Smolder (Wildwood 2)

And . . . something else she didn’t necessarily want to define.

“Delilah.” He said her full name, which was a rarity, and she stood up straighter, her neck cracking and making her wince. She was tense. So was he. She needed to relax. And so did he.

She knew the best way they could do that. But was he up for it? Or would he push her away yet again? Come up with an excuse? Conveniently take a call in the middle of whatever they were doing and bail on her? She was feeling vulnerable and she didn’t like it. She was strong. A determined woman who went after what she wanted.

But at this moment, she needed him to make the next move. She needed to hear him say that he wanted her. More than anything, she had to have that before they went any further.

When he said nothing else, when he couldn’t even seem to look at her, her heart deflated. She’d put herself on the line yet again, and he’d retreated. Maybe she was being ridiculous. Maybe she was reading too much into this, but something broke within her at the realization. Her heart hurt. Her bones ached. Her head buzzed and when she took a deep breath, it made her lungs feel tight.

If he did nothing else, said nothing else . . .

She was done.

LANE WANTED TO tell her to go. It freaked him out, to hear her say she really knew him. Why, he wasn’t sure. What was so wrong with that? If she really knew him, that meant she knew every one of his flaws. That was scary. But then again, she hadn’t left. She hadn’t bailed on him and she could’ve. He would’ve deserved it. He would’ve mourned the loss but then moved on with his life because that’s what he did. He had a heart of steel. He was resilient. Untouchable. Emotionless.

But maybe he wasn’t. Seeing his mom crumple to the floor had taken his fucking breath away. Calming Wren had been near impossible. He’d needed his sister to be strong in that moment and she’d ended up so incredibly weak. He couldn’t worry about his baby sister while their mother lay unconscious on the floor.

Somehow, he’d managed. Somehow, he’d remained calm enough to take care of business and get his mother into an ambulance. It didn’t matter that she was fine and that they all might’ve made a huge deal over nothing. It hadn’t felt like nothing at the time.

It had felt like something huge and unstoppable. His heart had galloped in his chest as if it were running a marathon. He’d wanted to panic. To punch a wall and throw back his head and scream, “Why?” Then he’d realized that he was being an overdramatic fool and behaving just like his crying sister, who actually seemed calmer than he was.

That had been a realization. Seeing his mom, taking her to the hospital, had been a huge realization as well. But hearing his mother’s theory on why he should be with Delilah was the biggest realization of them all. The one that had sent him reeling. The one he couldn’t stop thinking about.

The one he regretted telling Delilah and then dismissing as not true. He didn’t actually regret telling her. She deserved to know. But she’d given him an answer in return—one that made him feel so many things all at once, emotions he couldn’t put his finger on—and he didn’t know what to do next.

He automatically wanted to push her away. Say something stupid or shitty or even polite yet noncommittal and get her out of his house so he could be alone with his thoughts. His sad little depressing thoughts that really didn’t want to be alone—they wanted to be with her. He wanted to be with her. Lane wanted to be with Delilah.

“Come here,” he whispered, going on gut instinct, ignoring the temptation to bolt. He opened his arms, and she walked into them, her arms sliding around his waist, her head resting against his chest. He felt the way she melted into him, her body seeming to fuse with his, the fit so fucking perfect he could do nothing but revel in it.

She felt good in his arms. The scent of her hair, soft and silky as it brushed against his jaw, the feeling of her pressed close, his lips on her forehead, the hitch in her breath when his mouth made contact with her skin. It was undeniable, what they shared. The attraction, the chemistry between them, how it always sizzled, growing bigger and bigger until it became undeniable. He’d been fighting it for so long, denying himself when it was inevitable.

It was time to stop thinking of running away from Delilah and start focusing on giving in to her.

“Thank you for helping me with Wren today,” he said quietly, not wanting to disturb the moment but needing to show his gratitude.

“She’s one of my best friends. I wanted to be there for her and for your mom.” Delilah tilted her head back, her gaze meeting his. “But I also did it for you.”

“I know.” He did. Cupping the side of her face, he let his gaze roam over her features, drinking them in. He was baffled why he was so entranced by her. Not because she wasn’t attractive—she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known—but she was so much more than that to him. He’d just never realized it before.

Not until he had her in his arms. Not until what happened earlier today reminded him that he couldn’t do this alone. He didn’t think he wanted to. He wanted someone. He needed someone.

That someone was Delilah.

He drifted his thumb across her bottom lip. It was plump and soft, and she parted her lips, her tongue touching just the tip of his finger. That one tiny touch sent heat shooting through his veins and he removed his thumb from her lips.

Replaced it with his mouth.

They kissed. It was deep and hot and wet. With plenty of tongue and murmured whispers and their hands sliding everywhere, all at once. He grabbed hold of her and lifted, plopping her on the edge of the counter. Her thighs spread invitingly, making room for him to step closer. She pulled him back in for a kiss, never missing a beat, her lips hungry, her hands ravenous, her low whimpers stirring up an answering hunger in him that made him want to rip her clothes off and feast on her.

She broke the kiss first, her breathing accelerated, her eyes hazy as they met his. “Pick me up,” she demanded.

He braced his hands against the edge of the counter, his fingers brushing her thighs. Her skin was so soft. He remembered having his head between her pretty thighs just last night and he wanted another taste. Hell, he wanted to slide in deep and just hold himself there. Savor what it was like to be buried deep inside Delilah’s body. “What do you mean, pick you up?”

“I want you to pick me up.” She ran her hand along his shoulder, down his arm, squeezing his bicep. “And carry me back to your bedroom.”

“You don’t want to mess around right here?” He went in for a kiss and she smiled against his lips. She was in the perfect position where he could kiss and touch her all he wanted and his neck wouldn’t hurt. Though she had a point. It would be a lot more fun if he took her to his bedroom and laid her out on his bed.

“The tile is cold,” she whispered, making him chuckle. He reached for her, sliding his hands beneath her ass and scooping her into his arms. She immediately wound her legs around his hips, her arms circling his neck, and he hefted her into his arms, carrying her back to his bedroom.