The Hot One(47)

“Prove to whom?”

I point at the gorgeous woman sitting across from me. Her blond hair is swept up in a high ponytail, and her cheeks are morning-fresh and rosy. “You.”

Her brown eyes seem to sparkle. “Your abstinence is impressive, but you do know you won’t offend me if you eat bacon?”

I nod. “I know you’re not offended, and I appreciate that.” Delaney’s eating choices have always been for her, not something she tries to impose on others. “But let’s call a pig a pig. Bacon isn’t that good for you. And, truth be told, maybe some of your vegetarianism is rubbing off on me.” I hold up both hands. “Not saying I’m going the full nothing-with-a-face route. I just mean I’ve cut back. I’ll survive without it.”

An eyebrow rises. “You sure?”

I pretend to choke, then to cough, then I slump in the chair as if the last breath is fading from me.

A few seconds later I sit up, and she asks me if I’m going to live.

“It’ll be rough.”

She pretends to toss her napkin at me. “You’ll learn to love fake bacon. With avocado and lettuce,” she says, then as if an idea has just taken root, her eyes light up. “Actually, I’ll make one for you someday. My veggie BLTs are six shades of awesome.”

“Six shades? Not five and not seven, but six?”

“Yes. Six shades just like six toes. And maybe you’ll get to experience all six shades of my world-renowned BLT.”

“You mean FLT. Fake-on.”

She laughs as she folds the napkin across her lap once more, “What do you most like to do outside of work?” Her eyes drift northward. “Besides . . . that.”

“Besides that, I’d have to say rock climbing,” I answer. “Also, rafting and kayaking. And going to watch the Dodgers kick the asses of any New York baseball team.”

“Some things never change,” she says with a smile.

“And some things never should.”

She holds up her water glass in a toast, and I clink mine with hers.

The next day, we go for another run in the park in the early dawn. At the end of our five miles, we bump into Oliver. He’s stretching at the edge of the reservoir.

“Nichols, how’s it hanging?” he says in his best imitation of an American accent.

I clap him on the shoulder. “A little to the left, thank you very much.” Delaney snickers, and I turn to my running partner and make intros. “Delaney, this is Oliver. He works at my firm and pretends to talk American sometimes. Oliver, this is the lovely Delaney. We went to college together.”

Oliver pushes his mess of dark hair off his forehead and smiles at Delaney. With a slight bow of the head, he reaches for her hand and kisses the top. “Charmed,” he says, this time in his proper accent.

“I see you’re from Italy,” she jokes.

Oliver laughs and points at me. “She’s a keeper.”

I take her hand. “That’s the goal.”

Oliver turns his attention back to Delaney. “I trust you demolished him on the running path?”

“I did my absolute best to make sure he ate my dust.”

I adopt an abject frown. “It was terrible to have to watch her backside the entire time.”

On Wednesday, we plan a mid-afternoon coffee date. I wait for her outside a café on Columbus, shades on, head bent, answering emails on my phone.

As I tap out a reply to a client, soft lips flutter across my cheek. Sweet and delicious, they light sparks down my spine. I stop writing, stuff the phone in my pocket, and cup her cheek in my hand.

Turning her face to me, I kiss her on the street, and we spend our whole coffee date like that. Sans coffee and with kissing.

We walk and talk and kiss, like we’re practicing all the kinds of kissing in the world.

There’s the street corner kiss, the nibble on the lips kiss, then the so soft it’s barely there lip-lock. Somehow, even that last one sets my bones on fire.

But none more than the one I give her on Seventy-Eighth Street, as I push her up against the stoop outside a brownstone. Grabbing her jaw, I hold her face as I bestow a harsh, hungry kiss on those lips I fucking love.

She moans so helplessly that I have no choice but to crowd her against the banister and kiss her more cruelly, using teeth, sucking lips, devouring her taste. Her body melts into mine, and her arms rope round my neck. Her every sound and sigh tells me she likes it like this.

But I stop soon because the clock is ticking and I have a conference call at four. “I need to get back to work soon. I only have ten more minutes.”

“Me, too. I need to return to work, too.” She drops her gaze to the sidewalk, then looks up. Gone is the dark desire. In its place is something I haven’t seen in a while. She looks like a deer. She looks scared.

She swallows. Shit. Fuck. No. She’s going to end things, and they’ve barely started. My brain goes into hyperdrive, cycling back through the last few days to figure out where I’ve gone wrong. Did I say something thoughtless? Do something careless?

She runs her finger over the collar of my shirt. “I made a mistake.”

My throat clogs now. “What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

I furrow my brow. “About what?”