“Not really,” I admit, turning to face her. “We were never close. I mean, there was this one time my dad and I hung out for a few weeks in Europe. He and the stepwitch weren’t talking. We got along so well, and it kind of raised my hopes, but then…” I shrug, wishing he and Wanda had never made up. I know it’s selfish, but I always believed she kept my father away from me on purpose. “Anyway, I came to the conclusion that most kids and parents rarely interacted. Parents did adult things and kids were sent off to stay out of their hair.”
Her brow pinches. “That’s really sad. My dad and I were so close.”
“Most kids I knew barely saw their parents, me included. You’re lucky, Bella.” I search her eyes, which are locked on me, and the breeze lifts a dark strand of her hair, blowing it across her face. Reaching out, I brush it back, tucking it behind her ear. And it hits me out of nowhere—she doesn’t look like her name should be Bella. I’m not sure why, but I say it out loud. “You don’t look like a Bella.”
Her lips part and her expression shifts. After a long moment, she murmurs, “Because I’m a Delaney.”
Well, I’ll be damned.“That fits,” I say in a hushed tone. Lifting my hand, I cup her face. “Delaney fits you perfectly.”
When she doesn’t pull away, I lean in and do what I’ve been thinking about all day. What I’ve been dying to do.
I kiss her senseless.
Chapter Nine: Delaney
Ryder kisses me under the bright moonlight, and I swear, it’s even better than last time. He tastes like mint and smells like citrus.
I move my hands around his broad shoulders and up, lightly scratching my nails along the back of his neck. His thick, wavy hair is still a little damp as I slide my fingers through it, and an image of him in the shower flits through my head— dripping wet and gloriously naked.
It’s a visual I’ll never forget, and my core throbs.
No. Dammit!
I jerk away so fast, I stumble over my own feet. When he tries to catch me, I step sideways, away from his grasp. “We can’t,” I rasp. Dammit, I can’t believe I kissed him again.This is becoming a serious problem. But the biggest issue of all? I like it way too much.
And he’s making me want more than kisses.Grrrr. So inconvenient.
“Delaney,” he whispers, and my heart tightens at the soft way he says my name. “That’s such a pretty name. Thank you for telling me. For trusting me with it.”
I huff out a sigh and spin away. Why does he have to be so nice? Why can’t he be a prick like most other men I encounter?
Squeezing my eyes shut, I grind my palms against my lids. I hate feeling off-kilter. Vulnerable. It’s a dangerous place for any woman to be, let alone a woman who immerses herself in risky situations with so many hazards and precarious outcomes.
Sucking in a deep breath, I square my shoulders and shove my emotions down. “I need you to keep your distance,” I tell him, my voice firm and brooking no argument.
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. “If that’s what you want,” he finally murmurs.
“It is.” Okay, it’s settled. No more kissing. A part of me is sorely disappointed, but that part of me is obviously stupid and should have no say in any decision I make regarding Ryder McKay. “Good night.”
Before he can respond, I march back to the cottage and return to my bed. Alone.
It’s for the best,I tell myself for the thousandth time.
But then why does it make me so sad?
The moment morning dawns, I’m up and making tea. Sleep eluded me, and when I finally drifted off, my dreams were sexy and hot. They mostly involved Ryder—naked—and kissing me. At one point, I was naked, too, and his name took on a whole new meaning. Ride-her. Because, yeah, that’s exactly what he did.
“Good morning.”
I glance over my shoulder to see the object of my fantasies amble over, looking adorably sleep-rumpled and cozy in a T-shirt and loose-fitting pajama bottoms. He slides a hand through his messy waves and sends me a crooked grin that makes my stomach somersault.
“Got any coffee for me?” His voice sounds low and rumbly, and I try to ignore the way its deep vibration seems to pulse through me, an arrow homing straight in on my very lonely muff. God almighty, the man gives me fanny flutters like I’ve never experienced before.
“No, but I have tea.” I add some milk and sugar until it’s the perfect shade.
“Tea?” He chuckles, reaching around me to turn on the coffee machine. His citrus amber scent engulfs me, and I bite down on my lip. “You’re adorably cute and oh-so-British, my little crumpet. But this American needs his strong, black coffee.”
“So uncivilized,” I tease, elbowing him in the side and moving away.
