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Shaking his head, he came even closer, forcing her to step back, her butt hitting the wall. “What are you doing, Delilah?”
“I could ask you the same question.” She took
a deep breath and noted the way his gaze dropped to her chest for a fleeting moment, lingering there. She knew her breasts weren’t her best asset, but she thrust them out toward Lane anyway. “For a man who constantly claims he has no interest in me, you’re acting awfully possessive.”
SHE WAS RIGHT. Lane was behaving like a jealous, possessive asshole and he had no business acting that way. He had no claim on Delilah. It shouldn’t bother him to see her talking to another man.
But it had. The sight of her laughing with that Josh asshole, resting her hand on his chest for even those few seconds, had eaten Lane up inside. His gut still burned at the memory. He’d come close to socking the guy in the face for just looking at her, which was stupid.
Incredibly stupid.
Instead of getting into a brawl, he’d gone outside and stewed for a solid ten minutes, brooding like the lovesick fool he shouldn’t be. And once that guy—Josh—came out to join them, Lane hadn’t said a word to him beyond a curt hello. Instead, he’d kept his gaze glued on Delilah as she walked over to Wren and Harper and said good-bye. He hadn’t been able to pry his eyes off her long, tanned legs. The way she moved was so graceful, her posture perfect, her perky ass making his mouth water . . .
Lane closed his eyes briefly, trying his damnedest to ward off the vision, but it was so hard. No, he was hard. Hard for Delilah.
Jesus. He was so screwed up over her. He’d downed a couple of beers in quick succession even though alcohol always made his feelings for her worse. So much worse. He needed water. He needed to sober up. He needed to walk away right now before he did something he might regret—
Delilah gasped when he touched her, his fingertips seeming to burn when they made contact with her cheek. For a moment he forgot himself. Let his fingers drift across her petal-soft skin. Skin he dreamed of touching. Kissing. Licking . . .
Her eyes fluttered shut when he brushed her plump lower lip with his thumb. He saw the subtle movement of her throat as she swallowed. She leaned toward him, leaned into him, seemingly poised on the edge of a cliff. Waiting.
Ready.
He felt the same exact way.
“Delilah,” he croaked, unsure why he said her name. But he did. He liked the way it sounded. Like a melody. It wasn’t a common name but it fit her because he’d never met someone like his Delilah before.
Keeping her eyes closed, she took a deep breath, like she needed to. Like she was in search of strength and couldn’t find it when she was with him. “What?”
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, then cleared his throat. His hand cupped her cheek, pulling her in as he stepped forward, and their heads, their mouths aligned as if it were the most natural thing in the word.
So why was he so damn determined to fight nature every step of the way?
Her tongue darted out to lick her upper lip and he clamped his mouth shut, stifling the groan that wanted to escape.
“No one’s stopping you,” she murmured, cracking her eyes open. Eyes that were so dark and so hungry, she seemed to gobble him up with just a look.
Right. No one was stopping them. What was wrong with a little kiss? He just wanted a taste. One taste of sweet, sexy Delilah, something he’d never experienced before. The girl who haunted his dreams. The girl who was too good for him. The girl who’d been with one Gallagher man and didn’t need another to come into her life and fuck it up, as Gallagher men were known to do.
But he wasn’t listening to the rational side of his brain right now.
He cradled her face with both hands now, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. He tilted her head back, her lush mouth within perfect reach, and leaned in. Lane could feel her warm breath waft across his face, could see the way her lower lip trembled in anticipation just before they parted. The scent of her hair and skin, the warmth of her body, it all swarmed him. Made his head spin. Made his heart pound. Made him break out in a sweat.
“Oh!” a startled female voice screamed. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”
The rather familiar voice broke the spell that had fallen over him, and Lane dropped his hands from Delilah’s face, turning to see who’d interrupted them.
Great. It was his little sister, Wren, gaping at the both of them like she’d just seen a ghost.
He popped his mouth open, about to tell Wren to get the hell out of there, when he swore he heard Delilah growl. Actually growl, like a wild animal. He glanced down at her, shocked at the ferocious look on her face, noting her rosy cheeks, her damp lips. Lips he’d been seconds from kissing.
That growl had been sort of hot.
“Go away,” Delilah demanded, her eyes blazing as she glared at Wren.
“Delilah,” Lane chastised, surprised she’d speak so meanly to her friend.
“Hey, no harm, no foul.” Wren threw her hands up in front of her and backed away, the giant shit-eating grin on her face a dead giveaway that she knew exactly what she’d just broken up. “I’ll see you two kids later,” she said just before she scurried her little butt out of there.
