Truly Madly Yours (30 page)

She tried to draw a deep breath and couldn’t. “You’re kind of heavy.”

He rolled to his back, taking her with him, which was exactly where she wanted to be. Her legs rested beside his, and she grabbed his collar in both her fists. “Say uncle and I won’t have to hurt you.”

He looked up at her as if she were crazy. “To a girl? Not in this life.”

The dogs jumped over them as if they were hurdles, and she picked up a handful of snow and dropped it on his face. “Come and look at this, Duke. It’s Frosty the Basque Snowman.”

With his bare hand, he brushed the white flakes from his tan skin and licked them from his lips. “I’m going to have a real good time making you pay for this.”

She lowered her face and slipped the tip of her tongue across his bottom lip. “Let me do that for you.” She felt his response in the catch in his breath and the tight grasp on her arms. She kissed his hot mouth and sucked his tongue. When she was finished, she sat up across his hips, her wool coat fanned out around them. Through her jeans she felt his full arousal pushing into her, long and hard and blatant. “Is that an icicle in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”

“Icicle?” He slid his hands beneath her coat and up her thighs. “Icicles are cold. You’re sitting on twelve hot inches.”

She lifted her eyes to the night sky. “Twelve inches.” He was big, but he wasn’t that big.

“It’s a known fact.”

Delaney laughed and rolled off him. He might be right about that hot part, though. He certainly knew how to set her on fire.

“My ass is frozen.” He sat up and Duke and Dolores jumped on him. “Hey, now,” he said as he pushed them away and helped Delaney to her feet. She brushed the snow off his parka; he brushed it out of her hair. On the porch they stomped their feet, then went inside. Delaney took his coat and hung it on the rack by the front door. As he looked around, she took the opportunity to study him. He wore a flannel shirt, of course. Solid red flannel tucked inside his faded Levi’s.

“Have you ever been in here before?”

“Once.” He returned his gaze to hers. “The day Henry’s will was read.”

“Oh, yeah.” She glanced about, trying to see the foyer through new eyes, as if she’d never stood there before. It was a typical Victorian. White paint and wallpaper, dark wood and wainscoting, thick handwoven rugs from Persia, antique grandfather clock. Everything was rich and somewhat oppressive, and they were both aware that if Henry had been interested in being a father, Nick would have grown up in the huge house. She wondered if he considered himself lucky.

They took off their wet, frozen boots by the door, and she suggested he build a fire in the parlor while she moved to the kitchen and made Irish coffee. When she returned ten minutes later, she found him standing before the traditional hearth, staring at the portrait of Henry’s mother hanging above the mantel. There was only a slight resemblance between Alva Morgan Shaw and her only grandson. Nick looked out of place among his ancestral trappings. His own home suited him much better, exposed beams and river rock and soft flannel sheets.

“What do you think?” she asked as she set a glass tray on the sideboard.

“About what?”

She pointed to the picture of Henry’s mother, who’d relocated to the capital city long before Delaney’s arrival in Truly. Henry had taken Gwen and Delaney to visit the old woman several times a year until she’d died in 1980, and as far as Delaney could remember, the portrait was quite flattering. Alva had been a tall skinny woman with bony features like a stork, and Delaney recalled her smelling of stale tobacco and Aqua-Net. “Your grandmother.”

Nick cocked his head to one side. “I think I’m glad I favor my mother’s side, and you’re lucky you were adopted.”

“Don’t hold back.” Delaney laughed. “Tell me what you really think.”

Nick turned to look at her and wondered what she would do if he told her. He ran his gaze over her blond hair and big brown eyes, the arch of her brow and her pink lips. He’d been thinking about a lot of things lately, things that would never happen, things it was best not to think about. Things like waking up with Delaney every morning for the rest of his life and watching her hair turn gray. “I’m thinking the old man is pretty happy with himself just about now.”

She handed him a mug, then raised her own and blew into it. “How do you figure that?”

He took a mouthful of the coffee and felt the whiskey burn clear to his stomach. He liked the feeling. It reminded him of her.

“Henry didn’t want us to be together.”

He wondered if he should tell her the truth, and decided why the hell not. “You’re wrong. He
wanted
us to end up together. That’s why you’re stuck here in Truly. Not to keep your mother company.” The creases in her forehead told him she didn’t believe him for a minute. “Trust me on this.”

“Okay, why?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“All right. A few months before he died, he offered me everything. He said he’d have to leave a little something to Gwen, but he’d leave everything else to me if I gave him a grandchild. He would have cut you out completely.” He paused before he added, “I told him to go to hell.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I guess he figured a bastard son was better than no son, and if I don’t have children, then all that superior Shaw blood dies with me.”

She frowned and shook her head. “Okay, but that doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Sure it does.” He reached for her free hand and pulled her closer. “It’s crazy, but he thought, because of what happened out at Angel Beach, I was in love with you.” He rubbed the back of her knuckles with his thumb.

Her gaze searched his face then she looked away. “You’re right. It’s crazy.”

He dropped her hand. “If you don’t believe me, ask Max. He knows all about it. He drafted the will.”

“It still doesn’t make a lot of sense. It’s so risky, and Henry was too controlling to leave this to chance. I mean, what if I’d married before he died? He could have lived for years, and in the meantime, I could have become a nun or something.”

“Henry killed himself.”

“No way.” She shook her head again. “He loved himself too much to do something like that. He loved being a big fish in a small pond.”

“He was dying of prostate cancer and only had a few months to live anyway.”

Her mouth fell open a little, and she blinked several times. “No one told me.” Her brows scrunched together, and she rubbed the side of her neck. “Does my mother know any of this?”

“She knows about his cancer and the suicide.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”

“This sounds so bizarre and controlling that the more I think about it, the more it sound just like something Henry would do.”

“The ends always justified the means with him, and everything had a price.” He turned back to the fire and took a drink. “The will was his way of controlling everyone even after he was gone.”

“You mean he used me to control you.”

“Yes.”

“And you hate him for it.”

“Yes. He was a son of a bitch.”

“Then I don’t understand.” She came to stand beside him and he could hear the confusion in her voice. “Why are you here tonight? Why haven’t you avoided me?”

“I tried.” He set his mug on the mantel and stared into the flames. “But it’s not that easy. Henry was right about one thing, he knew I wanted you. He knew I would want you despite the risk.”

Several long moments of silence stretched between them, then she asked, “Why are you here now—tonight? We’ve been together.”

“It’s not over. Not yet.”

“Why risk it again?”

Why was she pushing him? If she wanted the answer, he’d give it to her, but he doubted she’d like it much. “Because I’ve thought about you naked and willing since you were about thirteen or fourteen.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Since the time Louie and I were out at the public beach with a few friends, and you were there, too, with some other girls. I don’t remember them, just you. You had on a shiny swimming suit the color of green apples. It was one piece and by no stretch of the imagination skimpy, but it had a zipper up the front that drove me crazy. I remember watching you talking with your friends and listening to music, and I couldn’t take my eyes off that zipper. That was the first time I noticed your breasts. They were small and pointed and all I could think about was pulling down that zipper so I could see them, so I could look at the changes in your body. I got so hard, I hurt, and I had to lie on my stomach so no one would see I had a Ponderosa-sized woody.

“That night when I went home, I fantasized about crawling in your bedroom window. I fantasized that I watched you sleep with your blond hair all fanned out across your pillow. Then I imagined you waking up and telling me you’d been waiting for me, holding out your arms and welcoming me into your bed. I pictured myself slipping between the sheets, pushing up your shirt, and pulling down your panties. You let me touch your little breasts all I wanted. You let me touch you between your legs, too. I fantasized about that for hours.

“I was sixteen and knew more than I should have about sex. You were young and naive and didn’t know anything. You were the princess of Truly, and I was the mayor’s illegitimate son. I wasn’t good enough to kiss your feet, but that didn’t stop me from wanting you so much my guts ached. I could have called one of a number of girls I knew, but I didn’t. I wanted to fantasize about you.” He took another deep breath. “You probably think I’m a pervert.”

“Yes,” she softly laughed. “A Ponderosa-sized pervert.”

He looked across his shoulder at the amusement in her big brown eyes. “You aren’t mad?”

She shook her head.

“You don’t think I’m sick as hell?” He’d often wondered about that himself.

“Actually, I’m flattered. I guess every woman likes to imagine that at some time in her life there’s been at least one man out there fantasizing about her.”

She didn’t know the half of it. “Yeah, well, I thought about you from time to time.”

She turned to him and reached for the button on the front of his shirt. “I’ve thought about you, too.”

Beneath his lids, he watched her white hands against red flannel, her thin fingers moving toward his waist. “When?”

“Since I’ve been back.” She pulled the ends of his shirt from his jeans. “Last week I thought about this.” She leaned forward and brushed her tongue across his flat nipple. It hardened like leather, and he plowed his fingers through the sides of her hair.

“What else?”

“This.” She unbuttoned his fly and shoved one hand beneath his briefs. When she wrapped her soft palm around his hard shaft and squeezed, he felt it in his gut. She stroked him from base to head, up and down, and he stood there and took it all in. The texture of her soft hair through his fingers, the feel of her wet mouth on his chest and throat. He could smell some sort of light powdery perfume on her skin, and when she kissed him, she tasted of whiskey and coffee and lust. He loved having her tongue in his mouth and her hand down his pants. He loved looking into her face as she touched him.

He took off her sweater and unhooked her beige bra and thought of the hundreds of fantasies he’d had about this one woman. Combined, none of them could hold a candle to the real thing. He cupped her round white breasts in his hands, and caressed her perfect pink nipples.

“I told you I wanted to lick you all over,” she whispered as she shoved his pants and briefs down his thighs. “I’ve been thinking about that, too.” She knelt before him in her jeans and socks and took him into her hot wet mouth. His breath left his lungs and he spread his feet shoulder width apart for balance. She kissed the head of his penis and gently caressed his testicles. He shuddered and held Delaney’s fine hair away from her face as he looked down at her long eyelashes and soft cheeks.

Nick usually preferred oral sex to anything else. He didn’t always wear a condom during, leaving the choice up to the woman. But he didn’t want to get off in Delaney’s mouth. He wanted to look in her eyes as he buried himself deep inside her. He wanted to know she felt him there. He wanted to feel her grip him deep within her body and feel her wild pulsations. He wanted to forget about using protection and leave something of himself deep inside her long after he was gone. He’d never felt that way with any other woman. He wanted more. He wanted those things he never dared think were possible. He wanted to make her his for more than just a night. For the first time in his life, he wanted more from a woman than she wanted from him.