Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(93)
Because, there she was. Delilah. The woman he loved. The woman he refused to let himself have. She looked…good. Better than good, great. As always. Temptation on two legs.
It took everything he had not to race to her. Not to take her in his arms and damn any future consequences. It took everything he had to simply clear his throat and say, “Hey, Delilah.”
“Don’t you hey, Delilah me, you idiot-minded jerk!” she yelled.
“Uh.” Ozzie glanced up from his laptop, allowing his gaze to flit from Delilah to Mac. “Should the…um…should the rest of us leave?”
“Sounds like it,” Mac said, never taking is eyes off her, his heart thundering so hard he wondered that his T-shirt wasn’t fluttering against his chest.
There was some scuffling as the three Knights pushed away from the table. Some whispered exchanges as they shuffled into Boss’s office and quietly shut the door. Mac waited a beat, then two before asking, “Something on your mind, darlin’?”
She stalked forward, the swing of her hips enough to have his hands curling into fists. Fido trailed her like the good dog he was, glancing up at her adoringly—Mac totally understood the sentiment. Reaching into her hip pocket, she came out with what appeared to be a photo and slammed it down on the table in front of him.
“Mommy issues!” she hissed, planting her hands on her hips. “I’m forced to give up the man I love because he has mommy issues?”
Mac’s hair threatened to leap off his head. His tongue swelled until it was nearly impossible to breath. Two things struck him about that last sentence. The first was that she knew about Jolene. The second was that…she loved him.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Zoelner needs a lesson in keepin’ his mouth shut,” Mac grumbled, his jaw sawing back and forth and making his adorable dimple twitch.
Delilah gaped at him. “Seriously? I just dropped the L-bomb, and you’re talking about Zoelner?”
“I—” He opened his mouth, but she waved him off with an impatient hand. Zoelner said she needed to be tough, to not take no for an answer if she had any hope of breaking through all Mac’s barriers. Well, Zoelner’s definition of tough and her definition of tough might be two different things. Because she had a whole lot more than talking and not taking no for an answer in mind…
Skirting the conference table, she grabbed Mac’s wrist—oh, how she’d missed the heat of him, the crinkly prickle of his hairs against her skin. Hauling him to his feet, she dragged him toward the stairs leading to the third floor. When he saw their destination, he began backpedaling like a kid on his way to the dentist. “Whoa, wha—”
She turned and placed his hand on her boob, trying not to smile when all the blood drained from his face a second before he adjusted his stance like his pants were suddenly too tight. Seemingly of its own accord, his thumb trailed over her nipple, bringing the peak to instantaneous life. She felt a tug in her womb but ignored it. She had to play this smart if she wanted to reach her goal.
“Delilah,” he gulped, shaking his head. She went up on her tiptoes, threading her arms around his neck and sealing their lips.
At first, he kept his mouth closed. But one swipe of her tongue and he growled, his arms coming around her waist, his lips parting. She moaned. She couldn’t help herself. He was so big, so warm, so…Mac.
It took everything she had to pull back, to break the wet, hot suction of their lips, but she managed it. Then she whispered in his ear, “Come upstairs with me. I want to make love to you.”
She heard him swallow. Heard his throat click dryly. “Delilah, I—”
“I’m not asking you for promises or pledges or vows right now,” she assured him. “I’m not asking you for anything more than what you’re willing to give me.” She pulled back so she could see his face, his electric blue eyes. “Are you willing to give me this?”
Her lungs waited to draw breath, her heart waited to pump blood, every cell inside her body waited for his answer. And when he shook his head, she nearly lost faith. “I can’t—”
“Forget I asked for permission,” she cut him off. Don’t take no for an answer, Zoelner said. Well, by God, she wasn’t. “Let me put it to you this way…you’re taking me upstairs and you’re going to make love to me.”
“But—”
“No buts,” she growled, stepping from his embrace, once again yanking him toward the stairs. He trailed her slowly, grudgingly. She could almost hear the thoughts and arguments spinning through his head over the clink-clink of Fido’s nails on the metal staircase. He followed them happily, panting and smiling and thinking it was all a great adventure. When they reached the landing, Delilah saw a long row of gray doors. “Which is yours?” she demanded.
“The second one, but—”
“What did I just say about no buts?”
“Delilah—”
She ignored whatever he was about to say, instead marching over to the second door and pushing it open. The room inside screamed Mac. A queen-sized bed in a big mahogany frame sat center-stage, the fall-colored linens atop it in disarray. Two comfy armchairs in burgundy leather were pushed against the far brick wall, flanking a small occasional table where a stack of files sat. An old-fashioned Tiffany floor lamp sat next to a massive armoire. It cast warm, dappled light around the small space. And above the bed was a framed black and white panoramic picture of a long, lonely fence line and a big, arching iron gate. At the top of the gate, a faded wooden sign read Lazy M.