Grant’s eyes were dark on hers and held no hesitation, no doubt. Just passion. Fierce passion, with none of the teasing from the last few days, or even from the last few minutes. She’d asked, and he was giving her his answer.
He was making it easy for her—so very easy to give in—to all of this, to the moment, and the emotions, and the madness. She wanted him in the most brazen way. Even while knowing Reggie and Finch were just outside that door. Even while knowing this was more about biology than destiny. Even while knowing she should stop this and tell him the truth about who she was and why she was on the run. But she didn’t because she craved his touch. His gaze had been on her all day and she’d felt it, like a whisper passing over her skin. A constant reminder that he was near.
His thumb was teasing over her lips, making her hungry for him. Her breath went shallow and her mind went blank of everything except this man and this moment. She pushed aside the past and gave no thought to the future. There was only here and now.
She moved forward, closing the last of the distance between them, and kissed him hard, with all the pent-up desire she’d held inside. Grant groaned low in his throat and wrapped his arms around her, deepening the kiss. He pushed her back into the pillow, bumping their heads against the headboard, but the contact only added to the moment. His lips were insistent, demanding, the textures of his mouth divine, and Delaney knew she was right where she wanted to be. She was—
Knock, knock, knock.
“Hey! Really sorry, kids. I need my contact lens case,” Finch said, his voice as loud and as casual as if he were just interrupting them from watching cartoons.
Grant looked back at her like the Hulk trying to collect his emotions, and Delaney pressed fingers to her mouth to hide her humor. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath.
She sat up straight on the bed as Grant stood. He opened the door without a word while Delaney avoided eye contact. Finch walked through fast and was back out in five seconds.
“Really sorry. Carry on.”
Grant shut the door—pretty hard—and turned the lock—again.
He looked over at Delaney, and she bit her lip. This was her chance to change direction, to stop them from doing something she might regret. But it was too late for that. “Maybe we should turn on the television?” she said. “You know, for a little . . . noise canceling?”
He smiled, relieved. “I like the way you think.” He picked up the remote from the bedside table and turned it on, flipping the channel to some old Elvis movie—since that’s what was on every channel.
Delaney pushed the covers down on the bed, exposing crisp white sheets under the coverlet, and rose up on her knees. Burning Love was about to meet boogie-woogie. This probably wasn’t her wisest decision but she was past the point of caring. Heat whooshed through her as Grant pulled his shirt up and over his head and came forward, kneeling on the mattress in front of her, breast to chest. Delicious.
“This is the first part of you I noticed,” she said, running the backs of her knuckles up his taut stomach before trailing her hands over his shoulders. She swayed against him and pressed a light kiss on his collarbone. His skin was warm and tasted slightly sweet.
“Yeah? What was the next thing you noticed?” His voice was low and raspy as his hands clutched her hips.
She ran her lips along to the other side, kissing that collarbone too and feeling his pulse quicken under his skin.
“Mm, probably your nice personality,” she teased, murmuring against the side of his neck. She felt as much as heard his elongated exhale.
“I don’t have a nice personality.”
“Don’t you?” She was coy, like a woman about to shed her inhibitions along with her clothes. She ran her fingers up and through his hair. It was soft, the only thing about him that was, and she pulled his face a little closer, her lips hovering near his. “I think you do. Either way, I like you.”