Somehow her hand ended up on top of his, her fingers sliding over his skin, making it tingle. He couldn’t take his eyes off her delicate fingers and the way they hardly covered his thick, blunt ones. Her skin was pale to his dark. Smooth to his rough.
“I know you’ve had something on your mind. So I’m here. If you want someone to talk to that isn’t, you know, a member of your family.”
He glanced up to find Delilah watching him, her big brown eyes full of concern, her fingers still gently skimming his. She offered a tremulous smile, squeezed his hand, and then let it go. The immediate sense of loss nearly took his breath away.
“Thank you, Dee,” he said, his voice scratchy. He cleared his throat, feeling like a fool. “I appreciate it.”
Those big eyes were gobbling him up. He’d like to have something else of hers gobbling him up. Like her sexy mouth.
“Is the chicken okay?”
“Everything’s amazing. You’re a wonderful cook.” His tone was grave. Serious. He didn’t throw out compliments just for the hell of it. He never had. His mother had always teased him when he was young, warning that his blunt honesty would get him in trouble.
A girl likes to hear sweet words even if you don’t always mean them, she’d told him. Your friends do too.
Those words had convinced him to withhold his compliments even more. Who wanted to toss sweet-yet-insincere words just for the hell of it? Just to earn someone’s approval? He’d rather get that from being a genuine friend. He’d rather feel that from someone who wanted to be his friend, who wanted to be in his presence. Fake friends got a person nowhere.
Dishonesty was even worse. And it made him think of his father.
Lane scowled, banishing the thought.
Delilah blushed, her gaze dropping from his as she carefully picked up a drumstick and nibbled on it, her pinky fingers lifted high, pale pink polish covering her nails. She looked delicate. Beautiful. Downright untouchable. He fought his lust for her every time they were near each other. He wasn’t for her. Too rough around the edges; too rough, period. She deserved a nice guy. One who was interested in culture and the arts and all that other bullshit. She was a breath of fresh air in this town. Always trying to do something different, bring a little more color into everyone’s lives.
He wasn’t a big believer in that sort of thing. It didn’t interest him. Delilah was a rainbow, and he was black and white. Not even any shades of gray. And now he was thinking about that book and the movie he’d watched on HBO—the one that he’d thought was horrible yet fascinated him all the same.
“I shouldn’t even eat this sort of thing,” she mumbled. “So fatty.”
“One meal of fried chicken isn’t going to kill you,” he chided, his voice soft.
Sighing, she dropped the drumstick onto her plate, then reached for her wineglass, leaving smudgy fingerprints on it after she sipped. “Guess I’ll have to work out extra hard tomorrow.”
He could give her a workout, an extra hard one too. In fact, that sounded perfect: a night of blisteringly hot sex with Delilah. Where he could lose himself in her for a few hours. Forget all his troubles. Forget all of his hang-ups when it came to this woman. Focus instead on his pleasure as well as Delilah’s. Strip her naked. Search her skin, examine those long, long legs, feel them wrap around him when he entered her. Her thighs clenched tight around his hips just as she came . . .
“Do you want more? Or maybe something to drink?” She started to get up from her chair, and he reached out, placing his hand over hers to keep her from moving. Always moving, fluttering about like a butterfly.
“Sit down, Dee.” His voice was a quiet command, the tone he usually saved for work, and she immediately sat back down, scooting her chair closer to the table, her expression contrite. She was blushing again. Even her chest bloomed with a faint pink color, and he was curious to know exactly how far down that pretty shade extended. “Just eat your dinner and don’t worry about me.”
She did as he requested, quiet at first. The clank of silverware against the plates was the only sound in the otherwise hushed silence of the room. He tried his best to keep his gaze focused on the meal before him, but it kept straying to the woman at his right. Who ate calmly and flashed him an unsure smile every time their gazes caught, just before she looked away.
He liked this. The silence. The company. The fact that it was Delilah who’d snuck into his house—it was crazy, but he could forgive her—and wanted to take care of him. No one ever wanted to take care of him. He was the oldest. The one everyone else turned to for advice, help, assistance, money, approval. When the shit got rough, his siblings turned to him, with the exception of West. He’d just turned tail and took off.
But now he was back. Every Gallagher sibling was in Wildwood like they were supposed to be and everyone was happy. Content. For the most part. Wren seemed restless. Holden was coddled and that was a recipe for disaster if anyone asked Lane. West was in love—ridiculously so. And Lane . . .
Lane was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He wanted what he couldn’t have. He lusted after a woman who deserved more. He was consumed with work, worried about his mom, worried about an anonymous arsonist, worried about his town, worried about Delilah and what she might think of him if he did ever make a move on her . . .
Determination filled him. He needed a plan. He needed to get his town back under control and reassure them that they weren’t in danger. If he hoped to be sheriff one day—and he did—he needed to do right by his small town and the entire county. Keep everyone safe. Convince the residents that he was the man for the job. He could do that. He knew he could.
But could he devote the proper amount of time to his job with Delilah around? He couldn’t afford any distractions. Most women didn’t understand his job or that he didn’t work normal hours. Delilah might . . .
But he didn’t know if he could count on that. Count on her.
He could count only on himself.
So he’d eat his dinner, thank her profusely because she at least deserved that, and then send her on her way. He needed to keep it friendly. No crossing the line, no matter how tempting.
And Delilah was temptation personified.
Chapter Six