Delilah’s tone was suddenly razor-sharp, cutting through all that previous happy and making Claire freeze. She looked at the other woman, at the cool expression on her face.
Too cool.
Delilah’s mouth was tight and her fingertips were white on her full wineglass. She seemed to realize quickly that she was all locked up, because she suddenly stood, tossing the ghost card onto the sofa before grabbing the wine bottle and heading into the kitchen.
“Your stress is understandable, is all I’m saying,” she said as she went.
Claire got up too, stacked the oracle cards on the coffee table, and followed her. “Delilah.”
Delilah set the bottle and glass on the counter, then waved a hand like she hadn’t just spit Josh’s name out like she was talking about the bubonic plague.
She was . . . jealous.
Holy shit, Delilah Green was jealous of Josh.
Claire’s pulse picked up, her breath short and fast in her lungs. She needed to figure out what to do here, and quickly. On the one hand, she was positive Delilah wanted her to act like it had never happened, but on the other, Delilah’s jealousy made Claire want her even more, made everything in her hum and pop.
She set her own wine aside and then rounded the island so she was perpendicular with Delilah. Not quite next to her, but closer. Baby steps.
“Are . . . are we going to talk about the other night?” she asked. The perfect segue, and dear god, she actually really needed to talk about the other night.
Or replicate it immediately. Either one.
Delilah sighed, tucked her hair behind her ears. Her locks were so thick, the strands popped right back out. Claire had a desperate urge to reach over and push her hair out of her face herself.
“We probably shouldn’t,” Delilah said.
“Why not?”
“Because I drew the praying mantis card and that could mean terrible things for you.”
“Well, I drew every single sex card in the deck, apparently,” Claire said, laughing to try to bring back the lightness between them.
Delilah didn’t laugh though. “We shouldn’t talk about it because . . .” But then she didn’t finish her sentence. She just looked at Claire, gaze searching, flicking down to her mouth, lingering there before moving back to Claire’s eyes.
“Because?” Claire said.
“Because Josh,” Delilah said.
“He’s my co-parent,” Claire said. “He’s not . . . We’re not like that.”
“But you have been? I mean, since you’ve broken up?”
Claire blinked but wanted to be honest. “Yeah. But not for a while. Over two years ago.”
“But it’s still complicated.”
“Why do you care?”
The question slipped out, spoken sharply and softly at the same time. Delilah watched her for a second and then slid around the island’s corner, closer and closer. Claire’s body shifted with her until they were standing right in front of each other, her lower back pressed against the quartz.
Delilah stepped into her space, arms on either side of Claire’s hips, braced against the counter and hemming her in. Instinctively, Claire’s hands went to Delilah’s waist, fingers curling through the cotton of her shirt. She tugged a little, pulling Delilah that much closer. Their hips aligned, breasts, not an inch of space between their bodies.
Delilah leaned in, her bottom lip barely whispering against Claire’s.
“I don’t care,” she said.
And that was all it took for Claire to slide a hand into Delilah’s hair and close the last bit of distance between them.
* * *
THIS KISS WASN’T like the one at the vineyard. That kiss had started slow and tentative, a crawl toward a walking pace.
This kiss was a starter pistol, a leap off the block into a sprint. Tongues and teeth, gasps into open mouths. Claire had never felt so desperate to get close to someone. She wanted to climb this woman, rip her clothes off, and lick a stripe from her navel to that pretty dip in her collarbone. She buried both hands in Delilah’s curls, tilting her head to get a new angle, tongue sweeping and tasting, wine and spring rain, a whisper of mint. Delilah’s hands roamed, sliding up Claire’s arms to her face, then back down again to her hips. Her fingers curled under Claire’s shirt, skin against skin. Goose bumps erupted, and a moan slipped out of Claire’s mouth into Delilah’s.
“Get up here,” Delilah said, pulling Claire up toward the countertop. Claire jumped while Delilah lifted, and immediately parted her knees as soon as her ass hit quartz. Delilah slid her hands up Claire’s jean-clad thighs, thumbs dipping into the creases where her hip joined her legs as their mouths met again. Delilah’s hands moved up to Claire’s waist and under her shirt, skating across her ribs and then over her bra.
Claire leaned back just enough to start unbuttoning her blouse, but Delilah stopped her.
“Let me,” she said.
Claire smiled and rested her palms against the cool counter. Delilah kept her eyes on Claire’s as her fingers popped one button and then the next, revealing the black lace bra underneath. Claire felt a rush of gratitude that most of her bras were pretty, bordering on sexy. Her underwear was a different story, but she’d worry about that later. Because right now, Delilah was spreading her shirt wide open and, as Claire sat a little bit above her now, the other woman was in the perfect position to press her mouth to Claire’s sternum, which she did, flicking out her tongue for a little taste. At the same time, her hands came up, cupping Claire’s breasts and sweeping her thumbs over her already hardened nipples.
Claire moaned and tipped her head back. She clamped her mouth shut, trying to rein it in, but she’d always been noisy in bed, and she had a feeling Delilah was going to pull out every scream that had been locked in her chest since her last non-self-induced orgasm.
“God, your tits are perfect,” Delilah said, pulling down a bra cup and sucking a nipple into her hot mouth.
“Oh god,” Claire said, tightening her legs around Delilah’s hips. She tried to focus. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“You . . . you don’t think they’re too . . . ?”
Delilah paused, releasing Claire’s nipple, much to her chagrin, and looking up at her. “Too what?”
Claire swallowed, her lungs pumping like a marathon runner. “Just . . . you know, they’ve always been big, and I’ve had a kid, so they’re not what they used to be and—”
Delilah rolled her nipple between her thumb and forefinger, causing Claire to suck in a ragged breath. Then Delilah slid the straps down her arms, unhooked the back, and threw the bra deftly over her shoulder.