Moving Delaney’s boots to the side, I took off my own, hung up my ski jacket and noticed the bathroom door just off the kitchen was closed. She must be inside.
“Delaney,” I called in. “I’m heading up to change my pants. Will be right back down.”
“OK,” she called back.
Putting on a dry pair of sweats and socks, I headed back downstairs.
No Delaney.
Figuring she must have gone up to change herself, I went to work. Started a fire. Poured wine. At lunch she’d confessed to being in a “red wine mood,” and though it wasn’t my go-to drink, I didn’t mind it either. The others had left the food and drinks when I assured them it wasn’t a problem for us to pack up. Pia had brought enough red wine for a week, so by the time Delaney came back downstairs—this time in matching peach sweats and a cropped sweatshirt, hair up in a messy bun—her wine was waiting on the kitchen counter.
“Is this some kind of dream?” she asked, approaching. “The snow.” She gestured outside where it was coming down hard now. “A fire. Wine.”
Before she could take a glass, I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward me.
“You forgot one thing,” I said. It was the first time our bodies were flush against each other. Reaching behind her neck to pull Delaney closer, I groaned with the sheer pleasure of having her so close.
“What’s that?” she asked, her arms wrapping around my waist.
“Me,” I said, just before claiming her mouth. Immediately opening for me, Delaney gave herself completely to the kiss.
Her breasts pressed against my chest as I pulled her closer. Her fingers gripped the back of my sweatshirt as I broke the kiss to taste more. Her neck, behind her ear, down to her collarbone and lower. I would have lifted her sweatshirt off and kept going if she hadn’t jumped.
I pulled away.
“What’s wrong?”
She pulled her phone from her pocket. “It scared the shit out of me. I have no idea why the ringer is on. Must have bumped it skiing or something.”
Delaney’s lips were fuller than usual, swollen from our kiss. Her cheeks flushed, she looked both adorable and hot as fuck.
As always.
I stepped back, already regretting the words I was about to say.
“As much as I would absolutely love to ravish you,” I said, reaching for her glass, “maybe we should have a drink. Enjoy the view while it’s still light out.”
I handed Delaney her wine and took my own.
“Why, Parker Scott,” she said in a not so good Southern accent, “are you getting shy on me?”
“Miss Delaney Thorton,” I answered with an accent of my own. She laughed. Mine was even worse than hers. “I don’t get shy,” I said. “If you’d like me to carry you upstairs right now and fuck you until sundown, just say the word.”
Delaney’s free hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my. The language on you. And here I thought you were a perfect gentleman,” she said, her accent mildly improving.
“Oh, I’m a gentleman alright. But not between the sheets, darlin’.”
Her lashes fluttered, Delaney a model of decorum.
Sort of.
“Whatever do you mean, Mr. Scott?”
“I’ll gladly show you,” I said. “After drinks. And dinner. And another round of the hot tub.”
Her bottom lip extended into a perfect pout. “That does seem like such a long time from now.”
Smiling, I raised my glass. “The anticipation of pleasure is often better than pleasure itself.”
