Dear Enemy

“So stay.” His pinkie strokes the edge of my finger. “I don’t want distance. But if it really bothers you to live here, move into the guesthouse. There’s room.” He says this freely, but his expression is akin to a man sucking on a lemon.

I laugh, the sound husky and raw in the bathroom. “You’re actually pushing me to live up there alone with North?”

The sour expression grows. But he shrugs those massive shoulders, water rippling as he moves. “I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust.”

And right there, he has it.

“I’ll stay here.” It comes out in a whisper. But he hears it just fine and releases a breath as though he’s been holding it.

“Okay. Good.” With an impish glint, Macon sinks a little farther into the bath. “Now about us . . .”

“Can we take it slowly?” I blurt out. My body doesn’t want slow. It wants now. But the shy girl I once was has more control over me than I realized. And she’s cautious.

“We can do anything you want.” He pauses, rubbing the corners of his mouth. “Define slowly.”

It’s cute the way he thinks I can’t see him plotting my sexual downfall.

“As in we don’t immediately have sex.”

Macon frowns. “I don’t like that definition.”

I laugh at his disgruntled look. His answering smile is small and repentant but just a little wicked as if he enjoys teasing me. Crazy thing is, I enjoy it too. I try to be stern, though I’m probably failing at that. “Macon, I just got to the point where I only want to kill you some of the time instead of all of the time.”

Macon chuckles. “There is that improvement.”

We share a look, a lifetime of irritations and misunderstandings, grudging respect and mutual admiration flowing between us. We’re changing, neither of us knowing exactly how to do it, but we’re trying.

“We can go at whatever pace you set.” His thumb glides over the back of my hand in a slow, seductive circle. “However, I have a proposition.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re leading me into trouble?”

His answering smile is lopsided and growing. “It’s only trouble if you don’t like it.”

“Stop giving me those sexy eyes.”

“Sexy eyes?” He chokes on an incredulous laugh.

“You’re looking at me like you . . . you . . .”

His eyes gleam with wicked intent. “Want to stick my head between your thighs and slowly lick you until we both come?”

A strangled sound leaves me as a pulse of pure lust hits my sex. I want to touch myself, press against that ache to relieve it. “Macon . . .”

“Because that’s what I’m thinking half of the time,” he goes on levelly. “When I’m not thinking about kissing your soft mouth or easing up your top to finally—fucking finally—see those gorgeous tits.”

“Macon!”

“Delilah,” he shoots back with cheek.

God, I want him to do all those things and more. I want to strip him down, lick his warm skin. Lick him up like ice cream melting off a spoon. Why did I say anything about going slow?

Whatever he sees in my eyes has the smile slipping off his face, replaced by something distinctly hot. “I won’t touch you tonight. Instead, you touch me.”

“Touch you?” My pulse kicks up and starts to strum.

“Yes.” He rests his arms on the sides of the tub. It draws my attention to the breadth of his shoulders and the carved definition of his biceps. “Put your hands on me; get comfortable with being close to me, taking what you want. Nothing is off limits.”

Oh, God. I want that. He is acres of smooth, slick skin and rippling muscles. I’d touch him all night and then lose my ever-loving mind. “How is that not sex?”

“Because it’s only you touching me.” His gaze glides over me like liquid silk. “Do you want to?”

The breathy “Yes” is out of my mouth before I can think.

His nostrils flare, the look in his eyes pure temptation. “Then touch me, Delilah.”

My fingers curl around the tub, holding on. Just holding on. “It won’t go anywhere. That would be a tease.”

“I want you to tease me.”

Part of me still can’t believe we’re here, talking about this. That he’s naked and willing. “You do?”

His throat works on a swallow. “Yes, I fucking do.”

“Even if you won’t get anything out of it?”

A shuddery breath leaves him, and his nipples go tight. “If you’re touching me, I’ll be getting something out of it.” That dark voice works over my skin like warm honey.

“God . . .”

“I won’t move a muscle,” he promises. “Unless you ask me to. Now, woman up, and stop stalling.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Woman up?”

“I figured you’d object to ‘man up.’”

“You figured right.”

“You’re still stalling.”

Shaking my head, I soften. Then get up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Delilah

“Where are you going?” The slight alarm in Macon’s voice is gratifying.