loner stuck in the role of town charmer. Sam suited my purposes because she played the part of devoted girlfriend and kept people from getting too close. That’s all.”
I really don’t want to examine the purely selfish reasons that I find myself relieved to know he’s not gay. But his confession depresses me. “Life isn’t a play,” I find myself saying. “You don’t act out roles in real life.”
“Just because you’re an open book doesn’t mean everyone is.” His brows lower as he leans closer to me. “Most of us pretend to be something we’re not. It’s only to a select few that we really show our true selves.”
“I’m not an open book.”
“More like newsprint.” He gives me a level look. “I can read you like a headline, Delilah.”
I huff out a breath. “Okay, I’m fairly open, but I do get it. Everyone has a public self and a private self. I’m only saying that it’s kind of sad, you and Sam sticking together for those reasons.”
“Why do you think I found you so annoying?” Macon quips. “Because you damn well knew we were fakers.”
I smile, showing teeth. “I thought you two were plastic. Not faking a relationship.”
“Brat,” he says, amused.
Thing is, I’m amused too. It’s easier now, hashing things out with Macon. Which is a surprise. People grow up; I know that. But usually you’re there for the growth, the steady change of character. Seeing is believing. I hadn’t been around Macon for a decade. I hadn’t seen the change from boy to man. And though he might look and act more mature, my instincts react as if no time has passed. My first impulse is to think the worst of him. Only slowly but surely, he’s making me reassess that.
Rolling my eyes, I unwrap my mango and take a bite. It’s richly sweet and perfectly ripe. Like Macon, I find myself scrambling to wipe away the juice that runs free.
He watches beneath lowered lids. “Missed a spot.” The blunt tip of his thumb brushes the lower edge of my lip, just at the corner—a place I never thought to be particularly sensitive. Yet that small touch sends thick chords of shuddering pleasure through my body.
That damn spot fairly hums now, a little tickle, and it’s all I can do not to lick it. Macon stares at my lips like he knows I still feel his touch. When did he get so close? The scent of his skin and the heat of his body carry on the breeze, moving over me like warm cotton.
I want to lean into that warmth, soak him up. Something catches my eye. North stands a few trees away. I’d forgotten he was here. He isn’t watching us—but scanning the perimeter—and is far enough not to overhear. But the sight is enough to snap me out of the haze I’d been pulled into.
I swallow down my bite of fruit. “Don’t flirt, Macon. It won’t make me more biddable.”
The intensity of his gaze plucks at my skin, but his expression remains neutral. I want to squirm. I’m vastly aware of how well he can read me and wonder what my expression gives away.
But then he simply smiles, all easy and relaxed. “Damn, you caught me out.”
I eye him warily because he relented a bit too easily. “Mm-hmm . . .”
He nods in agreement. “It was stupid, thinking you’d fall for that.” His voice lowers as he takes a small step forward. “You’re completely immune. Always were.”
My voice doesn’t appear to be working properly. “Right.”
Macon rests a hand on the tree trunk, his big body angling toward me. I press my back to the tree, all too aware that his inner arm almost touches my cheek. God, he has pretty eyes. I have issues.
A smile plays about his mouth as his gaze lowers to my mouth. His voice pours over me like hot syrup. “Doesn’t matter what I say, does it? I could tell you that watching you suck on that juicy bit of mango was one of the erotic highlights of my life. That I want to lick the pink, pouty curve of your lower lip to see if it’s sticky sweet.”
Gently, he touches the swell of my lip, and I feel it deep within my sex.
“Such a pouty fucking mouth,” he whispers. “Always frowning at me with that plump lower lip.”
I. Cannot. Breathe. I am flush with fever-bright heat.
And it is all Macon’s fault.
Macon, who watches as my breasts rise and fall with increasing agitation.