Chapter 12 Delaney
DELANEY
Me: Not today, Satan.
Satan: Thank. Fucking. God. Even I can’t deal with the level of depravity in your life right now.
—Delaney’s Secret Thoughts
Gingerly, I change into a tank and shorts and pull on socks, ignoring the little voice in my head that is happily singing because Ryker Beneventi, the beautiful football God who dominated that field today, is alive and well and naked in my shower. Sweet baby Jesus. This man.
I’m not a woman who gets hot and bothered, but the idea of . . . No. I will not go there.
Shit. Sorry Tori.
My pretty little pig squeals and darts out from under my feet when I step on her in the midst of my daydream .
. . fantasy . . . Oh hell. What’s it called when you start picturing your fiancé naked before you go to bed with him, where the idea of him getting too close scares you to death? Pretty sure that’s called fucked up.
Or how about the fact that the idea doesn’t necessarily scare me the way it once would have? When exactly did that happen?
“Tori . . . No!”
She pushes her way through the bathroom door, and I try to grab her before—
Oh . . . My . . . God . . .
Before I regret every life decision that led me here.
Right here . . . Oh wow.
Steam curls through the warm, wet air, and water beads on skin.
Hard skin. Wet skin. Ryker’s skin.
Muscles shift and bunch as his hand moves, and my brain . . . It malfunctions.
Oh man, my brain knows it should look away. It might even be transmitting the damn message. But my body isn’t getting it. If it is, that message has been returned to the damn sender.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
Water drips down his face as he groans, and that sound . . . It should be illegal.
He doesn’t see me. His eyes are closed.
Doesn’t hear me. It doesn’t look like his hearing aids are in when he’s in the shower.
My heart beats slams against my ribs, threatening to rip right out of my chest as his strokes quicken and my name falls from his lips.
“Delaney . . .” It’s raw and rough and, even caught as his eyes open and focus on me, I still can’t move.
Too lost in this man. In his body. In his voice.
Locked in a battle raging behind the depths of those beautiful blue eyes.
The silence stretches between us until Tori charges through my feet in an attempt to get back through the door, and I spin around so quickly, I almost trip over myself before I do manage to trip over Tori.
“I’m so sorry.” Shit. I’m not even facing him. He can’t hear me. I turn my head and close my eyes. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean . . . Tori . . . I was trying to grab—”
“Lane . . .” The sound of my name on his lips stops me.
I don’t move. I can’t.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, not sure if I should laugh or cry or run or maybe just hang my head in shame.
“You don’t have to be.”
I’m sorry—what?
I open my eyes but keep them locked on his face. Big mistake. Ryker is still very much in the shower, although he’s turned the water off now. It drips down his face to his very bare—
Do not look down. Do not look down. Do not look down. My new mantra is playing over and over in my head. Eyes on his.
Head up. I’ve got this.
“Tori steamrolled through the door, and I was trying to catch her. Believe it or not, I was trying to give you privacy,” I finally manage to tell him. “And instead—this happened.”
If I looked at myself in the mirror right now, I know I’d see the most horrific shade of red that man has ever seen.
“Yeah,” Ryker agrees like it’s any other day.
“And you were—and I saw—” Oh. My. God. Shut up, Delaney.
His lips tip up in a cocky smirk, and I may actually die. “How much did you see, Bambi?”
“Enough,” I whisper, lifting my head higher, then signing the word as well.
“Why are you so embarrassed?”
Is he serious?
“Because seeing that—you—like that . . . That’s not an everyday thing for me, Ryker,” I finally manage to tell him before he steps out of the shower, and I look away again.
Please let him be grabbing a towel.
I peek back at him. Because seriously, I can’t help myself.
Maybe let the towel be out of reach.
Maybe I’m finally hitting my ho phase.
Who knows.
“Has it ever been?” he asks.
“Has what ever been?” My eyes dip down for a fraction of a second, and I gasp. “Ryker . . . are you—”
“Pierced?” he finishes, and apparently, there’s a whole new level of red I can achieve, judging by the heat slamming into my face.
Great. He tilts his head slightly, his grin growing as he studies me.
Not teasing. Not pushing. But definitely curious.
“Yes, wife. It’s called a Jacob’s ladder.
I answered your question, now you answer mine. ”
A Jacob’s what?
“What question,” I sputter, trying to wrap my mind around his easy declaration.
What the hell is a Jacob’s ladder, and why do I want to look again more than I want to breathe?
Ryker wraps a towel around his waist, and I want to cry and sigh a breath of relief all at once. “Has it ever been an everyday thing for you, Lane?”
“Has what been?” I ask, playing dumb because I don’t want to answer this question.
“Lane,” he says softly as I hesitate.
And for some reason I’ll probably never understand, I tell him the truth. “No.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Somehow louder than any words could be but also empowering because it doesn’t feel like judgment.
Maybe I owe him this truth.
Maybe I owe it to myself.
“I’ve never . . . been with anyone,” I add, the words quiet, but Ryker’s eyes tell me he read every single one of them.
I brace myself, unsure what to expect. How he’ll react. I’m ready for the gamut.
Surprise.
Judgment.
Laughter.
Revulsion.
But I don’t get any of that. I should have known I wouldn’t. That’s not Ryker’s style.
He nods. Just once. Slow. Like he respects what I’m saying. “Okay.”
That’s it?
Okay?
“That’s it?” I finally ask, after taking the time to pull myself together.
“That’s it,” he echoes without hesitation.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” He must, right? “Or frigid?”
Why else would a woman my age choose to be a virgin?
“Why would I think you were stupid or frigid, Delaney?” He takes two steps, closing the distance between us, and I wish he wouldn’t. It’s so much harder to think when he’s this close. “We all make decisions for our own reasons.”
“I guess . . .” Part of me wants to run and hide. But the other part, the curious one, wants to know what he’s thinking.
So I ask.
“What are you thinking, Ryker?”
His gaze drops to my mouth, and I swear I see heat in his eyes when he lifts them back to mine. “That it makes sense.”
“Why?” I push as my stomach flips. “What about this makes sense?”
“You don’t like people,” he answers quickly, and I cock a brow. “Okay, you don’t like many people, and you let even less of them in.”
Well . . . That’s uncomfortably accurate.
“I let people in.” The argument is weak at best because it’s a lie.
I can count the people I’ve let in on one hand.
“I let you in,” I add.
“Did you?” he asks and takes another step closer. Slowly. Forcing me to tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes. “Have you?”
“I’m trying,” I concede.
“Are you attracted to me, Lane?” His voice drops to an ungodly, sexy decibel, and heat pools in my belly as Ryker wraps a hand around the side of my neck, his thumb grazing my thrumming pulse.
He already knows the answer.
He can feel it.
“Just because you’re pretty doesn’t mean I’m attracted to you, Ryker.” I insist, softer now. Not a chance in hell all those words are signed right. But I tried.
His mouth curves slightly.
He knows I’m lying. I know I’m lying.
But I had to at least try and preserve a single shred of my dignity.
“Fine. Maybe just a little . . .” Shit. I forgot to sign and try to remember—
Ryker covers my hands with his and shakes his head. “It’s not a bad thing, Lane. I’m attracted to you.”
I can’t even think with him this close . . . touching me like this . . . let alone comprehend what he just said.
I open my mouth to answer before clamping it shut again.
God, I feel like a fool. But am I a bigger fool if I stay quiet or if I admit the truth?
A lie of omission is still a lie.
I guess the truth it is.
“I don’t even know what to do, Ryker . . .”
I watch as his eyes lock on his thumb, the one on my pulse, before coming back to my own. “If it’s ever something you want to figure out . . .” he says slowly, like he’s choosing each word carefully. “You don’t have to go into it blind.”
My breath hitches, and I blink. “What does that mean?”
Ryker holds my gaze. He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smile. “It means I’d make sure you were okay. Safe. Comfortable.”
Is he—
Offering to—
“That sounds like—”
“Because it is,” he stops me.
Oh.
Oh . . .
Oh. My. God.
“That’s a terrible idea,” I whisper, stepping far enough back that Ryker drops his hold.
“Probably,” he agrees.
“You’re my fake fiancé.”
“Yeah.”
I run my teeth over my healing lip. “We’re already complicated.”
“Let’s not forget you’re shit at ASL.”
I nod, knowing he’s right and trying to ignore the way my body heats as he takes a step into me. “Then why would you even say that?”
“Because I wanted to,”—he wraps an arm around my waist—“and because I meant it.” A hand wraps around my neck, his thumb finding its way back to my pulse. “Because I’ve wanted you since the day I met you.”
Oh.
I guess on some level, I knew that. But hearing him say it is different.
This is so dumb.
“I don’t need lessons.”
I should be signing.
I should be backing away.
Hell, I should be running away.
“Never said you did.” Cocky ass.
“You implied it.” Jesus. Did those words even come out of my mouth or did I just think them?
“I offered, Bambi.”
Guess I said them.
“It’s the same thing, pretty boy.”
Ryker shakes his head. “Not exactly.”
“You’re infuriating. Do you know that?” I ask, resisting the urge to bite the thumb resting on my damn neck. “Don’t answer that. I’m going to bed.”
“It’s been a long day,” he agrees but doesn’t let go.
“What if I told you your idea scares me?” I ask, hoping he can read my lips because I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to say the words again.
“I’d tell you, you never have to be scared of me.
That you would have all the control. All.
Of. It. That we’d take it at your pace.” He bends his knees and brings his face down nearly a foot to mine as my heart races in a million directions.
“That I would make it so good for you, Bambi.” His voice is like a soft caress along my skin.
And then, he’s gone.
He drops his hold and backs away.
Standing back at his full height, like he wasn’t just centimeters away.
Like he wasn’t so close, I could smell his shampoo and taste the toothpaste.
“Sleep on it, Delaney.” The bastard winks, and I die inside a little. “If you can sleep tonight.”
I watch as he walks by me into our shared bedroom and shuts the door.
What the hell?
If I couldn’t still feel his hands on my body, I’d think it was a dream.
That I’d made it all up in my head.
Because what grown woman has a fake fiancé who basically offers to give her sex lessons?
And better yet, what grown woman in her right mind would turn them down from Ryker Beneventi?