Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Delia
“Do you love him as much as I do?” I ask Donovan as he sits on the edge of the bed, studying his palm.
His head snaps up. “Who? Clever? No, I don’t, Delia.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You don’t love Clever?”
A smile glides over his lips. “No, do you?”
“I might,” I tease, batting my eyelashes. “He’s kind of cute. He can make me disappear which could come in handy sometimes, and he was killing that top hot look. It’s not easy to pull off.”
His bare chest juts out. “I could totally pull it off.”
I have no doubt about that since I’m confident he can pull off any look. Right now, for instance, he’s wearing faded jeans and nothing else. He tugged them on over an hour ago when someone knocked on the door to deliver our food.
I opted to put on a T-shirt I found draped over the back of a cream colored chair. The shirt is white and almost transparent so it did little to hide my tits, but I ducked into the washroom to get out of view of the person pushing the room service cart.
Since I left the door cracked open slightly I could hear the conversation between Donovan and the man who was grateful for what he called “ the very large tip ,” he received from my lover.
My mom always told me that you could tell a lot about a man by how well he tips. All of my brothers are generous in that regard. It puts a smile on my face to know that Donovan is too.
“Are you asking if I love your brother as much as you do?” He leans back slightly, drawing my gaze down his torso to the waistband of his jeans. “I love how committed he is to the job, and I do care about what happens to him so I guess in my own way, I do love him.”
I like knowing that but it reminds me yet again of how connected our lives are back home in New York City.
“Don’t you dare tell him I said that.” He wags a finger at me in warning.
“Or what?” I taunt him by pouting my lips. “You’ll do what to me exactly?”
“What don’t you want me to do to you, Delia?” he challenges.
Don’t break my heart.
I keep those words inside of me because I only said them to a man once and he still went ahead and shattered my heart.
“You can do anything you want to me.” I hold his gaze with mine so he knows I’m deadly serious.
“I’ll remember that,” he promises, a wicked tone edging his voice.
I glance at the book sitting near the couch I’m on. “I was actually asking about him. The author. Nicholas Wolf. Do you love his books as much as I do?”
“More,” he answers without hesitation. “And I’m not just saying that because his sister-in-law works for me.”
“Tilly,” I say her name with fondness.
I first met Tilly Wolf at an outdoor market in Queens. I was there with Matthew and Faith. Tilly was pushing a stroller with one hand while carrying a leash in the other. I met her, her son, Jacob, and her dog, Lunar, that day. I’ve known her husband for much longer, years and years in fact, since his sister Nikita is my best friend.
“Matilda,” he calls her by the same name my brother sometimes does.
I find it charming. When Matthew introduced me to Tilly he called her Matilda. She turned to me and said, “Please call me Tilly,” so I did and I have ever since.
“Yes.” I nod.
I pick up the book and open the front cover. “Yours isn’t signed.”
His eyes widen. “You say that as though you’re surprised.”
I slam the cover shut. “I have a signed copy.”
“I’m jealous.”
“My best friend is Nicholas’s sister,” I confess. “Nikita always brings me a signed copy of each of his books.”
“Lucky you.”
“You know Tilly will get Nicholas to sign a copy for you, right?” I tilt my chin down and smile. “I could ask her for you although you do see her every single day.”
He contemplates that with a slow nod of his chin. “I sure do.”
“Our lives are connected,” I whisper, pointing out the obvious. “When we get home…”
“We’ll figure it all out,” he interrupts, finishing my sentence in the way he sees fit. “Enjoy our time here, Delia. I sure as hell am.”
I tug on the bottom hem of his shirt. “Me too.”
“Read me a chapter,” he suggests. “I know Nicholas reads his own audio books and I’ve listened to a few, but I’d much rather hear my favorite author being read by you.”
“I’d love to do that. Where should I start?”
“Page thirty-seven,” he says. “That’s where I remember leaving off.”
I study the pristine hardback copy of Phantom’s Escape. I finished this novel three days after Nikita handed it to me over a year ago. “You don’t use a bookmark?”
“Never.” He shakes his head. “I always stop reading in a spot that leaves me wanting more.”
I carefully open the book to the page he mentioned, noting that it’s the beginning of a chapter.
“It was muggier than most mornings that day,” I read slowly, relishing in every word even though I finished this book last week. “I could feel a presence in the air that was unfamiliar. It left me uneasy, but not uncomfortable.”
I keep reading even though I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I sigh between words when Donovan settles next to me on the small couch and as his hand grazes my thigh, my breathing quickens.
“One chapter and then I want something else,” he whispers against the shell of my ear as I finish a paragraph.
I finally glance at him and into his eyes. “What do you want?”
“You.”
The word and the depth of pure desire in his voice says everything I need and want to hear.
“I’ll read faster.”
He laughs. “Take your time, my Delia. We have all day.”
“We have until the ship docks back in Miami,” I say as my gaze drifts back to the page in front of me.
“That we do.” He exhales slowly. “That we do.”