What was the point in denying it? She didn’t remember getting nak*d. She only remembered how nice it was after she’d gotten there. How much she’d loved the feel of him deep inside her, the delicious draw and drag between their joined bodies, the slip of his tongue along the base of her throat.
It was wonderful. Intoxicating. Potentially habit forming.
“You know what I think we should do?” she asked.
“What?”
“Take the rest of that wine and go get in the hot tub.”
He chuckled. “Admit it. You just want see me nak*d.”
She merely shrugged. “Turn about’s fair play, right? You certainly got an eyeful last night.”
“I didn’t see anything,” he said. “Though I wanted to,” he qualified. “Damned bubbles.”
“I was mortified.”
He laughed softly. “I know. It was most entertaining.”
“Thank you ladies and gentlemen,” she said, deadpan. “I’m here every night. Bada bing.”
He nuzzled her neck. “You have the most interesting sense of humor.”
She frowned, not altogether certain that was a compliment. “Is that a charitable way of saying that I’m weird?”
“No, it’s a nice way of saying that you’re fascinating.”
She blinked, absorbing that statement, and felt a ripple of happiness eddy through her. She rather liked being fascinating. “Oh.”
“You still want to go get in the hot tub?” he asked, pressing another kiss to the underside of her jaw. His hand found her breast and played lazily with her nipple. She felt him twitch against her thigh, rising to the challenge, as it were, once again. Her belly quickened in response, warmth engulfing her core.
“Nah,” Delphie told him. “I’ve got wine here and you’re already nak*d. Win, win.”
“Come here,” he said, laughing softly, rolling her toward him. “I’ll let you have your wicked way with me.”
As offers went, it was a pretty damned good one.
6
“THANKS SO MUCH FOR doing this,” Delphie said the next day as they entered the church. She wore a red velvet dress with white fur trim and a matching Santa hat adorned with a sprig of holly. Her sister evidently had a unique sense of style and it was all Silas could do to keep from laughing at Delphie’s pained expression when he’d gone over to pick her up this afternoon.
“No problem,” he told her, smiling down at her. He just looked forward to taking it off her. He’d ended up spending the night with her last night and he’d awoken to the feel of a soft rump against his groin and a softer breast in his hand.
This could potentially be the best Christmas of his life.
She’d had a few wedding-related things to do this morning and he’d needed to get his Christmas shopping done, so they’d parted ways after a quick breakfast. It had been so easy being with her; he was trying to pinpoint the exact reason why that was.
Ultimately, he’d decided, it was simply her. She had no expectations, was funny and charming and the most responsive, enthusiastic bed partner he’d ever had. In fact, he could quite easily see himself becoming addicted to her.
Simply put, she was easy company and he enjoyed every minute he spent with her, in and out of bed.
That had never happened before. He typically either liked a girl well enough but found her lacking in the bedroom, or vice versa. This was the first time he’d ever found the total package.
How ironic that it was the girl his mother had been telling him about.
He watched the wedding party come down the aisle to the tune of “Jingle Bells,” then everyone stood and the bride made her entrance on her father’s arm to “Santa, Baby.” He grinned and happened to glance at Delphie, who was looking as long-suffering as it was possible to be without appearing jealous of her sister, and she gave a helpless shrug.
Ten minutes later—after the bride and groom had promised to never let the sun set on an argument—the wedding was over and the reception had begun.
He quickly found Delphie and handed her a drink. “Too bad there’s no hot tub to drink it in, eh?” he teased.
She downed the rum and eggnog in one gulp. “Hit me again,” she said, shuddering. “Here comes my grandmother. I’m going to need it.”
The old woman moved fast for her age, and her faded blue eyes fastened on Silas with a keen sort of awareness that made him acutely uncomfortable. It was as if the old woman had witnessed every depraved thing he’d done to her granddaughter last night and this morning and was going to share it with the room at large. “You must be Delphie’s new young man.”
“Silas Davenport,” he introduced himself while Delphie shrunk with embarrassment. He wrapped his arm around her, drawing her closer to his side. “And I hope that she’s as much mine as I am hers,” he said.
Beside him, Delphie choked, but the ploy worked. The grandmother went from getting ready to give Delphie the you’ll-get-your-turn-at-the-alter spiel to obvious happiness.
The older woman preened. “We’re awfully proud of our Delphie.”
“Of course,” he said. “She’s a remarkable woman. And she makes the best fried chicken I’ve ever eaten.”
Delphie glared up him and flattened her lips to keep from laughing.
“Oh, she’s a wonderful cook,” her grandmother said. “She learned that from me, you know,” the older woman went on, completely oblivious to the true meaning of the conversation. “I like to soak my chicken in buttermilk. Makes it more tender, you see. And the longer the better.”
“That’s right, Granny,” she said, nearly choking. She darted a glance beyond the older woman’s shoulder, pretending to see someone she needed to talk to. “Oh, look, there’s Uncle Harry.” She jerked Silas in her crazy uncle’s direction. “I’ve been meaning to tell him something. See you later, Granny.”
Looking a bit baffled, her grandmother merely smiled and nodded goodbye. As soon as they were away from her, Delphie whirled on him and giggled. “The best fried chicken you’ve ever had, huh?”
“Without question,” he told her, smiling. He led her onto the dance floor, curling her into his arms as Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” suddenly drifted through the speakers. She smelled wonderful, he thought. Like a lemon pound cake—which was probably not all that complimentary, but delicious all the same.
“I’m quite flattered. You’re not half bad yourself.”
“Half bad?” he remarked, his eyes rounding as he sent her into a twirl. “Clearly I’m not trying hard enough.”
“Yes, but you’re steadily improving,” she told him, “and that’s what’s important.”
He wanted to take her right now, Silas thought. He wanted to flip that ridiculous dress up over her h*ps and slip into her from behind. He wanted to feel her br**sts pebble against his hands and suck on her neck while he pounded into her, her sweet ass cradling his groin. He cast her a brooding glance. He’d even let her leave the hat on.
She saw him watching her and a wary smile shaped her mouth. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking?”
He purposely licked his lips, allowed his fingers to slip along the side of her breast. She gasped, her gaze finding his. “I’m thinking about fried chicken and the likelihood of having some right now.”
She swallowed hard and he watched as her pulse fluttered wildly at the base of her throat. “Right now?”
He was suddenly so hard he could scarcely think of anything else. Red was her color. She’d put it on her lips as well, and the image of her mouth encircling him, sliding along his dick, was so vivid he actually stumbled over his own feet. “Right damned now.”
With a nonchalant shrug he’d remember forever, she threaded her fingers through his and tugged him toward the door.
DELPHIE WAS SO SHOCKED at herself she didn’t know what to do. One minute she’d been enjoying Silas’s quick but unsolicited rescue from her grandmother—he couldn’t have said anything better had she scripted the line for him herself—and their ensuing dance. The next, he’d mentioned fried chicken, and her sex had started throbbing right along with her frantically beating heart.
Who gives a damn about the wedding? Delphie thought, and her br**sts grew heavier and heavier with need. She just wanted to have the honeymoon over and over again.
With Silas.
She led him downstairs to a little-used bathroom and she’d no more than closed the door before she felt him behind her, lifting her dress, his hot fingers against the backs of her thighs.
A thrill whipped through her.
She bent over and parted her legs, then cast him a glance over her shoulder.
“I want you so bad I can barely think straight,” he said, making the confession as he slid a finger against her slick folds.
She gasped and wiggled against him. “It’s the fur on the dress, isn’t it? It’s sort of got a porn-star quality.”
He laughed into her ear, then suckled her neck. She heard the telltale sound of a condom package tearing, the whine of his zipper and a second later she felt him pushing against her nether lips.