“I think you’re coming on to me.”
Shifting to set the glass back down, he’s slower because of his broken arm, but the shared moment between us is flaming-red hot when he returns. Damn those incredible abs, those eyes that peer into my soul, and that husky seducing voice of his. The reprieve wasn’t long enough for me to recover before he smirks just enough for his confidence to shine through. “Would it be so wrong for a husband to be attracted to his wife?”
I take a breath, hoping it’s steady and doesn’t give away the filthy thoughts I’m having of him. Laying it on as sweet as honey, I bat my lashes. “Even after all that’s happened?”
“That’s the beauty of amnesia, baby. I’m a blank slate. A fresh start. There’s nothing to hold us back from creating new memories together.” He leans closer, his hand sliding behind my lower back. In one swift move, I’m pulled onto his lap so fast that I don’t have time to squeal. I wouldn’t have protested anyway.
The covers slide off my thighs, leaving only the thinnest of satin covering my lower half. My loose top with a lacy hemmed bottom brushes against my belly, exposing the space the fabric doesn’t cover. His pants are still on, the flap of the open button rubbing against my ass. While I notice the little things like that, there’s a much larger problem growing between us.
My swallow is too loud, and my cheeks feel hot from being so obviously nervous. “Warner,” I whisper, looking into his eyes. I touch his cheek. The rough scruff of growth from the past few days is little spikes against my hand. The scene is set. The outcome is in our hands. The warmth and slightest scent of his skin wrap around me like a wool scarf. His large hand slides from my hip to my waist, making my body respond to him. There’s no hiding my hardening nipples or the way my hips press harder against him, the pressure becoming mandatory for my survival.
It’s all too much. His size compared to mine and the way the devil looks at me like I’m a prize worth fighting for do me in. I lean in, brushing my lips against the fullness of his, but catch myself before I give in and pull back again.
His breath has deepened like mine, his eyelids heavier, and his lips are parted, ready to kiss me if I’d let him. I don’t because I’d lose all control if I did, sliding off his lap, I keep moving until I’m standing on the other side of the bed. I glance through the windows at the city that’s lit like stars and then to this palatial room fit for a king and queen. ButI’m not his queen. I’m not even part of his court. I’m just a peasant compared to this life.
I’ve asked myself a million times what I’m doing, ignoring the fact that I was going against my own moral compass. Why am I trying to play in the Major League when I can’t make the minors? Dropping my head with the shame overcoming me, I run the tips of my fingers over my forehead.
“Delaney?” he whispers, not making a move. I appreciate the space, but I have to admit I miss our connection. He gets off the bed and stands on the other side of it. “Do you want to talk about what’s going on?”
“No.” I can’t find the lies to hide my truth and the emotions I’m battling. I turn my head away from him, keeping my mouth shut and staring out the window instead. The sound of the crystal glass being lifted has me looking back. Warner swipes his hand across the wood to discourage the puddle of condensation from pooling. It would be a safe bet to know it’s really about not staining the nightstand.
When he grabs his discarded shirt from the floor and wipes the surface, a grin wiggles onto the left side of my mouth. He grabs the sparkly frame with his fingers sticking out the end of the cast. “Is this you?”
I start to come around, keeping my steps light like I might disrupt something I’m not supposed to be a part of. I stand just to his side and look at the photo. I smile, the hope and happiness I felt that day rushing back. “Big sunglasses, red lips, my hair was slick and shiny with the most perfect wave from pin curls.” I tap the photo as if he doesn’t know what I’m referring to.
“Coney Island?”
“It’s how I celebrated graduating from college. I got that top and skirt for twenty bucks at the Dumbo clothesexchange they hold each spring. It was a steal. New, it would have been over a hundred and fifty.” Staring at the photo, I study the whole look, still loving the outfit. But maybe it wasn’t just my appearance. It was the hard-earned achievement. “I wore it tucked in for the ceremony since my family was there, but tied the front of the shirt in a knot to bare my midriff at the carnival.” I laugh, wanting to roll my eyes at myself. I don’t know why I feel a little embarrassed. I shouldn’t. Leaning my head against his arm, I add, “I felt rebellious for doing it. But I also felt pretty. I remember asking some random guy to take my picture, hoping he wouldn’t run off with my phone. Spoiler alert: he didn’t.”
Warner sets the glass back down and brings his arm around my lower back to hold me close to him. His skin is warm against mine, the connection zapping every particle in my body from the electricity. Peeking down at me, he asks, “Why couldn’t someone in your family take the photo?”
I’m not mad is something I’ve prefaced this topic in my head a million times. Their reason is acceptable. Unjustifiably, I’m still hurt. “They had to get back to the restaurant to prepare for dinner service.”
“You went alone?”
“It beat sitting in my room or working at the hostess stand. I had the night off, so I took myself to Coney Island. I hadn’t been since I was little, and it just seemed like a good place to get lost for a few hours.”
He sits on the bed, takes my hand, and pulls me to him. Our knees touch, my outer to his inner, the union feeling as intimate as when I was on his lap. I gulp, hating to disturb the silence with such nonsense. “Can I ask you something?” he whispers, looking into my eyes.
“Of course.”
“How long ago was that photo taken?”
It’s such a roundabout way of asking my age, but I like that he wants more information about me, and he cares enough to find out. “Two years ago.”
“So you’re twenty-four?” I nod, worried about this new territory he’s leading me into. “How long have we been married?”
I was getting too comfortable with my armor set aside on the floor. I could almost feel his heart beating like it was my own when I touched his face earlier. My stomach sinks as the lies rise like bile in my throat. “Not quite a year.”
“I must have been quite the asshole to lose you before our first anniversary.”
“You’re telling me,” I try to joke, but I’m not even feeling it, so I know he doesn’t hear it. I still push forth. “I had to live with you.”
My hand falls to my side when he releases me. Standing with our knees still bumped against each other, his gaze falls between us. He rubs the bridge of his nose and then looks back up at me. “I’m thirty-four.” There doesn’t seem to be a destination for his admission.
I didn’t realize that he was ten years older. From his looks to his personality, he has some age range he could fall into. So it’s not shocking news. I trail the tips of my nails under his chin and put my hand at my side again. “It’s so cliché to be in an age-gap romance.”
“Is that what we are? An age-gap romance?” He chuckles. “I’ve never felt so old in my life.”
