Page 46 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

“I like kissing,” she went on.

Oh, okay.

“I haven’t had much, for a long time, kissing, that is, but . . .” She shrugged, and though it was darkish in the car, he would bet she was blushing. “Anyhow, I wanted to talk to you about—”

No, no, no. Not the talk. Besides, you don’t tell a guy that you like kissing if you don’t mean it as a cue. He leaned over and kissed her. Again. One long unending kiss in which he licked and nipped and sucked and thrust, never wanting to break the kiss. Mouth sex, for sure. Somehow, they ended up half reclining across the bucket seats before they heard the loud honking of a car horn, and some teenagers driving, yelling out, “Get a room!”

He was the one who was probably blushing now. Shiiit! He hadn’t made out like that since high school.

They each straightened their clothing, and Delilah sat staring straight ahead as he drove out of the parking lot. It was only a short distance to her motel/diner property. He drove through the town proper with its hokey brass bell streetlights, a commemoration of the bells that were the foundation of Bell Cove. Didn’t matter that Bell Forge was floundering as the demand for finely crafted bells went the way of telephones and vinyl records. It was still a town that celebrated bells. The stores on the square were closed, the bells having just rung the eleven o’clock hour, and only a smattering of people could be seen on the sidewalk, probably tourists doing a little window-shopping before returning to their rentals, of which there weren’t very many in Bell Cove.

“Can I talk now?” she asked finally.

He was pretty sure there was a grin tugging at her lips, which was odd, but they’d already passed through the lighted portion of town. He couldn’t be certain. Besides, if she was having a good yuck, it was over his pathetic horniness.

“Sure,” he said, regretfully. At least he’d gotten in two good kisses and some slow dancing that felt a lot like foreplay. That was more than he’d expected when he’d started this date tonight. He had to keep reminding himself that this was Delilah. Baby steps.

“I’ve decided . . . well, I’d like to make love with you.”

Whoa! Merrill had just pulled into the diner parking lot, and he was so shocked by her declaration that he almost ran over Elvis. Swerving at the last second, he came to a screeching halt on the gravel driveway beside the motel driveway.

Carefully, he turned off the engine and turned to stare at her. He thought of a dozen things he could say to her but couldn’t manage to form the words to any of them.

“Would you repeat that?” was one possibility which he rejected right away. He wasn’t taking a chance that he’d heard wrong.

Or “After all these weeks of me chasing my tail over you, now you want my tail?” But, no, she might take his attempt at humor the wrong way, like he was mocking her.

Or “I thought you’d never ask,” which was a lie because never in a million years had he thought that she would ask.

Or “This isn’t some kind of payback, is it? Like you feel you owe me?” Nope. He couldn’t say that. It would be setting up a negative. And what if she did feel beholden to him. Would he reject her offer?

Glancing toward the end unit of the motels, the one he intended to claim as his own, and then toward her living quarters behind the motel office, he smiled at her and went for that old standby, “Your place or mine?”

Chapter 11

Moonlight becomes you . . .

They were halfway across the backyard when Merrill stopped abruptly and said, “I can’t wait.” His voice was raw with emotion—probably lust. She was feeling a bit lusty herself.

Reaching behind her neck, he untied the double knot in her halter dress, with a mere flick of his fingers, indicating an expertise that was surprising. He was usually so awkward around her, fumbling for words. She should have known better because she’d seen how smooth he could be when Bonita, and other women, flirted with him.

She stood in the moonlight now, bare to the waist. She was bigger than she’d like to be on top, especially when her waist was small and her hips flared out. She was saved from being overtly voluptuous by her long legs, which seemed to balance out her top-heaviness, or what she liked to call her upper bimbo.

At least, that’s how she’d always viewed her own body, uncomfortable from a young age with dubious assets that attracted the attention of males. Yes, even in middle school. But not that many males had ever seen her like this. In fact, just one. Davie, from age sixteen on, till his big betrayal. How pathetic was that? What a waste of all those good years!

She should have been embarrassed, but she wasn’t. Not when Merrill was gazing at her with such appreciation.

“Why am I the only one half-naked here?” she said, and flicked her fingers at him. “How about a little show-and-tell?”

He laughed. “Because I’m not as pretty as you are.” But he already had his jacket off and tossed to a nearby patio table. His shirt soon hit the mark, too.

“Oh, I don’t know. You look awfully pretty to me,” she said, and that was the truth. His face might be that of a teenager, but his sun-bronzed body was that of a man. Broad shoulders, a patch of dark curls, muscles, sinfully narrow waist and hips. Later, she would like to explore the scars she saw here and there. She stepped forward and was about to put her hands on his chest.

But he was having none of that. He picked her up by the waist and lifted her high, feet dangling off the ground, putting her breasts in front of his face. Which was kind of startling—and alarming. Delilah was no lightweight.

He licked one nipple, then the other, the abrasiveness of his tongue acting like tinder to a match. Sparks of intense pleasure ignited in her there creating twin aches that literally throbbed. Until—oh, my!—until he took the tip of one breast, nipple and areola together, into his mouth and sucked on her. Rhythmically.

She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself and arched her back.