Page 142 of From Best Friend to Bride
Delilah had kissed me.
Not a little one. Not a passing peck on the cheek. A proper gentle, warm press of her lips against mine. The very thing I’d dreamt about numerous times since our wedding day, and what had I done?
I’d frozen, and I’d obviously made such a horrific expression that she’d felt the need to run out of here completely.
She didn’t even have her phone. It was on the bloody table in here.
I sighed heavily. I just hadn’t expected her to do it. Whatever tension there’d been between us before Nana had died hadn’t resurfaced as she’d grieved, and it’d never crossed my mind to bring it up.
I wasn’t even sure if she was ready to be okay again. It’d only been the last few days that she’d stopped faking her smiles and her genuine ones that made her eyes sparkle had started to come back.
The last thing I wanted was to push something and upset her again.
Her happiness was the reason I now had a fucking house cow, after all.
I let my arm fall to my lap and stared at the ceiling. I was an idiot. A certified bloody idiot. Had I gotten too comfortable with the current state of our relationship? We’d gotten a lot closer physically since everything that had happened.
So why had I frozen when she’d kissed me?
That was what I’d been dreaming of. Imagining her lips against mine was an almost daily ritual for me at this point.
But doing that… Kissing her… Touching her…
It was something I wasn’t sure I could ever come back from. If I gave in to my desires and devoured her the way I truly wanted to, I could never go back to just being her best friend.
Best friend.
Fuck.
Those words were a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because she was in my life, but a curse because I wanted to be so, so much more.
And yeah, I was her husband, but that wasn’t enough.
I wanted her to love me.
I wanted her to be so in love with me she couldn’t think straight.
I was selfish. I wanted every bit of her. I wanted to kiss and claim every inch of her body, to bury myself into every corner of her mind.
I wanted Delilah to feel even a sliver of what I felt for her.
Maybe she did. Maybe a little part of her did feel something for me. If not, why would she kiss me? I’d been teasing when I’d asked her if that was how she thanked her husband, and I’d expected her to do the usual.
Tell me to piss off.
To stop being greedy.
To accept her thanks with grace.
Instead, she gave me what I’d been dreaming of, and I reacted so badly that I’d scared her off.
Even worse: She’d run before I could do anything about it.
Not that it mattered. I knew chasing after her right now would get me smacked in the arm. She didn’t want me to follow her—she wanted me to sit here and think about what I’d done.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. We’d done this so many times. I’d mess up and she’d run, tell me to reflect on my actions, and she’d come back later like nothing had happened.
