“Coming,” I reply, falling into this weird relationship we’ve formed. Her heels against the hardwood allow me to trace her path from the bedroom to the living room. I finish the email and push send before standing. After stealing the scissors from my desk, I pluck the jacket from the hook and close the door behind me when I leave the room. Analyzing the right sleeve, I rub my thumb over the seam. “I managed to get the shirt over my cast. I’ll leave the cuff unbuttoned, but can you help me cut up my jacket?”
I walk to the center of the living room before looking up. My chest tightens from the sight of her. “Delaney?” I don’t know what I’m asking.The concussion is messing with my words, I lie to myself. It’s she who’s stolen them from my mouth. The makeup is darker around her eyes but lighter on her lips, bare with only a shine drawing my eyes. The black of her lashes brings out the Mediterranean Sea coloring of her eyes. I could dive in and be content to swim in the calm of her waters.
“Wow.” She makes me want to keep her tucked away in this apartment, all to myself.
Pure.
Effortless.
Extraordinary.
Her beauty is highlighted for those who are too blind to see how stunning she is, fresh from the shower. That’s notme. I couldn’t stop staring, especially when a drop of water had escaped from the threads of the towel and ran along her hairline. I almost reached out to catch it, but she swiped it away as if it hadn’t just kissed her skin like I want to do now.
We could skip the event. Who cares if I’ve donated thousands? Or that I’m expected to be honored during the cocktail hour. Will anyone really care if I don’t make an appearance?
I’d have a really good excuse to stay home.My wife.
She dares to wobble to the side, her weight balancing on a shyness that’s gripped her as if she’s not the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. With her gaze falling to the floor, she asks, “Is this not okay?”
“It’s more than okay.” Tossing my jacket on the island and the scissors on top, I move in to bring her into the safety of my hold. The thin straps and heart-shaped neckline highlight her collarbone and the rounded tops of her breasts. The smallest specks of sunshine cause a sheen across her skin, while the curves of her body command my gaze to travel every square inch to the hem that hits higher on her thigh than I expected. I’m not upset, given the view of her shapely legs. “You’re breathtaking.” I grin, slipping my arm around her waist along the back of the jewel-toned green fabric and bringing her to me. “Word stealing, in fact.” There’s not a resistant bone in her body as I kiss above her temple, and then whisper against her skin, “You look beautiful, Delaney.”
Her head tucks against my chest. “You sure?”
“More than sure.”
She looks up at me. “It’s a beautiful dress, Warner. Thank you.”
Stepping back, I take her in all over again. She looks so damn beautiful. I feel smug over pulling this off. “It’s a goodthing I have people with great taste on . . . I would have said speed dial but email in this case. I only pulled this off because you slept in, though.”
“I’ll start sleeping in more often if I get pretty dresses and expensive jewelry.” She steps to the vase, taking one of the stems to bend and smell the flower. “Ow.” She pushes the finger to her mouth and then holds it there while her tongue dips out to touch the surface. “A thorn. The prick,” she snarks with a half-hearted grin.
I take her finger and hold it in front of me to inspect the damage. I kiss the tiny spot. “I think you’re going to lose it.”
She laughs. “Hopefully not. But I may not be safe around vicious thorny things.” She certainly loves that word.
“I don’t know. You seem to do okay with me.”
Her smile blooms like the roses next to her—vibrant and pretty in pink. Tapping my chest with the injured finger, she laughs. “That was funny.”
With a shrug, I say, “I try.” Glancing at the jacket, I realize I still have this to deal with. “The jacket won’t go on over my cast, and I didn’t have time to have it altered.” I pick up the scissors and flip the sleeve to expose the seam. “If we open the seam every other inch, I think I can squeeze the cast through by allowing it to stretch without having the sleeve flap open. And?—”
“You’re going to cut your suit jacket? That’s unconscionable. Look at the fabric.” She digs for a tag at the collar, and then her mouth drops open. Turning to gape at me, she says, “This is Tom Ford.”
“I know. I had it made for me, but it does me no good if I can’t wear it.”
“But, but?—”
“It will be okay.” I chuckle. “If we’re careful and keep to the seam, I can have a tailor fix it when I’m healed.”
Staring at it, she hugs it to her chest. “I just,” she starts, her eyes linking to mine. “It’s so incredible. What if I ruin it and you can’t get it fixed?”
I rub her upper back, then rest my hand on her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. It’s only a jacket.”
Sweeping the jacket in front of her, she lays it flat on the island. “Okay. Let’s do it.” Holding out her hand, she requests, “Scissors.”
I hand them to her, and we work together to get the job done—me directing and her opening the seams. At the bottom of the cuff, she says, “Put it on and we’ll see how much I need to open up for your hand.”
She helps put it on, and though it’s a squeeze, we get it all the way to my elbow. Bending down, she stares at the stretched fabric. “We need to release the cuff. Not much but?—”
