silas/Ralph is a really great guy. I knew it from the first day I met him. But it doesn’t matter. We were never going to be a couple. Fate had other plans for the both of us.
Neither of us cares right now, though. When I look into his pretty green eyes, it’s too easy to get carried away.
“Can I have another mojito?” I ask suddenly. If I don’t get off this man’s lap, I’m going to make a fool of myself.
“Of course you can,” he says easily. “If that’s really what you want. How’s your tolerance these days?”
“Not great.”
He nods, a thoughtful look on his handsome face. “Then you have an important decision to make. I’m not sure that having another drink is your best option.”
“Why not?” I’m full of food and drinking in the company of the best guy ever.
“Let me explain,” he says.
“I’m ready.”
“Okay, listen up.” But instead of speaking, Silas leans forward.
I make a sound of surprise as his lips graze my neck. His touch is soft and gentle, and goosebumps break out all over my body. He’s dropping gentle, open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck. And when he reaches the juncture of my shoulder, he pauses there, his tongue exploring my skin thoroughly.
A gasp leaves my lips, but I don’t jerk away. Nobody has ever kissed me so reverently. I let out an embarrassing whimper as desire floods me. It’s been a long time since I was handled so beautifully. Maybe ever. So I lean in, instead of away. Anyone would. In fact, I raise a hand to his soft hair and hold him closer.
He chuckles and sits up quickly. “You see?”
“W-what?” I blink into those green eyes.
“I’m going to kiss you for real in a minute.”
My tummy flips over.
“And you’re not going to want me to stop. But if you get drunk—” He sweeps his thumb across my cheek again, and—damn it—I lean into his hand. But he feels so good. He drops his voice. “If you get drunk, then I won’t be able to fuck you. It wouldn’t be right.”
The moment I hear that word, I let out a hot breath. I force myself to inhale slowly. “Who says that’s on the table?”
“Well.” He smiles, and it’s the naughtiest smile I’ve ever seen on him. “It doesn’t have to be on the table. I could get you naked right here on the sofa.”
I hear myself gasp, because I really don’t know what to do with so bald an invitation. My body does, though. My blood heats up by two or three degrees right then and there. I tip my head back and try to think.
This maneuver backfires, because Silas kisses my throat. “That’s right,” he whispers, tilting his head to drop more wet, sweet kisses up the length of my neck. “Or there’s always the countertop. I bet there’s a kickass shower somewhere in this suite. And let’s not forget the bed.”
Unbidden, my hands land on his chest again. Sweet Jesus, he’s rock-hard everywhere. I lean back again to look him in the eye. “I just didn’t expect you to go there,” I say even as my heart rate accelerates. “You were always the nicest guy.”
“I am still the nicest guy.” He takes my earlobe against his tongue and then sucks on it. “Nice and hard for you…”
If he’s trying to make me imagine other places he might put his mouth, then it’s totally working.
“I’m so nice that I’m going to make you come in every room in this suite. Twice, maybe.”
I let out a groan as my nipples harden. “That is a terrible idea.”
“Terrible for who, exactly?” He lifts the fabric at my lower back and runs his roughened fingertips lightly up my spine.
And I shiver, because my body is a traitor.
“The clock is ticking. We have one night. If you want to spend it getting blasted on mojitos, I still have the ingredients. But my idea is even better.”
And that’s when he finally does it—he lowers his mouth onto mine. I make an eager sound at the first touch of his lips, because I never had any self-control. He catches the back of my head in his palm, trapping me in a bossy kiss.
It’s Kryptonite. I’ve never made smart decisions about men in my life, and, apparently, I won’t be starting tonight.
He tries to make that first kiss a slow one, I think. His lips are gentle at first, and he tastes of fresh mint and heat. But it’s like trying to hold back the ocean. His touch tugs on all my senses. My fingers tingle on the cotton of his T-shirt. The clean scent of his aftershave makes me crazy.
Closer, my subconscious begs. More. I lean forward, pressing my breasts against his chest.
Our mouths fuse and his tongue delves into my mouth. My groan vibrates between us as we deepen the kiss. It feels marvelous and inevitable.
Silas doesn’t miss a beat. Those strong hands worship the skin beneath my top. They stroke upward along my ribcage, his thumbs sweeping under my bra to tease my aching breasts. He’s not shy. Not at all.
It works, too. I want those hands everywhere. And he knows it. A moment later my top is lifted over my head and tossed aside. Silas looks down at my white lace bra and sighs happily. Then he deftly unhooks it and flicks it down and away. A beat later, my breasts are in his hands, his callused thumbs stroking my nipples.
“Kiss me,” he orders in a voice that’s hoarse with desire.
So I do. I rise up on my knees and give the man what he wants. I let his bossy tongue scrape against mine, and I stop wondering whether this is a mistake. Because I like it too much to care that he’s unzipping my skirt. One of those wide hands slides down the globe of my ass and inside my panties. He scoops his hand down until one questing hand finds the slick heat between my legs.
That escalated quickly. But, oh hell, yes.
A better person would probably be horrified at my behavior. I barely know this man. I haven’t seen him for three years. Yet I have his tongue in my mouth while his fingers are stroking me right where I need him.
I think I knew this would happen the minute I first opened that door. Hell, maybe I knew it the first time he ever smiled at me.
Still, I feel vulnerable. And I hate to feel vulnerable. “Why am I the only one who’s half-dressed?” I ask, pulling back.
He makes a caveman grunt at the loss of my mouth. “You can have whatever you want, Delilah. All you ever had to do is ask.”
That’s not strictly true. If he’d shown up to take me surfing in California…
I push that thought out of my head even as I tug on his T-shirt, struggling to free it from his muscular body. He lifts his arms to help me out. And—wow. His chest is like a work of art. My hands slide over skin and muscle. Silky skin over steel. “Do you have any body fat at all?”
“Eight percent,” he mumbles, reaching for his fly.
I’m in the way, so I scoot back and unzip him myself. Then I reach into his straining boxer briefs and caress his impressive erection.
Silas groans so loudl
y that half of New York probably heard it. Or at least the bodyguard in the hallway did.
Hell.
“Come here,” I say quickly, scrambling off his lap.
“Now?” He catches my hand to keep me close. His eyes are darkened with lust, and his hair is messy from where I clawed at it while he kissed me.
“Please?” I whisper. I don’t want to explain myself. I don’t want to tell him all the ways that I feel out of my element right now. I just want him to magically know what I need and make it happen.
It’s not hard to guess why I’ve never had a healthy relationship.
Silas stands. He zips his shorts so they won’t fall off. Then he actually scoops me up in his arms, the way you’d carry a child. “Where’s the bedroom?” he asks quietly.
Silas
I lay Delilah out on the white bedding and then close the bedroom door. By the time I return, she’s kicked off her panties. She’s lying back, naked, her big eyes full of an emotion that’s not easy for me to parse. Hope and hesitation. Excitement and also nerves.
From the pocket of my shorts I take the condoms that I stashed there hours ago. Unzipping again, I lose my shorts, and then my underwear.
“Really?” she asks in her husky voice. “You planned this?”
“Would you rather I hadn’t?” I ask, lying down on the bed beside her. I run a hand down her impossibly smooth hip, and feel the shiver that she tries to fight off. I’m never going to forget this view. Delilah is slim, bordering on bony. In clothes, she’s all sharp edges and flashing eyes and quick wit.
But naked? She’s softer. I can’t help but lean down and lick one tan nipple.
She shivers. “What if I said no?”
“Then I go home and hit the whiskey.” I lean over and kiss the other nipple, so it doesn’t feel left out. “I learned a few things since the last time I saw you.”
“How to get a woman naked, even without her phone number?”
I shake my head. “How not to fear failure. How to have zero ego. You can’t get the things you want if you don’t lay it all on the line.”
