Page 297 of Under Her Skin
“Yes, you, Delaney,” he says with a smile I can hear in his voice, as I won’t look up at him. Then his hand is on my chin, lifting my face up. My eyes graze over his abs, which are ladder-like in structure. They go up and over his pecs that move as he breathes. Then they land on his very handsome face. His light-brown eyes are glittery as he looks atme.
“I suppose you think I’m nervous because I’ve taken some time to freshen myself up forthis.”
“For me,” he says, then his hand leaves my chin. One fingertip runs over my lips, outlining them. “You were taking some time getting ready for me. Isn’t that what youmeant?”
“Kind of, I guess. It’s been over a month. I wanted to be sure everything was neat and tidy,” I say, then find him moving that finger past my lips, into my mouth, and I suck it quiteinvoluntarily.
“I want you to know I think you’re very special. A one-of-a-kind woman. I want you to know this isn’t something cheap to me. You can trust me,Delaney.”
He pulls his finger out of my mouth and runs his hand over my shoulder, then all of a sudden, he has me in his arms, picking me up. “I canwalk.”
“I want to carry you. I want you to know I respect you. I want you to know you are safe with me. Do you understand that?” he asks me, then places me on his bed with the black comforter turned down so the white sheetsshow.
My head rests on a fluffy, black pillow, and I watch him look at my hair that’s splayed out over the pillow case. “Are you thinking about joining me on the bed,Blaine?”
He nods, but stays standing. “I love the way your hair looks against the black pillow. I love the way your body looks, lying in my bed. I think I could get used tothis.”
And now he's gone and made it allweird!
Chapter2
BLAINE
The contrast of the colors of her hair and the black color of my bed’s pillows and blanket make my heart beat a little harder. She is gorgeous and she is here in my home and in mybed.
I can’t believeit!
“Can you turn the lights off?” she asks me as she points at the lamp that’s on the bedsidetable.
“I think I’d like to look at you for a while, if that’sokay.”
“Blaine, you’re making this weird,” she says, then sighs. “Can’t we just get right back to the heavy making out we were doing on the ride here? I think things will progress on theirown.”
Lying on the bed beside her, I get on my side, rest my head in one hand, and run the other hand over her stomach as I look down at her. “No need to rush things. Tell me more about yourself, Delaney Richards. Tell me what your favorite coloris.”
Her green eyes roll as she says, “Green. So we’re going to get to know each other some more, huh? Then tell me what your favorite color is,Blaine.”
“It’s blue. I like that deep, cerulean blue. What kind of car do youdrive?”
“AHonda.”
“What kind of car would you like to drive?” I ask as I take my fingertips and barely touch the exposed part of her breast above her pinkbra.
“I’d like to drive a Mercedes. But that’s a few light years away for me. I suppose you have every vehicle you’ve ever even half-way wanted to drive.” Her hand moves up my arm and rests on mybicep.
“Yes,” I say and let my finger dip down into the valley between her plump breasts. “What is your absolute favorite meal? Like, if you were on death row and it was your last meal, what would youpick?”
“Easy—pizza,” she says. “From Dominick’s—the thin crust with Italian sausage, mushrooms, peppers, and a ton of mozzarella cheese. And you?” She gives my bicep a nice squeeze, indicating she likes the way it feels in herhand.
“Promise not to laugh?” I ask her as I stroke herhair.
“Promise, unless it’s really crazy,” shesays.
“At least you’re honest,” I say, then kiss her forehead. “My favorite food is chicken noodle soup with saltinecrackers.”
“I have a feeling there’s a reason behind that.” Her hand is soft as she moves it over my cheek and gazes into my eyes as if she can almost see the reason, but can’t quite make itout.
“That’s the only food I remember my mother making for me. I guess it was one of the last things she made before she left us to go to the hospital. I recall one of the first things I thought when pops told us mom wasn’t coming home again was that I’d never taste her soupagain.”
