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Or would it? He’d been with women who liked being fucked gently in bed, missionary style, neat and tidy and finished in less than fifteen minutes. He’d also met women who hated that sort of thing.
What did Delilah prefer? She was pretty feisty. Always putting up a fight. Chasing after him and always brave enough to tell him how she felt.
Most of the time, she was braver than him.
Maybe she liked it hard and fast and dirty—like he did. Sometimes he said the worst things, things that had turned off more than one woman from his past. Would his ways and words turn off Delilah?
But he wasn’t willing to test it to find out. They shared too many years, too many memories. Her friendship was too valuable, and he wasn’t about to risk her finding out he was a dirty motherfucker.
Practically having to wrench his lips from hers, he let go of her and took a step back, Delilah’s hands falling away from him with the motion. Her skirt fell back into place; her chest heaved with her labored breaths. His breathing was just as labored, his lungs aching, his entire body aching over the loss of her nearness. She gaped at him as he kept moving, putting distance between them until he deemed it safe.
For her or him, he wasn’t sure.
“That . . . ” His voice drifted and he swallowed hard. “Shouldn’t have happened.”
Her eyes looked ready to pop out of her head. “Why would you say that?”
“Because.” He sounded like an idiot. Because. What sort of reason was that? “You and me—we wouldn’t work.”
Delilah threw her hands up into the air, growling. Literally growling with frustration as she stormed toward him, her eyes blazing with anger, her mouth formed into a determined line. He took another step back, his butt hitting the wall behind him, and she reached out, her hands slapping his chest with enough force to make him wince. “You’re an idiot.”
He knew this. Wasn’t going to bother arguing with her.
“Why do you keep denying what’s happening between us?” When he said nothing, she shoved him again and he let her. She needed to get out her frustration and anger, so why not let himself be her punching bag? It was all directed at him anyway because he was the source of those emotions. “Why did you have to go and ruin such a . . . beautiful moment between us?”
Lane snickered at her choice of words. He couldn’t help it. And when he saw a murderous glow in Delilah’s dark brown eyes, he figured he’d really stepped in it. Yet the words tumbled from his lips anyway. “A beautiful moment, Dee?”
She crossed her arms, glaring at him. “I should hit you.”
“Beautiful? Really? Is that what you prefer? Sweet, precious kisses where you get swept off your feet by the white knight who’s come to save you?” He practically sneered with disgust.
Oh, he was being mean now, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe this would push her away once and for all. End this torturous attraction between them for good. He needed to do something to cut her off and redirect her toward someone else. A man who was a better fit for her—she deserved that, at least.
Delilah just blinked at him, surprise etched on her features. They stared at each other for what felt like an hour. “I’m not looking for a white knight,” she finally said.
“Is that so? So what the hell was that kiss we just shared?”
“It was a . . . a moment of learning each other.” She was stuttering, her gaze sliding away from his, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I thought it was nice,” she added weakly.
“Nice. Is that how you like it? Nice and sweet with a little bit of tongue and a grope here and there? Nothing too forward? Nothing too rough?” He pushed away from the wall, invading her space, but she didn’t move. Merely stood her ground and tilted her head back, her gaze never leaving his as he stared down at her.
She was so beautiful, so willing to stand up to him even when he was being a complete jackass. And he was acting like a world-class jackass at this particular moment, trying to shock her, disgust her, drive her away.
“I’m afraid you’ll take off running if I push you any further. That is your usual mode of operation,” she retorted, eyes flashing. “Don’t want to scare the big, bad Lane Gallagher. You’re quite the runner, you know.”
Hell if his dick didn’t get hard at her feisty words. He was trying to drive her away, and she was looking to get a rise out of him. What a combo they made. “There’s a reason I push you away, Delilah. It’s for your own good.”
“Please.” She practically spit the word out, her lips pursed. “You always give me that line, and you know what? I think it’s total crap. I think you’re just—scared.”
“Scared?” He raised a brow. “Of you? Are you kidding?”
“Why else would you shove me away at every opportunity? And trust me, I give you plenty of golden opportunities, Lane. I don’t know how to make it more obvious, beyond stripping naked right now and begging you to fuck me.”
He started to sweat at her words and the image they fueled in his brain. Lane would give anything to see her shed that dress, step out of her panties, and get on her knees, begging him to fuck her in that sweet, sexy voice of hers. Damn it, that was like his dream come true.
Trying his best to remain indifferent, he watched her, concentrating on turning his face to stone. “I don’t think you have the guts.”
“Ha! Challenge accepted. Watch this.” Shooting him a triumphant smile, she grabbed her skirt and started to pull it up, flashing him her pale blue cotton panties—of course, innocence personified—offering him a glimpse of her flat, toned stomach, her ribs, and holy hell she wasn’t wearing a bra . . .
