Page 95 of The Stranger
I nod. “A little, but I’m still kind of freaking out.”
“Delilah,” he says, taking a seat on the couch and pulling me down onto his lap. “You were engaged to be married earlier this year. This is nothing new … you’ve been in love before.”
“What I felt for him in the four years we were together pales in comparison to what I feel for you,” I admit.
“It does?” he probes as a full smile graces his handsome face, andpoof, my ovaries explode.
Although he’s smiling, his eyes are almost pleading for what I’m saying to be true. My hand reaches up to cup his jaw. “Yes.”
“Delilah,” he whispers as he leans in to mesh his lips with mine. The kiss that follows is so devastatingly beautiful it has my toes curling in my boots.
I feel him hardening against the side of my leg and we are probably going to miss dinner if this goes any further. Thankfully, his restraint is stronger than mine. After abruptly pulling out of the kiss, I find myself plucked off his lap and back on my feet. He adjusts himself in his jeans as he stands.
“We’re going to be late … we’ll continue this when we get home.”
I look up at him and grin as he reaches for my hand. “I look forward to it.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second, you little minx.”
“Where are we heading?” I ask when we step into the elevator. “Or are we just winging it?”
“You know me better than that,” he replies. “I don’twinganything.”
“Right,” I say, grinning.
“There is nothing wrong with structure, Delilah.”
I lift one shoulder. “I’m still young and carefree, but a well-thought-out life is probably necessary at your age.”
I’m suddenly lifted off my feet and flung over his shoulder. I squeal—and the sound echoes in the confined space—then his hand comes down hard on my arse. “I’veabout reached my limit with your old man jokes, Miss St. James.”
“Put me down,” I shriek through my laughter as I flail around in his hold.
“Are you going to behave yourself if I do?” he asks as he exits the lift and crosses the underground car park in long strides.
“Yes.”
He comes to a sudden stop, sliding my body down his until I’m back on my feet. “Age is just a number,” he says.
“I know.”
“Are we going to have an issue with our age gap moving forward? Maybe we need to hash this out before we fall deeper.”
“I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?” I counter.
“You can’t answer a question with a question.”
“I’ve made peace with it,” I say truthfully. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that I’ve never seen before, so I grasp the hem of his sweater and add, “Nothing about what we are doing feels perverse or wrong. Everything about you … about this, feels right. Like I’m exactly where I should be.”
“I feel the same. I still remember how annoyed I was at my mother when she called me at 5 am, on my only day off, to chew me out about your status on Facebook. When I told you to leave that post up, I thought that would be the end of it. You’d get some form of revenge against your sister for stealing your fiancé, and I’d move on with my life. Yet here we are.”
“Do you ever wonder if it was fate? Like the universe was working its magic.”
He chuckles as he reaches up to run his knuckles down the side of my cheek. “I don’t know if I believe indivine intervention, but I know one thing … not a day passes that I’m not grateful to have you in my life.”
A knot forms in my throat as his hand moves from my face to my shoulders. I’m confused when he turns me around because my back is now facing his front. That feeling only lasts a split second because I soon notice the sleek, shiny black convertible BMW with an enormous red bow on the bonnet, sitting in the car space where my Mazda was parked.
I spin around and point my finger in his face. “I swear to God, if my car is now sitting in a scrap yard, crushed into a tiny cube, we are going to have issues.”
