Attached At Heart (Wildflower #3)

19. Blake

CHAPTER NINETEEN

blake

D ELANEY AND I HAD had meals together on countless occasions. Takeout pizza on the floor of our crappy med school apartments, sandwiches on the lawn between classes, drunken late-night Taco Bell cravings, and even nice dinners, like our graduation night or when I took her to Giovanni’s in Boston.

But tonight was different.

Nothing about tonight felt like two longtime friends sharing a meal.

A charge existed in the air between us, and I was having a hell of a time convincing myself that this wasn’t a date. Or, at the very least, some kind of torturous foreplay. Because watching Delaney lick her spoon clean as she polished off her soup was turning me on in undeniable ways. And she seemed to know it, her sparkling gaze lifting to mine in a coy glance.

“How has your experience at Boston Medical been compared to Mayo?” she asked, but I was too busy watching her mouth to register her words. It was only when her lips stretched into an amused smile that I realized she was waiting on me to reply.

It took everything in me not to raise a brow. Because really ? She wanted to look at me like that and then talk about work?

She was still unsure; that was what this was. She didn’t quite know how to exist in our new reality yet, the one where we acknowledged that our chemistry was not just friendly. She was holding on to the things that tied our friendship together instead.

But I didn’t want to talk about medicine tonight. I wanted to talk about her.

“Well, I’m no longer working with my favorite person, so there’s that.”

She pursed her lips like she knew what I was doing.

“Do you wish we were both still working at Mayo?”

I considered that before realizing that I wouldn’t choose to go back in time if I could. As much as I loved the learning experiences I’d had with Delaney, I’d rather have her living in my home as my wife than have her as my coworker.

“I wish we were still working together, but no. I think I like our arrangement in Boston better.”

A slight flush worked up her neck as she nodded. “It’s been nice for you to spend time with Natalie, Noah, and their kids, hasn’t it?”

A couple of weeks ago, I would have let her believe that was the only reason. But not today. Not anymore.

“It really has,” I admitted. “But Lane?—”

“Speaking of your family, I need to tell Sully about this dinner so he knows you pulled out all the stops on this honeymoon. That was an amazing meal,” she gushed.

Goddamn, she was making this difficult.

“You know, it’s funny because I thought about sending him a photo of you sitting there with your wine for that exact reason. But then I realized Sully would permanently have a picture of you in that dress, and I’d probably have to destroy his phone.”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed, her cheeks tinting pink enough that I could see her blush despite the low lighting in the restaurant.

I shook my head. “Why do you always think I’m joking?”

“Because that’s what we do,” she said dismissively, looking down at her glass of wine. “We tease each other.”

“Mmm.” I waited until she glanced up again to add, “I think it’s called flirting, Delaney. You’ve just been in denial.”

Delaney blinked, her red-stained lips parting. She looked at me, staring hard—like pieces were starting to come together, similar to the ones in those damn puzzles she loved so much.

Watching her come to terms with reality was all I’d ever wanted. This was just the start, but still.

“Yeah, Blake?” Her breaths were coming quicker, the rising and falling of her chest so fucking distracting because of that dress and everything it was showing off.

“Yeah, Lane.”

I said it without a hint of levity.

“And what else have I not realized?”

Everything, baby.

Her brows furrowed before I could reply aloud. “Are we on a date right now?”

A question I’d love to know the answer to myself.

“Do you want it to be a date?” I countered and begged her to say yes with my eyes.

Her gaze wandered the table for two, lit by candlelight, before it strayed to the rest of the small restaurant, from the waitstaff dressed in black and white to the wall stacked with hundreds of bottles of wine to the gentle, romantic music playing overhead, weaving through the soft murmuring of other diners.

“It feels like a date,” she answered finally.

That wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for, but I could make it work.

“Is that good or bad, Lane?” I leaned forward, meeting her gaze and noting how dilated her pupils were. “That this feels like a date.”

“Good, I think.” She licked her lips, and my eyes dropped to her mouth because my self-control was bleeding out. “I’m feeling really good right now,” she added, more confident. Then, her eyes skimmed over to the glass of wine in her hand. “But that might just be the wine talking.”

I waited until her eyes landed back on me to lower my voice and reply, “I don’t think it’s the wine.”

“No.” She swallowed, and I watched the way her throat worked, wondering which parts of her neck were sensitive. I wanted to find all of the places on her body that made her tick, that made her gasp and groan. Fuck . “I don’t think it’s the wine,” Delaney agreed breathlessly.

The fact that she felt it, too, that she recognized whatever was happening between us, that she was just as lost to the pull between us—it was doing me in.

“What else do you want to do tonight?” I asked, taking a slow sip of my own wine and watching her over the rim of the glass. “I want you to keep feeling…good.”

I wanted her to let me make her feel good, too.

“Hmm, dancing.” She gave me a reserved smile that did things to my insides. “Dancing would make me feel good. It’s been so long. I never dance anymore, but I think tonight feels different.”

It sure did.

“I’m not sure if there’s any ballet studios we can simply barge into around here, but I can see what I can find.”

If I had to beg a dance studio to let us in for the night, I would.

“You know, I was trained in other types of dance besides ballet. Becoming a ballerina was just the only acceptable option for my parents.”

A tight laugh left my lips, mostly because imagining Delaney dancing in any way or capacity made my cock twitch in my pants. “Okay, so what kind of dancing do you want to do tonight?”

“All I want is to move my body to a beat.” She tilted her head to the side, watching me closely. “Would you dance with me, Blake?”

My breathing faltered. Oh fuck me, this woman.

“You know I would, Delaney,” I answered, holding her gaze. The look in her eyes was electrified, like the thick feeling of the air before lightning struck. Tonight felt like that, like the moments ahead of a perfect storm. When all the conditions were right for something either terrible or exciting to happen, and you just weren’t sure which it was going to be.

Delaney’s throat bobbed, and I watched her gradually become more unsteady before she took a quick exit off the road we were on. I already knew her next words were about to be dismissive, braced myself for them.

“You’re a great guy, Blake,” she commented, sucking in a breath. “Your future wife is going to be very lucky to have you.”

Oh, fuck that.

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“What?”

But she wasn’t looking at me when she said it, and I suspected we both knew why.

“How was your meal this evening?” Our waiter interrupted before I got a chance to tell Delaney that the only wife I planned on having was the one sitting in front of me. And that everything I did that made her think I was a great guy was because my world fucking revolved around her.

It was probably for the best that we got interrupted.

“It was amazing,” Delaney answered because I was still too busy clenching and unclenching my jaw. “Thank you.”

He smiled politely. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, forcing a smile. “But can you recommend a good place for an after-dinner drink, maybe somewhere with a dance floor?”

“Of course.” His eyes lit up, clearly eager for the opportunity to provide a recommendation. “I can tell you my personal favorite, but it’s the heart of the red-light district. If you’re okay with something a little more…free-spirited, yeah?” He tilted his chin toward Delaney, a tiny, knowing smirk playing on his lips. “They will love her there. She won’t have to pay for a single drink.”

“I’ll be paying for all my wife’s drinks.” I narrowed my eyes but pulled out my phone anyway so I could look up his recommendation, glancing sideways at Delaney while doing so. Her hands had been in her lap, but she pulled her left one out at the insinuation that she wasn’t taken, resting her chin in her palm so the waiter could have a good look at her wedding ring, glittering against the blush on her cheeks. The man gave a little brow raise with a nod and a wink to say he got the message and then turned to me to spell out the name of the bar.

A few minutes later, we were out the door.

Amsterdam glittered with nightlife. The streets were packed with people out and about, enjoying the crisp spring evening. A mix of languages swirled through the air, giving me an appreciation for this experience. But mostly, I was thankful that I got to hold Delaney’s hand as we crossed a tulip-lined bridge, bikes locked to the railing every few steps and the canal flowing beneath us.

The red-light district surprised me…at first. It wasn’t immediately obvious when we entered the area like I assumed it would be. Cute restaurants and bars still lined the streets; the only difference was that included among them were clearly X-rated establishments. But then, following the directions my phone fed me, we turned down a street that was most definitely the heart of the district, with windows lining the alley and people in those windows who were not wearing a whole lot of clothes, and I found myself staring at my feet as we walked.

Delaney giggled—at my reaction, I suspected, and I shook my head, resisting the urge to lean down and let her know there was only one woman in this whole city, the whole world, I wanted to see dressed like that. Or not dressed at all. But instead, I simply gripped her hand tighter until we popped out onto another street to find the bar the waiter had recommended. I gave it a once-over before glancing at Delaney with uncertainty.

“I can’t quite tell if this is just a bar or a sex club, Lane. Or something in between.”

She considered the dark-painted entry of the building. “I’ve never been somewhere like that before.”

“Do you want to check it out?”

“Can’t deny I’m a little curious.” She shrugged, her eyes still on the door. “They’re certainly playing good music. Dancing music.” Her body started to sway and bounce adorably, and I bit down on a smile.

“Okay,” I said, nodding in acknowledgment of the thrumming beat coming from the bar. “We can check it out. And if you want to leave, we’ll leave. Just squeeze my hand twice if it’s too loud to talk.”

“Sounds good,” Delaney agreed before trying to pull me toward the door, but I tugged her back. A little too hard, apparently, because she gasped as she flew back into my arms. And then gasped again when I spun her around and pinned her against the canal railing, wanting—no, needing—to make something clear to her before she escaped to follow the music.

“Hey, Lane?” I murmured, dropping one hand to grip the railing and the other to curve around her back so she wouldn’t fall into the water.

“Hm?” She blinked up at me with those big, blue eyes. They shone with a mix of excitement and wonder, like she liked the idea that she didn’t know where the night would lead.

“Remember when you wanted to know if I would ask for your number if I saw you in this dress?” I dragged my gaze over her, making it clear once again how I felt about it.

“I remember,” she whispered.

“And you remember how I answered?”

“I remember that, too.”

“If we go in there, that’s going to be me,” I said, wanting badly to set things straight. “Unless you explicitly tell me to back off, I’m not letting you out of my goddamn sight. I will chase other guys off and be stuck to your side like glue, okay? Because there’s no way in fucking hell I’m going to let anyone else touch my wife.”

“Blake…” she breathed, her chest once again rising and falling with a quickness that caught my attention. And fuck me for being tempted to look and failing not to. Because with the way we were positioned and how her leather jacket hung open, her cleavage was practically right in my face, and all it did was remind me of the other morning when she was pressed against me, skin to skin.

“You don’t—” She sucked in abruptly when her voice pulled my gaze back to her face, and she must have seen the hunger in my eyes. “You don’t have to protect me like I’m your real wife, Blake,” she finished, but it was the weakest sentence I’d ever heard fall from her lips. “That’s not your responsibility.”

I stepped in, locking her against the railing with my hips. “First of all, Delaney London, you are my real wife. And you are my responsibility. I can’t even begin to imagine a scenario where I would let anything happen to you. Absolutely no one will be touching you without your permission. Understood?”

Her breath hitched, but she nodded slowly, indicating she understood. Her eyes were glazed, coated with something I thought I recognized. She didn’t speak for a long moment, and a sinking feeling set in, one that had me worrying that I’d taken it a step too far, too fast. But I couldn’t regret saying words that were fucking true.

“You’re the only person who has permission to touch me, Blake,” she finally rasped, and my pulse took off like a bullet train, unstoppable.

“Then you want to go in?” I asked, pulling back and holding out my hand.

She took it with a firm nod, and we followed the sound of the bass, pumping almost as loudly as our hearts.