Mel clears his throat. I suspect his patience with me is getting thin. “I’ve been holding the leash for a long time. I don’t require your input in identifying a submissive.”
“You meet her first, before you draw any conclusions. But regardless, it’s not important. I’m not training a sub, Mel. And I’m well aware of the perils.” Only half of which you know. “It’s all under control.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me, but if you say so. This woman got a name?”
“Delilah.”
“Delilah. I suggest you dust off your Bible, and become acquainted with a different man who got involved with a woman named Delilah. You might learn a thing or two from his mishap.”
“It’s more likely she’d take my balls than my hair.”
He snorts. “Sounds to me like she’s already done that.”
I go back toward the house to see if the grill’s hot enough. “Speaking of which. Send my love to Violet. Tell her there’s always a spare room at my place when she gets tired of your shit.”
I end the call, and slide my phone into my back pocket as Delilah steps onto the patio. She’s barefoot, golden hair fanning her slender shoulders, wearing a sundress that skims her thighs with straps so thin that a bra is out of the question. Damn Trippi. What the hell was he thinking, packing that little number? He either wanted to kill me or make my night special. Either way, I’d like to beat his ass.
It’s all under control. What a crock of shit.
“That shower is something else,” she says with a relaxed smile. “I felt like I was in a cave or a lagoon—showering in nature. I was half-expecting a squirrel or some other woodland creature to scurry across the stone.”
I smile now, too. “It’s a grotto shower. That’s how it’s supposed to make you feel. It’s got a lot of bells and whistles. I should have shown you how it works.”
“Was it here when you bought the house?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Gil and Jolie planned it. They’re the same people who designed the playrooms at Wildflower.”
“Explains the fantasy element,” she says, approaching the grill.
Delilah must have found the toiletries. There’s a faint smell of orange surrounding her, not a cloying scent, but something very grown-up.
“Need me to do something?” she asks, catching my eye.
You have no idea. If you did, you wouldn’t ask.
15
Delilah
While we ate, the sun set over the ocean, painting the sky in swirls of oranges and reds that melted into darkness. Unlike in the city, millions of stars keep the moon company here.
Gray and I talked over supper like we sometimes did at the club after closing, when everyone else had gone home. We brainstormed about the mission a bit, but mostly we chatted about movies and music and food. Topics that are easy on the heart.
We’ve about finished a second bottle of wine, and I’m in the languid mood of a lazy house cat after a good meal. Gray is relaxed too. I’ve seen his smile more than a few times tonight. The real smile that makes his eyes twinkle, not that phony thing he pastes on for the world.
“Your brothers must love this place. Gabby too.”
He scratches the back of his head. “My brothers came out after I first bought it, but they haven’t been back since. Gabby’s never been here.”
“Really?”
“No one—besides you—has been out here since the renovation.”
“Really?” I ask again, because I’m flabbergasted, and don’t know what else to say. Gray is close to his brothers. He might keep his association with the EAD a secret from them, but that’s a non-negotiable aspect of the job.
“It’s a gorgeous spot, but I keep it to myself. It’s selfish, I suppose.” He leans back in the chair and stretches out his legs. His ankle brushes mine. He doesn’t seem to notice, but I can’t stop thinking about it. “I come out when I need a break from my life. It’s uncomplicated here, and being by the ocean soothes me.”
But you brought me here. You welcomed me into your oasis. I sit quietly with the knowledge, even though it’s heavy. Although I have no idea what it means. If anything.
“I brought you here to regroup,” he explains, as though he needs to. Sometimes I think the man reads my mind. “We both needed the break. A fresh start with a new focus.” He pulls his legs back, and I immediately miss the warmth of his skin. “You up for dessert?”
I guess that’s the end of that discussion. Just as well. I’m not in the mood for anything too serious. “What do you have?”
“Peach cobbler. The kitchen at Wildflower brought it over before we got here. There’s cinnamon ice cream to go with it,” Gray adds, as though I might need convincing.
I feel a grin spread across my face. The kind that makes your cheeks ache. It’s my favorite summer dessert, and when it was on the menu, it was my go-to dinner at the club. Gray knows it, too. He gave me endless grief about it. “I wish I could, but I’m too stuffed to eat another bite. I’ll have some for breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” He raises his brow. “You might as well dip a spoon into the sugar bowl. What kind of breakfast is that?”
“A tasty one.” I get up to clear the plates, and before I can blink, he’s on his feet too, holding my wrists with a gentle, but firm grasp. There’s a gleam in his eyes, and I feel a tug of desire that’s not in line with a fresh start and a new focus. Isn’t that what he said earlier?
“I’ll take the dishes,” he says. “I need to grab a couple of things from inside. Where’s the hairband you had earlier?”
“On the nightstand in the bedroom. Why do—”
He interrupts before I finish. “While I’m gone, why don’t you use the bathroom?”
“Gray.” I say his name because I’m not sure what else to say—or even what he means. The wine and the emotion have hit at once and I’m a little lost.
He places a fingertip on my lips to shush me. “It’s not what you think. I planned to start when we were back in the city, but the wait is too much. You’re too tempting.” He cups my cheek, weaving his strong fingers into my hair. “I need to touch you.”
I need it too. More than I’ll ever admit, even to myself.
His thumb grazes my bottom lip. I wait for him to lower his mouth to mine, but instead, he pulls away abruptly and begins to collect utensils from the table.
Unsettled, and more than just a tad confused, I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the uneasiness. “I don’t need you, or anyone else to tell me when it’s time to use the bathroom. I’m not a four-year-old.”
“When I suggest you relieve yourself, it’s not for my comfort.” His glare is piercing. “Do it, or don’t. I won’t be standing outside the door listening for the tinkle. I also won’t be the one living with the consequences of a full bladder.”
I can’t remember the last time I had a discussion that was so infuriating—and embarrassing. “Your seduction game needs work.”