Delaney laughed harder, making Grant harder too.
“Seriously. Have some mercy here, woman.” He pressed his face into her shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I’m not doing this on purpose.”
“Yeah, OK, well, just try to remember that my dick isn’t doing this on purpose either. I don’t want you to think I’m some defiler of damsels in distress. I’m not trying to take advantage here.”
She could feel his arousal, deliberate or otherwise, pressed against her thigh. Maybe she should feel worried or offended, but mostly she just felt amused. And maybe a little turned on. OK, probably a lot turned on. It all felt quite delicious, really. What a way to die.
“I don’t think you’re trying to take advantage.”
“Good, but for what it’s worth, I may as well admit that even if we were not in this life-or-death predicament, I’d still want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first moment you walked into my shower.”
A rush of warmth burst through her. “Then why haven’t you?”
“Quite frankly, you haven’t been very approachable, and because I can’t shake the feeling you have a jealous husband or possessive boyfriend out there who might like to show me the business end of his shotgun.”
“I don’t. There is no jealous gunslinger from anywhere in my past.”
He stared down at her for a moment, his eyes intense. This body heat swap was delightful.
“So you’re telling me you really are just traveling around with a bag full of money and it’s got nothing to do with a man?”
Technically it had everything to do with a man. Boyd Hampton. But he wasn’t a jealous ex in any sense of the word, and that’s what Grant was asking. Add that to the list of half-truths she’d told.
“There’s no man.”
Grant’s smirk was relieved and mischievous. “A woman, then?”
Delaney chuckled. “Nope. Sorry, no girl-on-girl action for you to fantasize about either.”
“Oh, God. Now why would you go and say something like that?” He pressed his hips against her to emphasize his body’s reaction. “It’s thirty-five degrees below zero in here but somehow I’m sweating.”
He wasn’t sweating but he certainly was hot, and his hard-on was demanding some attention. “You really have no control over that thing, do you?” she asked.
“I have control over what I do with it, but I can’t, you know, make it go back to sleep once it’s wide awake. So I suggest we start that unsexy talk now. Tell me about making soap. Or better yet, let’s talk about grandmas or food-borne illnesses. Let’s talk dysentery.”
Delaney burst out laughing again, her body trembling in good humor. He groaned into her ear, nuzzling his head against the curve of her shoulder. “You’re killing me.”
God, he felt good, and so warm. She splayed her hands over his back and moved one of her legs. She was trying to get more comfortable but heard his breath hitch in his throat.
She gasped at the even more intimate contact. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s OK. It’s just . . .” He lifted his face from her shoulder. It was nearly dark outside, with everything cast in shadows of muted gray, but his eyes were still green. His breath was shallow and warm, soft against her cheek.
“Kiss me,” he whispered.
It wasn’t a question, or even a demand. Simply a declaration that now was the time. She’d known for days that things were leading to this, and so had he. It was as unavoidable as this accident had been, and now it was her taking the wheel. Or maybe it was her letting go of it.
Her left hand slid from his back to reach up between them and touch his jaw, tracing a line over his cheek before cupping the back of his neck. Just the slightest tilt of her head, the softest pressure from her fingers, and then he was kissing her. The full weight of his body pressed down and she welcomed it, pulling him closer and twining one leg around his. His lips moved over hers, their tongues teased and tangled, and their breaths grew fast. His mouth was warm and tasted like mint and heaven. She hadn’t been kissed in a while, a long while, but nowhere in her memory had she ever been kissed like this. She was lost in it. In him.
He kissed down the column of her neck, nudging her scarf down with his chin.
“God, Elaine,” he murmured against her skin.
“Lane,” she whispered. “Just Lane.” It was a small thing, but it felt important to her in that moment, that little bit of honesty in the puddle of lies. She wanted him to know her, the real her. Not the brand of Delaney Masterson, or the ruse of Elaine Masters, but just . . . her. The essence of her that was true.
He raised his head and gazed down at her. “OK. Lane. You are a beautiful woman, you know that?”
She smiled back, and believed it for a moment.
“And you’re a very handsome man. I didn’t realize that when I first saw you.”