Reckless Hearts (17 page)

Delilah
looks over. “What?” she asks, catching my stare.

“Nothing.”
I gaze back, satisfied. I’ve got that morning-after feeling
like sweet molasses in my limbs, the kind of satisfaction you only
get after a good work-out.

A
real
good work-out.

“I’m just planning
all the ways I’m going to make you come.”

She
laughs. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she warns,
giving up and scooping her hair into a topknot.

“You
can bet on it.”

I
drive her home, as she anxiously checks the time and sends half a
dozen texts, already thinking about work again. “I’ll be
done around four, see you after?” she asks as I walk her to the
door. She gives me a quick peck on the cheek then reaches for her
keys.

“No
you don’t,” I grab her hand and pull her back, laughing.
“That’s not a goodbye kiss,” I correct her. “This
is.”

I
back her up against the door and claim her lips again, kissing her
slow and deep this time, until she’s melting back in my arms.
Every lush curve, every gasp; I run my hands over her body and damn
if she doesn’t arch against my hands, wanting more. It doesn’t
matter that we’re standing on her front step in broad daylight,
for anyone to see, suddenly I’m gripped with that primal need
to take her all over again.

Shielding
her body from view, I slide one hand over her breast, cupping and
squeezing until the nipple peaks, stiff in my palm. Delilah moans
into my mouth, pressing eagerly against the hardness already
rock-solid in my jeans. I slide my hand lower, slipping it between
her thighs to press and stroke, right there. She tears her lips from
mine in surprise.

“Will . . .”
she gasps, but it’s not a protest, it’s more of a plea.
Her face is glazed, cheeks flushed with desire. She bites down on her
lower lip, as if to keep from making a sound.

“What?”
I tease, stroking slowly through the thin fabric of her dress.

“We’re . . . someone
could see.” Delilah sinks back against the doorframe.

“There’s
nothing to see,” I grin, loving how her body is tensing,
shuddering under my hands. “We’re just standing here,
having a casual conversation. Aren’t we?”

“You’re
a wicked, wicked man,” Delilah grins, her eyes bright, desire
clear to see.

“But
you want it anyway.” I lean closer, whispering in her ear. “You
want me to take you inside and fuck you, right up against the wall.
Maybe even leave the door open, just a little, just enough for
someone to see you come your brains out.”

It
takes every measure of self-control not to deliver on that right now,
but I give one last caress and release her. I want her thinking about
me all afternoon, wet and aching for my touch.

“You
have a great day now,” I wink, turning to go.

“What?”
Delilah’s voice is ragged. “Wait, you’re leaving?
Now?!”

She’s
standing there, breathless and flushed, and looking so damn fuckable,
I deserve a medal for leaving her be. “You have work,
remember?” I grin, enjoying the frustration on her face.

Delilah’s
jaw sets. “OK then.” She smiles sweetly. “I guess
I’ll just have to take care of myself. See you later.”

Now
I’m the one left speechless as she unlocks the door, and heads
inside, closing it behind her with a click.

She
wouldn’t
 . . . 

Oh,
but she would.

Damn.

I
laugh, heading back to the truck. That girl is dynamite, and today
can’t go fast enough until I can get her in my bed again. Or
out on my porch. Up against the wall. Over the backseat of my truck.
I’m not picky, just as long as she’s naked and screaming
my name, I’ll be just fine.

I
stop by the bakery and grab some breakfast and a coffee, a real one
this time. Then I head back home and get down to business, out in the
workshop that has become my second home. Clean and light, I’ve
been working here all week, and now I’ve got all my tools set
up, and a gorgeous cord of reclaimed wood just waiting to be
transformed.

Life
is pretty damn great right now. Or at least it would be, without
those voicemails cluttering up my phone.

I
turn my attention to the table I’ve been building, a huge
seven-foot slab of oak with rustic, wrought iron fixtures I want
gleaming and polished by the time I’m through. My phone rings,
and I pause at the unfamiliar number, automatically tensing. “Hello?”

“Hey,
Will, it’s me Declan.”

I
relax. He’s an old college buddy of mine I haven’t seen
in years, but I dropped him a line the other week. “Declan,
man, how’ve you been?”

“I’m
great, but what about you?” Declan asks. “What’s
this I hear about you going country?”

I
laugh.

“I
couldn’t believe it,” he continues. “I had to find
out for myself. What’s the deal?”

“No
deal.” I look around at the woods and backyard, content. “Time
for a change, that’s all.”

“I
can’t believe it, you were about as New York as they come.”

“What
can I say? I traded the suit and tie for jeans. I’ve never been
happier.”

Declan
chuckles. “I can’t imagine Helena’s too happy about
that.”

I
tense. Even her name is enough to turn my blood to ice, and it seems
even more wrong to hear it here, where she’s supposed to be a
distant memory. “I’m not really concerned how she feels
about anything,” I say shortly. “She’s still in the
city.”

Eight
hundred miles away and still finding ways to cause some damage,
cluttering up my voicemail and calling at all hours.

“Oh.
Hey, sorry man. My mistake. It’s been a while,” he says
apologetically.

“No
worries, it’s OK.” I take a deep breath, then change the
subject to the reason I reached out to begin with. “Listen, do
you still have that showroom?” Declan runs a great spot in
Charlotte, showcasing all kinds of high-end furniture design.

“Sure
do,” he answers proudly. “We’re opening up another
store in Atlanta in the fall.”

“That’s
awesome, man. Congratulations. Listen, I’ve been getting back
to design, and I’d love to figure out how to start selling some
pieces.” I trace the pockmarked lines of the old wooden table.
“You think I could get your expert opinion some time over
beers?”

“Why
don’t you just bring a few pieces by next time you’re in
the city?” Declan suggests. “I’d be happy to take a
look.”

“You
sure?” In my former life, I made million-dollar deals without
blinking, but somehow, the thought of showing my work to a
professional like Declan makes me pause. “How about next week?”

“Absolutely.
I’m always looking for new designers to carry. Who knows, maybe
we can take some pieces for you, see what the market’s like.”

“That
would be great, man. Really. And I mean it about the drinks, it’ll
be great to catch up.”

Declan
chuckles. “Just as long as it’s not like last time. Man,
what was that club we all wound up at? I couldn’t look a
tequila bottle in the eye for months.”

“Nothing
but beer this time,” I promise. “I’ll see you
soon.”

I
hang up, already looking around the workshop trying to figure out
what to take. I won’t need much: just the table, and some
chairs I’ve been working on, maybe—old vintage leather
and a raw hewn frame—but it should be enough to show him what
I’m working with, and figure out if maybe, just maybe I’m
not kidding myself to think my designs are worth anything.

I
get back to it, my new deadline looming. It’s easy to lose
myself in the work. It feels good, the physical labor, sanding the
grain until it’s smooth to the touch, unloading another cord
and sawing at the wood by hand until I’m sweating. I spent so
many years sitting at a desk, doing nothing but move numbers around
on a screen, getting my workout at a fancy gym on hi-tech machines.
But there’s nothing like the feeling of real work like this:
seeing my efforts take form in the wood, knowing that every hour I
spend here will produce something real. Something useful.

It
just makes sense.

Like
Delilah.

I
can’t stop thinking about her, all those wild memories from
last night keeping me high, on-edge, counting down to seeing her
again. It wasn’t just the sex, even though, damn, I’ve
never known anything like that. For the first time, I saw her open up
to me, let down her guard, and just be: her gorgeous, sweet, tender
self. I didn’t know why she was keeping me at arm’s
length, but learning more about what her father did, I understand it
now. She’s scared of being hurt, and having her heart betrayed.

So
why won’t you tell her the truth?

I
push back the guilty voice in my mind. I know there’s too much
I still haven’t told her, but there’ll be a time for that
later. I won’t let my past interrupt this new beginning, not
when I’m still earning her trust. She’s too damn
skittish; I knew that the minute she sneaked out of my bed and
high-tailed out like I was some mindless one-night stand.

Still,
I knew she’d be back.

Maybe
I was kidding myself, but somehow, I just had faith. The connection
between us is so strong, I knew she couldn’t stay away for
long. Hours, days, weeks—I’d give her all the time she
needs, but instead, it was barely twenty minutes before I heard the
door click, and her footsteps on the stairs again.

That’s
when I knew she felt everything too.

Mine
.

She
belongs to me in a way that nobody else has, and I’m not going
to risk that, not for the shadow of a world that’s behind me
now for good. This is supposed to be a beginning, and I’m not
about to go digging through the wreckage of the past. Still, I can’t
shake the feeling haunting me, those old damn ghosts. Bitter
mistakes, and even more painful memories. I built a life from scratch
here, but the shadows still linger, the scars I thought would take
forever to heal.

Right
on cue, my phone rings again. The number I would have blocked long
ago if she wouldn’t find some other way to call. I haven’t
said a word to her in weeks, but finally, today, I snap and pick up
the line.

“Don’t
call me,” I order harshly. “Do you understand? I don’t
want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. There’s
nothing in the whole goddamn world that can take back what you did,
so for fuck’s sake, stop trying!”

There’s
a pause, then a shaking breath. “Will, please—”

“No.”

I
hang up and have to drop my phone to keep from hurling it clear
across the room.

I
thought I could switch off. Just walk away and be done, but here I
am, getting wound up in fury all over again.

Fuck.

If
Delilah were here, it would be different. She makes me forget it all.
One touch, one kiss, and it’s like I’m a new man. The
right kind of man, one who would never have fallen for all the
bullshit fake lies I left behind in New York.

The
man I want to be.

I’ve
tried to move on, but how long can I keep the past buried? How long
will this new beginning last until the girl on the end of those
voicemails either gives up her fight—or it all comes undone?

Delilah

The
afternoon flies by, even with me checking my watch every five
minutes, counting down to seeing Will again. I feel like I’m
floating three feet off the ground, wrapped up in a delicious
afterglow that radiates through my entire body.

“Not
you too!” Lottie wails, greeting me on my front step. I only
dropped home to grab some clothes—and my toothbrush—before
heading back to Will’s, but now she’s gazing at me
forlornly over the stroller like I just killed a puppy or something.

“Me
too what?” I ask, beckoning her inside. She hitches Kit in her
arms and follows as I dash to stuff a change of underwear into my
weekender bag.

“You’re
in love. It’s written all over your face.”

I
can’t deny it, but I can’t say the words out loud just
yet either. “I’m in lust,” I say instead, grinning.
“I spent the night with Will.”

“And?”
Lottie pulls up a stool at my counter, eyes wide.

“And,
wow
,”
I tell her, pausing my whirlwind of activity. I feel it again, that
delicious shiver in my bloodstream, the hot pulse just remembering
everything that happened. “Seriously, I have no words. He
was . . . magnificent.”

“I
hate you,” Lottie groans. “No, I love you, and I’m
happy for you, I just hate you, too. You want to know how I spent
last night? Fighting this guy to go down to sleep, then up every two
hours because he’s teething and needs me there to sing to him
before he’ll stop screaming.”

“I’m
sorry.” I lean in and kiss them both on the cheek in turn.
“Hang in there, your prince will come!”

“I’d
settle for a frog right about now,” Lottie remarks, then smiles
again. “But this is awesome, I can’t believe it. Does
this mean you’re actually going to make a go of it with him?
Think before you answer,” she demands, “because I’ll
slap you if you walk away from
wow
like it doesn’t mean anything, when some of us are stuck with
ow
or just plain
ugh
.”

“I’m
not walking away,” I reassure her. “I had a minor
freak-out this morning, but we’re past that. It’s all
good.”

Lottie
lets out a sigh of relief. “Phew. I was worried there for a
minute. I’ve got a mean left hook.”

I
laugh. “No catfight today.” I look over at Kit. “Wait,
did we have plans to hang out? I’m sorry, I forgot!”

“No
plans,” Lottie says. “I just saw your car. And I talked
to Eva this morning: she’s coming to visit!”

“She
is?” I brighten. “That’s awesome!”

“Just
a few days, but she’s been missing us. And it’s perfect
timing, because now she gets to meet Will.” Lottie smiles
meaningfully.