needed to get in front of you.” I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like a mother hen, but the thought of him toppling down these stairs and becoming more battered—or, God forbid, breaking his damn neck—makes my blood run ice cold. Not that I think he’d appreciate the concern.
Storm clouds gather over his face. “And why is that?”
“So I can break your fall if you tumble.”
Wrong thing to say, apparently. His skin goes ruddy, his mouth working as if he’s lost his voice. But then it booms out. “Of all the stupid, stubborn, foolhardy—”
“Stop ranting. It’s bad for your blood pressure.” I’m in front of him now. All is well. At least if we can get safely to the sand.
His nostrils flare. “You honestly think you could catch me? Delilah, I’d squish you like a grape if I fell.”
“I’m hearty. I can hold you up.”
“You’re a grape,” he repeats. “A succulent little grape.”
“There you go again, comparing me to food.”
Dark brows snap together as an evil light enters his eyes. “Yep. And one day I’m going to eat you right up. Now move your butt. I want off these stairs.”
He dogs my steps the rest of the way down as if somehow it’s his responsibility to make sure I don’t fall. Typical male. I’m shaking my head when we finally reach the sand.
“There,” I say, hands on my hips. “You’re down safely. Now call when you need assistance back up, and I’ll come get you.”
“Call when I . . . ? Oh, for the love of fuck.” He runs a hand over his face as if trying to quell his temper.
That’s my cue to go. “Well, I’ll be seeing you.”
I take one step, and he’s on me. “Oh, no you don’t,” he says with a dark laugh. “You followed me down here; you’re damn well keeping me company now.”
“You’re too moody for company.”
“Your fault, Tot.”
I dodge, trying to get around him.
He lurches forward, his hand outstretched as if to grasp my elbow.
A few things go wrong. His cane, which he’s reliant on, sinks into the sand—because canes and sand do not mix—and his step bobbles as he tries to correct his stance. I sidestep in the wrong direction, and my foot meets with a slimy lump of seaweed, which causes me to yelp and hop the other way, colliding with Macon’s teetering form.
We go down like timber.
The sand is soft but not enough, and I let out a hard breath when I land. Macon’s heavy bulk falls on top of me, our hips colliding. He reacts quickly, though, catching most of his weight on his elbows. I’m surrounded by him, his arms bracketing me, his hips nicely cradled between my spread legs. I’m so aware of how warm and solid he feels and the way my body suddenly wakes up that I can’t breathe for a long moment.
“Shit, Delilah,” he says on a husky chuckle. “Are you okay?”
His eyes search mine, genuine concern in their dark depths. I smile despite the growing warmth between my legs and the increased pace of my heart. “Oh, God, you were right,” I say with an exaggerated wail. “I’m a grape. You squished me like a grape!”
He laughs, a slow, deep rumble of sound, and I try my best not to notice how that makes certain things push and prod in areas that are growing more sensitive. But I do. My thighs clench as my nipples tighten beneath my flimsy shirt and bikini top.
I don’t know what he sees in my eyes, but his laughter dies down, his lips parting on an indrawn breath. His gaze grows slumberous, sliding to my lips and holding there.
The air heats and swells between us. The blunt tip of Macon’s thumb touches the corner of my mouth, where a hair clings. He lifts it away before caressing the edge of my lip. Every nerve in my body fires with pleasure.
I see the knowledge of that in his eyes, the answering want. His head dips closer, our breath mingling, becoming one.
“Delilah . . .” He gives me every chance to say no. But I don’t. I can’t.
His lips brush mine, and then I’m the one surging forward, meeting his mouth. Or maybe we move together. All I know is that we’re kissing as if it’s sweetly painful, like we’ve waited so long it’s almost too much to bear. And it’s so good. So very good, the feel of his mouth flowing over mine, learning the shape