will react to my letters, she has them now. She’ll read them and know all those secret thoughts I never expected to tell anyone. I’m glad she has them. They belong to her.
Doesn’t stop me from feeling agitated as hell. I can’t seem to settle. I pace my office, then my room. I don’t want to be in my room. I can see the bath from here, and I cannot look at that damn bath without thinking of her slim, capable hand on my cock . . .
“Shit.”
I push open the balcony doors and step out. The sun is hot and bright. I turn my face into a breeze and breathe deep. The air smells of salt and sea and sweetgrass. I let it calm me as much as I can, but nothing truly helps. I’ll only settle when I can face her again.
I’m sitting in the chair I once cuddled Delilah in, my knee bouncing, my gaze on the horizon, when I hear a noise and look up.
She stands a few feet away, her big eyes glassy. Is she upset? Happy? I’m too worked up to get a proper read on her.
I stay completely still as she walks my way, those rounded hips swaying. God, I love the way she walks. I love the way the sun gilds her skin golden brown. I love the way her butterscotch eyes always seem to see right through me. I love . . .
“Hey,” she says, stopping before me.
I scramble to my feet, then regret it because I’m looming. She doesn’t back away, though, but tilts her head back and stares at me as though she’s seeing me anew. Her slim hands cup the rough scruff of my cheeks, and she kisses me, gentle explorations of her mouth. I draw in a sharp breath before letting it out slowly as I stroke the delicate line of her jaw, the warm curve of her neck.
Delilah touches me as though I might soon fade away. She kisses the bridge of my nose, the skin at the edges of my eyes. I rest my forehead against her, my breathing growing deeper, faster. I brush my lips against her with every other kiss she places upon my skin because I need that contact, however brief.
“Delilah,” I whisper, my thumbs caressing paths over her temples. “All the things I’ve said—”
“Are in the past.” Her lips press to my cheek. “I wish I was there. I wish I had known.”
“You were there. You were always with me.” She has to understand this. I sit down and pull her onto my lap. “That’s what kills me, Tot. When I thought of you, it drove me on. I didn’t feel alone. You say I’m the voice in your head, telling you what you aren’t. I want to be the voice telling you all the things that you are. Talented and funny and fearless as hell.”
It’s then that I notice she’s wearing the necklace. I trace the chain, stopping at a glinting diamond. “That you are beautiful to me in the way of stars.”
“Macon . . .” Her fingers comb through my hair. “I shouldn’t admit this, but even when you were at your worst, when I’d be dreaming of tarring and feathering you and leaving your carcass out for the birds to pick over”—I laugh at that—“I admired your arrogance.”
“Did you?”
As if to steady me, she rests her palm on my chest, surely feeling the hard beat of my heart. “I used to channel that arrogance. If I ever became intimidated or felt less than, I used to think, ‘What would Macon Saint do?’”
My smile grows wide, and she returns it.
“So you see. It wasn’t all bad. You were there with me, too, giving me strength, forcing me to be better than I thought I could.” Her touch is warm and steady along my jaw. “I made a deal to stay here, expecting the worst, but I found the best man I’ve ever known.”
Her words punch into me. It’s sweet pain. A small voice in me wants to say I’m not good; I’m not remotely the best. But if she has to believe in how I see her, I have to do the same.
Her gaze searches my face in wonder. “I’d told myself I made that deal with you for my family, but when I walked into your office, I felt alive in a way I hadn’t for ten years. I know now that I made that deal for me