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DELILAH FOLLOWED PENTA into the mudroom near the back door. “You’re going to have sex. I know it.” She hugged her arms across her belly.
God, I hope so. All evening long, whenever Cash caught her eye, anticipation had rippled sparks through her blood and kept her cheeks rosier than the heat from the summer sun. She was ready for more.
Penta pulled on a light jacket. “You’re smart enough to know that sex doesn’t only happen when it’s dark. Why is tonight different than all the afternoons Cash and I spent together?”
Delilah’s scowl was an eerie imitation of Mark’s. “You never go anywhere this late. What if something happens and we need you?”
It was the one argument that might have convinced Penta to change her mind—if she didn’t know Delilah was a very capable, independent girl who thrived on responsibility.
“Sweetie.” Penta brushed her palm over her daughter’s short hair. “What’s really bothering you?”
“It’s bad enough Dad has a new wife, a new family.” Tears shimmered in her brown eyes. “I never thought you’d leave us.”
Penta sucked in a breath. Less than a month ago, this gut punch would have been an incentive to keep Cash at a distance, to focus on her family. But she was beginning to realize it wasn’t healthy for a mother to have no life of her own. It wasn’t good for her or her children.
“I’m not leaving you. I’m just”—she searched for the right words, fingers fluttering as she thought—“I’m just doing something for myself. I thought you were okay with me and Cash.”
“I guess I didn’t think it would, you know, mean you’d...” Her cheeks flushed.
“Have sex with him?” All the hairs on her body shivered to aroused attention. Others might look at Penta and see a prudish middle-aged mother. But she had enjoyed sex, at least during the first years of her marriage. Before it had become perfunctory and routine. Before Mark had stopped touching her all together. Before he’d accused her of being selfish and boring in bed.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Yeah.” Delilah bit her lip and stared at the floor.
“Just don’t think about it, then,” Penta instructed cheerfully, picking up her purse. “Remember, it’s none of your business.”
Back in the kitchen, Felix stood stiff and unyielding and she caught a whiff of conflict searing the atmosphere. Cash shook his head in a tiny movement. She cast a worried glance at her son, but took the hint.
“Okay then. I’ll be back by midnight, like I said.” She kissed Felix’s cheek.
He jerked a nod, staring at Cash as if a conversation was still going on between them.
And suddenly, there was no more delay. The evening might have dragged like molasses, but the drive to Cash’s shop flashed by in a blink. She followed his pickup into the alley and pulled into the slot beside him. With her heart tripping in her throat, she climbed out of her van and met him at the bottom of the stairs leading to his apartment on the second floor.
The security light above his head shadowed his face so she couldn’t see his features clearly. He held out his hand and she gripped it.
“We don’t have to do anything.” His voice was harsh and gravelly, but the tenderness and honesty was impossible to ignore. “We can just talk, have a drink.”
Holding tight—to both her courage and his hand—she led him up the stairs and paused on the landing so he could unlock the door. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want a drink. I want you. In bed.”
WITH PENTA GRIPPING his right hand, Cash had difficulty getting the key in the lock with his left. It didn’t help that both his hands were trembling and his head spun dizzily.
Hearing her state—defiantly and definitely—that she wanted to be with him was more intoxicating than the strongest whiskey. He didn’t drink hard liquor anymore, but hadn’t forgotten its powerful seductive pull.
It was nothing compared to Penta’s impact.
His apartment was lit only by the glow of the light outside the window that looked onto the street. Blue shadows gathered in the corners and veiled the walls. The click of the refrigerator motor echoed loudly.
“How long have you lived here?” Her eyes reflected a liquid sheen as her gaze swept the space—small galley kitchen to the left, living room straight ahead—
—door leading to the bedroom on the right.
“Almost nine years. When I got out, I needed to rebuild my business. I rented a garage, slept in the back, cooked with a microwave. Ate a lot of soup.” He smiled wryly at the memory. Transitioning out of the system had been tough. Not falling back into old habits had been even tougher. Somehow, he’d managed. “A couple years later, a mechanic I knew decided to retire, wanted someone to buy his place. I could afford the payment—barely—but still couldn’t afford both the shop and a place to live. So I moved in up here. It wasn’t an apartment, of course. I fixed it up slowly, whenever I had a little cash.”
“It’s nice.” At his dismissive snort, Penta shook their joined hands. “No, I mean it. Cozy, efficient, neat, and tidy. Just like your shop.”
His heart swelled at her compliment, which terrified him. Having Penta’s approval meant he could lose it.
She studied the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf he’d built. It took up the entire front wall, framing the wide window. “That’s a lot of books. I didn’t know you liked to read.”
