Sex, Lust & Martinis

by Michelle Miles

  The guys stood like gentlemen and waited for them to scoot back into the booth.

  “I need to settle up and then I’m headed home,” Delilah announced. “Has the bill come?”

  “The check has already been taken care of,” Dirk said. He still stood next to her, taking her hand. Certainly an unexpected turn of events. “I would still like to escort you home.”

  “Uh…” She glanced at Marion, who gave her an imploring look.

  But Delilah couldn’t be swayed. She knew she had to refuse. He quirked a grin, the corners of his mouth tipping in invitation. Going home with a man the same night as meeting him screamed desperation and she had rules. In fact, that was Dating Rule Number Three—only to be broken under duress.

  “It was very nice to meet you. Good night.”

  Delilah smiled sweetly, waved at Marion and Graeme and tucked her bag under her arm. She walked away from the table, her head already pounding from the stress of the evening and the alcohol consumption.

  “Delilah,” Dirk called as he came up behind her.

  She should have known it wouldn't be the end of it. She closed her eyes, wishing for it all to go away. All she wanted was to go home, get a hot bath and fall into bed. Today had been enough excitement.

  Stopping at the door, she turned to face him and he paused within an arms-length of her. She waited, giving him her best what-do-you-want-now look.

  He grinned, his tanned face crinkling. He reached for her, took her hand in his. “I would very much like to see you tomorrow. I can send my car to pick you up.”

  That was a nice touch but she really couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right to lead Dirk on when all she wanted was to climb back into Sam’s bed. She smiled, placed her hand on his cheek. His face was warm and scruffy.

  “I appreciate the offer, really. But I must decline. Graeme and Marion mean well but I’m not…” She paused. She wasn’t what? Ready?

  “Someone must have hurt you very badly once.” He turned into her hand and kissed her palm, his breath warm against her skin. “I understand.”

  “Thank you.”

  He reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card, pressing it into her hand. “If you change your mind, call me.”

  And then he was gone.

  * * *

  Delilah was sure she broke the sound barrier as she sped away from the restaurant as fast as she could. She blasted Nickelback, Chad Kroeger wondering if he was having fun yet. And, really, Delilah wondered the same thing. Is that what life was about? Floating from one man to the next, wanting one she couldn’t have?

  “Really, Del? Are you having fun yet?” She said the words aloud as she blasted through an intersection on the yellow. “No, because you’re an idiot that’s why.”

  Oh, sure, Dirk was a handsome, wealthy art dealer who probably made ten times more in a year than she spent on handbags and shoes. He would probably be a wonderful distraction from her lustful thoughts of Sam but was he really worth it? Would she end up sleeping with him because he was the only man in her life? Was she seriously that desperate? She wasn’t even attracted to the man.

  Delilah pulled into her driveway, slammed the door and hurried up the walk to her house. She knew turning him down was the right thing to do. Even though she’d told Marion otherwise. She was sure she’d hear from her friend about her dismissal of Dirk.

  Shutting the door, she leaned against it and puffed out a breath, trying to slow her racing heart. Her eardrums were still ringing from blasting her rock music as loud as she dared without busting the speakers. Speed and rock were two of her favorite things.

  In the bedroom, she toed off her shoes, tossed her bag on the dresser and sank into the mattress, closing her eyes and listening to the deafening silence.

  “I’ll send my car to pick you up,” she mocked, her voice loud in the quiet.

  She snorted and laughed when she realized he hadn’t intended to pick her up himself. She sat up abruptly and stared at her face in the mirror.

  “That son of a bitch! Good riddance.”

  Standing, Delilah prowled the bedroom pushing her fingers through her tangled hair. She was agitated all over again.

  “What an ass.”

  The doorbell ringing interrupted her thoughts and she halted in the middle of the room, staring towards the door. Silence but for the whoosh of annoyance through her veins, she stood a long moment deciding whether or not to answer it. Had Marion given Dirk her address and he followed her home? No. Certainly not.

  It rang again and she growled as she padded down the hallway to the front door. Delilah yanked it open and froze, staring at Sam Ford on the other side of the door. The only thing separating them was a pane of glass in the storm door. What could he want? And more important, how did he find her? She wondered briefly if he had come to settle the score since she’d been snotty to him earlier that day.

  With her heart pounding a rapid cadence, she squelched the surprise, her obvious reaction, and tried to paste on a confident smile.

  “Sam,” she greeted coolly, opening the door. “What are you doing here?” And how did he get her address?

  “I knew you were home.” He sounded triumphant. “I saw you pull into the driveway.”

  “Are you stalking me?” She gripped the door, ready to slam it shut.

  “Mind if I come in?” Wagging a bottle of wine as if it were the white flag, he started to step over the threshold.

  She did mind, actually. Every fiber of her being shouted no.

  “Not so fast, partner.” She put her hand on his chest and shoved him backward. Back out onto the doorstep. “I’m busy.”

  “Come on, Delilah.” He sounded like the old whiney Sam she remembered. “I brought a peace offering.” He held up the wine again.

  “What do you want?” Hesitation still pulled at her but curiosity was getting to her, too.

  “I know you’re uptown now, but we’re old friends, aren’t we? And we can have a normal conversation, can’t we?”

  They had been friends once. He’d been her person. The one she could always go to when she was in a jam. The one who would be there for her when things were crappy or she had a piece of good news she wanted to share. Sam had been it. When they parted, not having him in her life anymore left a gaping hole.

  Who was she to refuse a good bottle of merlot?

  “All right.”

  She swung open the door, allowing him into her house. He stepped gingerly across the threshold, glancing around with an approving eye.

  “Nice place.”

  “How’d you find me?” she asked, shutting the door.

  “Delilah, you don’t give me enough credit.” He handed her the wine. “Open the bottle and let’s have some.”

  “Sorry, can’t.” She put it aside on the kitchen counter and watched as he roamed through the house as if he had every right to be there. “I’ve just come from a dinner party and I’ve already had martinis.”

  “And?” He turned to look at her, his eyes sparkling with question. There was something fierce there and she questioned herself. She shouldn’t have allowed him inside.

  “And you never mix the vine with the wheat.” She knew from her younger partying days that vodka and wine didn’t mix. She’d be sick as a dog tomorrow with a hangover. That was the last thing on her agenda.

  “That never stopped you before.” He winked.

  “Before I was a lot younger. Like ten years younger to be exact.”

  “Ah. So you do remember how long it’s been.” He gave her an evil grin.

  Shit. She should have seen that trap coming. She scowled.

  Sam laughed, grinning broadly and waved away the thought. “Fine, then. We’ll save it for another time.”

  “What makes you so sure there’ll be another time?”

  He gave her one of those quirked grins, like she should already know the answer to that question. She was losing patience and propped her hand on her hip. “You going to tell me why you’re here?”<
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  He turned to her, giving her a once over from her bare feet to the top of her head. It felt as though he’d mentally stripped her bare and Delilah wasn’t entirely sure she liked it. Despite the fact it heated her blood, sending it to all the right places. Specifically the place between her legs—damn that man. She didn’t want to admit she’d been thinking about Sam all night. Naked. On top of her.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t show up for a walk down memory lane.”

  “Actually, I did,” he said.

  He moved quickly towards her, pulling her into his arms. Losing her balance, she crashed against him. Her palms landed on his thick chest for balance as he held her close before his lips pressed against her in a frenzied kiss. Her heart did a ka-thud against her breastbone, beating hard against his. Her first instinct was to fight him, push him away. But her hormones overrode her brain. She weakened, no longer able to stop him.

  Her skin tingled with delightful anticipation as his tongue delved deeper into her mouth with familiarity. Kissing him after ten years was like riding a bike—her body didn’t forget. Oh, it really didn’t forget a thing.

  His tongue pushed against hers and they dueled for control. He tasted sweet and masculine and hot. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips as she explored. Her hands roamed over the curve of his pectorals, across his thick shoulders and then down his powerful biceps.

  Reality came back again and she shoved him backward, holding him at arm’s length.

  “Stop.” But the word came out on a breathy whisper, as though she didn’t really mean it. He would know she didn’t.

  “Why?” He leaned closer, his mouth dangerously close to hers. “You don’t want me to.”

  No, she didn’t. But it sucked he knew it. He leaned in, trying to capture her mouth again. Delilah pushed more strength into her arms and tried hard to keep him at bay.

  “I mean it. Stop.”

  Sam chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. He shoved aside her arms and pulled her to him. His mouth found her neck, tracing a hot, wet trail from her earlobe down to her shoulder and back up again. His teeth nipped her ear, making her shiver with delight.

  “I know you, Delilah.” His words blistered her skin. “You’ve been thinking about this—” and he tugged on her earlobe, “—all day. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have kissed me back.”

  Son of a bitch.

  “I hate you.” Delilah’s head told her “no, no, no” but her body…oh, her body cheered at the delightful sensation of being in Sam’s arms once again.

  “I know. Now shut up.”

  That sexy mouth connected with hers once again, their breath mingling, their tongues dancing. A little bit of their souls touched in that one kiss. She never wanted it to end. Just as she didn’t want to admit how much she’d missed him over the years. It was like the universe handed her a second chance.

  Well, at the sex part anyway.

  Sam took a fistful of her shirt in each of his hands and yanked, ripping every small button from the delicate material. She could hear them hit the linoleum floor in a shower of beads and whimpered. Shoving him back, furious red heat flashed through her. Or maybe that was hot need. She couldn’t tell. Either way, she was spitting mad about her shirt.

  “This is one of my favorite shirts, you son of a bitch.”

  “You mean was and fuck it. I’ll buy you a new one.” He shoved her back against the refrigerator, his hands fumbling with the clasp of her bra. He popped it free and pushed away the satin and lace.

  “I hope you have a couple of hundred bucks to spare then,” she said as his mouth landed on one erect nipple.

  He caught the pink peak between his teeth and sucked hard, while he palmed the other breast. A ragged breath escaped her as her hands went into his hair, clasping the strands in her fists. Glancing down, she saw his mouth covering the areola with greed, his tongue teasing her nipple painful with desire. The pink peak popped out of his mouth and she watched him cup the white flesh, his mouth showering the tender skin with delicate kisses. He’d gone from primal and rough to slow and seductive.

  And she hated him even more for it.

  He dropped delicate kisses on her abdomen while he sunk to his knees, taking her pants with him. Now, she really had been stripped bare.

  Sam tucked her leg over his shoulder, forcing her hips open. Her hands were still in his hair and she urged him onward. His fingers parted her sex, exposing her, and he licked her clit with the tip of his tongue. Slowly at first, tasting her. Testing her. Then he dove in. His whiskers—rough like sandpaper—rasped against her delicate folds. Her hips pumped back and forth with every stroke, every suck, every sampling of her inner secrets.

  She clearly remembered how he felt with that succulent tongue licking up and down before sucking her clit into his mouth. Her body clearly remembered how it responded to that licking and sucking. And her body clearly loved every moment of it.

  A loud moan escaped her. Before she could maintain control of her senses, she came hard and fast against his mouth. He stood quickly, then, unzipping and shoving down his pants. Pulling her to him and planting her hands on his ass, she kissed him, tasting her own sweetness on his lips and their tongues did another duel. She sucked his bottom lip, making him groan deep in his throat. He propped her leg on his hip and pushed deep inside her.

  There’s always that first moment when man connects with woman and one knows instantly if it’s a good fit or not. Sam and Delilah had always been a good fit. They always were good together and this was certainly a gigantic reminder of how good they were.

  His hardened cock felt so good…so perfect…so right. He ground against her, their hips rocking in concert like there hadn’t been a ten-year-gap. Like it had been yesterday since the last time they fucked.

  He stroked her, moving in and out of her, as she pushed back against him. She had barely recovered from the first orgasm when the second threatened to rip through her.

  “Not yet,” he said.

  And he was looking right at her. Their eyes locked in this sensuous stare down as his hands roamed over her, feeling every inch.

  “I want to feel you, Delilah.”

  He increased his speed and pressure. It was too much. Her muscles contracted around his cock and she exploded with a second orgasm. His rhythm slowed to long slow thrusts before he finally came to a halt.

  He didn’t move. She didn’t move. Instead, they stared into each other’s eyes. And this was no lover’s stare. This was a gaze of almost…what? Regret? She couldn’t read him anymore. Not like she used to.

  Still, she couldn’t believe she’d allowed it to happen. But she’d been weak. He walked into her house with wine looking delicious and she’d buckled. She had allowed herself to give in, to let herself fall into his arms again so easily. She shouldn’t have let it happen after what they’d been through before. She should have made him crawl on his hands and knees to get back into her world and especially into her pants. She couldn’t help but feel somewhat cheap and a little used.

  Something inside her snapped. She shoved him off her and bent to pull up her pants in one swift move. Sam stumbled back a step or two and she could see he fumbled with his jeans, trying to button up.

  “Delilah—”

  “Get out,” she snapped.

  She reached for her bra which had been discarded on the kitchen floor. Her favorite Michael Kors shirt was in tatters. She heard the zip of his pants as he turned on the toe of his shoe. Slowly as if he had more to say.

  “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Please just go, okay?”

  She turned away from him, not wanting to look into his eyes anymore.

  Sam stood there a moment longer, perhaps waiting for her to say something else. Maybe he wanted her to ask him to stay, open the wine, have a few drinks and maybe a few laughs and reminisce about times gone by.

  She wasn’t the reminiscing type. She wanted him out.

  He opened the door, stepped out
into the night and slammed it behind him. She expelled a breath and leaned back against the refrigerator, unsure what possessed her to have sex with her ex-husband. It was done and over with now. It was in the past of only minutes ago.

  Delilah headed toward her bedroom, crumpling the remains of her shirt in her fist. Exhaustion had suddenly set in and all she wanted to do was to crawl into bed.

  Chapter Five

  Get it up. Get it on. Get out.

  The phrase turned over and over in Delilah’s head as she turned over and over in her bed. How had that happened with Sam? How could she let it happen and—worst of all—why had she let it happen? She tried hard to push the thought of him out of her mind. Despite the fact she wanted him to come back and do it again. Despite the fact she needed more of him. Despite the fact all she wanted was to feel him, totally, completely naked on top of her.

  Forgetting Sam Ford was becoming more and more difficult.

  She stumbled out of bed desperate for a cup of ambition. A strong cup of coffee would do the trick. Feeling groggy and a bit like someone scraped her off the bottom of their shoe, she managed to shower. It was Friday and her day off and she refused to allow a one-night-whatever with Sam ruin her day.

  She grabbed her keys and headed for the door with only thoughts of coffee in her head. As she reached it, the doorbell rang. She halted, wondering who would be at her front door on a mid-Friday morning.

  She peered through the peephole and was completely shocked to see Sam.

  “What the hell?” she muttered.

  Curiosity overwhelmed her. She had to see why he was back so soon and pulled open the door.

  “What are you doing here?” She didn’t wait for him to speak before she launched into attack mode.

  He smiled, holding a cup of coffee which he handed her. “Good morning. Can we talk?”

  She sniffed the cup, the rich aroma of coffee wafting through her nose right to her brain. He’d remembered her favorite brew and the way she liked it. She should have been touched. Instead she was annoyed.