Page 141 of On the Power Play

Delia’s throat grew thick. “So. Relief.” She swallowed hard. “What about regret?”

Jack shook his head, pressing his cheek against her palm, and her lips flushed with heat. “No regret. Not anymore.”

She pressed up on her tiptoes and kissed Jack’s cheek, then ignored the produce still sitting on the kitchen table, laced her fingers with his, and pulled him down the hall to her bedroom.

They say it's a door only I can open, but I don't want to let out the heat. The words of her song poured through her, line after line, and she wondered how she’d write it differently then.

All of it.

All of it would be different.

She was still terrified of flying, but had jumped on a plane without hesitation when it mattered. She was still afraid of letting people see through her doors, but with Jack, no amount of trying had kept them closed anyway.

J'aime, donc je vole. I love, so I fly.

J'aime, donc j'ouvre. I love, so I open.

Jack’s hands were on her waist the second they crossed the threshold. His body close behind her. His breath on her te??mple, his lips against the shell of her ear.

Delia’s hand shot back for the waistband of his jeans.

His voice was gruff. “Careful, Dels. No fast movements.”

She sucked in a breath as he pressed the door closed behind them and oh so gently turned her around to face him.

She would write a new song. About feet that left the ground. About doors that opened.

When it was safe.

When it was earned.

Love.

Relief.

But no regret.

Not anymore.

Epilogue

Delia drew a deep breath, held it for seven seconds, then exhaled and strode into Christian’s office.

“Hey, there she is.” Christian stood and stepped in front of his desk to give her a side hug that quickly turned awkward when she led with her shoulder to protect him from torquing her still sore neck. He cleared his throat and walked back to his desk. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m ok, considering.”

He adjusted the sports coat hanging on the back of his chair and sat down. “I still can’t believe that happened. When Mary phoned, I thought you were cooked.”

Delia sat in one of the modern bucket seats arranged in front of the desk. “Well, thanks for pushing off the meeting.”

“Your mom’s doing better?”

Delia looked up, surprised. She didn’t think he’d listened to a word she’d said after telling him she couldn’t meet when he wanted to. “She is. That’s actually?—”

“I’ve got some new beats I want you to work with Finn on, and?—”

“Christian, before we get into all that, I have some paperwork I’d like you to look at.” Delia dropped a manila envelope on his desk.

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