Discovering Delilah (Harborside Nights, Book 2)(31)

Can she? I couldn’t even believe it was a question.

Doesn’t she know she owns me?

From the moment I saw her, she’s been weaseling her way into my heart. She’s the only person who could ever break through the walls I built around my heart after Sandy.

I turn on my iTunes playlist, which has been full of Delilah’s favorite bands since we first met: Paramore, 5 Seconds of Summer, Imagine Dragons, and a handful of others. My apartment is on the second floor and faces the ocean. It’s not very spacious, but I like having my own place, and the view of the ocean reminds me of Delilah’s house, which makes me feel closer to her. I dance around the room lighting candles, then dim the lights. My living room feels romantic with the candles flickering in the breeze coming through the balcony doors and music playing softly in the background.

A knock on the door sends my stomach into a whirlwind. Suddenly the room feels like I’m trying too hard. I run around blowing out the candles, waving my hands around, trying to get the scent of sulfur out of the room.

Crap. Why did I do that?

She knocks again, and I flick on the lights, feeling like an idiot. There’s no disguising the scent of extinguished candles.

I breathe deeply, once, twice, three times. I’m never nervous like this, and it makes me even more nervous because it’s such an unfamiliar feeling.

I reach for the doorknob, then hesitate, giving myself a get-your-head-on-straight talk.

I’m not going to kiss her first thing. This is all new to her. She needs time to adjust.

I’m going to be cool about it so I don’t scare her off.

No. Kissing.

Until she wants to.

One more deep breath and I open the door.

Delilah smiles.

She smiles.

I can’t get enough of Delilah’s smiles, and it melts all my good intentions.

As she steps into the room, I slip my hand behind her neck—her neck, that’s another part of her that I can’t get enough of—and I press my lips to hers.

So much for keeping it cool.

Finally, after hours of feeling like I was holding my breath to get from one minute to the next, I can breathe. And she kisses me back. I love how she kisses me back, like she’s been as desperate for me as I’ve been for her. The door clicks softly behind her, and I back her against the wall, fisting my hand in her hair. Her hands are all over me, on my waist, my ribs, my ass. I love when she grabs my ass like I’m hers.

I am hers.

I know I’m already in way too deep to walk away if she can’t be open about our relationship. I know this as I lift her shirt over her head and toss it aside. I know this as she does the same to mine, then kisses the crest of my breast, making my knees weaken. We’re kissing, panting, begging, moaning, as we strip away each other’s clothes right there in the foyer.

“Where have you been all my life?” I say against her lips as I unsnap her shorts and tug them down her beautiful hips.

“Waiting for you.”

Her perfect answer spurs me on.

How can she do that with three little words?

She’s wearing her favorite boots, and this makes me happy, because it means she feels confident. I love confident Delilah as much as I love shy Delilah, uncertain Delilah, sexy Delilah, and sleepy Delilah. But tonight of all nights, I’m thankful that confident Delilah is here, kissing me in my foyer wearing nothing but a light blue thong and those boots.

“Jesus, you’re sexier than hell.” I rake my eyes down her body, and her cheeks flush, but she returns the heat-inducing leer, dragging her eyes down my nearly naked body, save for my own pink panties and bra. The hunger in her eyes sets me in motion again.

She tries to toe off her boots, and I crouch to help her. I take them off and set them aside, then place one hand on the back of each of her legs and kiss my way up her right calf to her thigh, where I linger. I kiss the inside of her thigh and trail featherlight kisses up and over her muscles. She fists her hand in my hair, and when I lift my eyes, I catch her staring down at me, biting her lower lip. Her cheeks are flushed, and her long blond hair hangs loose and tousled over her peaked nipples. She’s too stunning for words, and for a beat it’s all I can do to stare at her. I force myself to my feet and nudge her legs apart with my knees, grip her hips, and hold her against the wall as I bring my mouth to her neck and kiss her lightly.

A breeze sweeps through the living room from the open balcony doors, and I feel her shiver as she presses her hips to mine.

“I want to taste you,” I whisper against her cheek.

She stops breathing for a second. I’ve embarrassed her, and I fear she’ll retreat.

“No.” I freeze, but before I can react, she adds, “Let me taste you.”