Page 30 of Deacon

He chuckled at that. "You would have had a hard time at it. My sister has a black belt in karate." he kissed her forehead. "Speaking of that -I think Manchester has the hots for her."

"Deacon Manchester?" His wife stared at him with a frown.

"The very same. He came over while I was there with Del, and he saw we were holding hands, and he jumped to the conclusion that we were a couple and if looks could kill..."

"He was with an actress."

"Del can change a man's mind. I doubt she knows the attraction because she has not said anything to me."

"And she tells you everything."

"It goes both ways." His eyes searched her face.

"I know. It's just that I still find it a little unnerving."

"She is my sister in everything but blood, and I would die for her. You are my wife, and I love you to pieces. You both have your place in my life."

"I am an only child-"

"So, it is difficult for you to understand our bond." He concluded. "I know." Tipping her head up, he kissed her long and hard enough for a flush to stain her cheeks.

"Do you think Del is interested in him?"

"Perhaps not. But if Manchester decides he wants her, he will find a way to get what he wants." A frown touched his brow. "And he has a history - a damn bad one. His wife cheated on him and turned his life inside out. He is not the kind of man I would like to get involved with my sister."

"A sister who happens to be more than capable of caring for herself."

"I know that, but Manchester is in a league of his own."

*****

The man under discussion stood inside his home office with a drink in his hand and staring out at the thick darkness. He was contemplating his decision and wondering if he was making a mistake. He had asked her to come and see him tomorrow after everyone had left for the day because he had an ulterior motive.

Sylvia had been disappointed that he had not accepted her invitation to return to her place with her. But after that shocking punch of lust he had felt for Delores Pennant, he could hardly expect to feel anything for another woman, even one he had been to bed with before.

He had tried to stay away from her, telling himself that it was just lust and desire for a rather beautiful woman, but he had been unconsciously drawn to her, had found himself walking over, and had felt the stab of jealousy as she stood there with the man holding her hand.

He felt the tension loosening in his chest when the introduction was made. And the time spent talking to her he had cemented what he had felt.

He was fiercely attracted to her. He made it a firm rule never to sleep with the women who worked for him, but technically, she did not, and that was something he was trying to use to assuage his uncertainty.

He wanted to make love to her, and the need was vicious and was not going away. She was sophisticated enough, or he hoped she was, that it would not be a problem when he explained the rules.

There would be no sleepovers. It would be just sex between them until his desire runs its course.

He could afford to offer her gifts, and it would imply that the relationship would be kept secret. It would also not affect her position at the publishing house, and she should not expect special favors because they were involved. He was going to make that clear.

A frown touched his brow as he realized that this was the first time he felt this raw, edgy lust so quickly. But she was a beautiful woman who was not afraid or intimidated by him. He had to admire that. She had faced off with him and spoken her mind. He admired her courage.

Taking a sip of the scotch, he braced a shoulder against the window pane. He wanted her and had been tempted right then to ask her to return to his place with him. But he had just managed to restrain himself.

He was not going to lead up to it. He would simply put the offer to her and hear what she has to say. He was not into romance. His mouth twisted as he reflected on the last time he had done that. It had been with Janice when he thought she was as innocent and pure as the driven snow.

He had gone to the trouble of preparing for their first date by lighting candles and buying her flowers. There had been champagne chilling in the bucket and rose petals on the white tablecloth.

When she cried and moved into his arms, he thought it had been worth the trouble. He had been played for a fool, which would never happen again. Now, he would take a woman to bed, give her pleasure, and offer her expensive trinkets, nothing more.

But he could not stop thinking of Delores Pennant. Would she be that passionate when he was buried deep inside her?

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