CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 

● ≈ ● ≈ ●

 

"EXPLAIN AGAIN." PETE scratched his head. Why do you feel guilty?"

Travis took a sip of his beer. The bar was another addition since his days in Green Hills. With the choice of microbrews and designer labels, Dewey's would have fit right into Seattle's trendy downtown district. The kind of place he usually avoided like the plague.

However, Pete chose their waterhole for the night so Travis wouldn't complain. At least the tables were clean, and his feet hadn't stuck to the floor. He didn't mind a little scruff on a bar, but there was a limit.

"I don't feel guilty," Travis said. "At least, I didn't. Not until Delaney and I started down memory lane. One by one, we put our cards on the table."

"And then…?" Pete urged.

"I heard the words in my head and realized how they might sound to Delaney. How do I tell her the first thing I did when I reached Florida—less than twenty-four hours after we were married—I had meaningless, anonymous sex with another woman. Then another. And another. And—"

"Stop before I get contact envy," Pete pleaded. "In my wildest bachelor days, I never had multiple partners one after the other. Or did they overlap? A threesome? Four? No, don't tell me. I don't need another reason to hate you."

"Reasons? As in plural?" Travis had no idea. "Name two."

"Off the top of my head? You're way too good looking. And you can eat anything you want without gaining an ounce."

"I'll give you the one concerning my face." He grinned when Pete called him a colorful curse word. "Hey, the truth is the truth. However, I call bullshit on the weight gain thing. I work out constantly, my friend. And since I turned twenty-five, I watch what I eat. During the season, nothing passes these lips that wasn't approved by my personal nutritionist."

"I had no idea." Pete let out an overly dramatic gasp. "You poor baby. Life must be hell."

"Up yours, Doran."

"Back to Delaney." Pete ordered another round—good old Bud, straight from the tap. "I get why you might not want to share your sexual exploits. But why the surge of guilt?"

"I—"

"Unless you realized Delaney is all grown up. She's desirable. A friend you could tell. A woman you want? Who happens to be your wife? Okay. I get your problem."

"Except now that I've had a little time, I don't think Delaney would blame me. For some stupid reason, I panicked. And I turned into a walking, talking jerk."

Pete propped his chin on his hand with the delight of a child presented with the prospect of a new toy. "Mr. Suave put a foot wrong? This I need to hear. And don't skip any of the gory details."

"Tell me again why we're friends?"

"Because I don't blindly tell you how great you are. I give you the straight shit. Nothing held back. And—pardon my mush for a brief second—I love you, man."

"Same here." Travis gripped Pete's hand as they exchanged a bro-hug. "And by the way? You could've told me that Delaney is staying in your house."

"I could've. But Candice and I thought you would have more fun finding out for yourself. Do you mind?"

Actually, Travis liked the idea that he and Delaney would be under the same roof.

"A head's up would've been nice."

Pete merely shrugged. And grinned.

"If you think Delaney needs to know, I say go for it. But spare her the sordid details. You know. How you took one woman up against the wall. The next on the floor. A third in the shower. And so on."

"I didn't mention anything about where we had sex."

"You didn't mention an exact number either." Pete closed his eyes. "Six. No seven. Curvy blondes with big breasts."

"Down, boy." Travis had to laugh. "You realize you just described your wife. Not that I ever look at her breasts."

Pete sent him a warning look, but without much heat attached.

"Let's drink up. My dream girl is waiting for me at home." Pete took out several bills, tossing the tip on the table. "Is yours?"

"Enough already." Travis took out twenty bucks. Their waitress was five months pregnant and still managed to keep everybody in her section served and happy. For good measure, he added another hundred.

"Well, what do we have here? Date night, boys?"

Eddie Hayes. As Travis put away his wallet, he sized up his ex-best friend. Somebody had discovered the gym. A thick chest strained the material of a black t-shirt, the veins on Eddie's arms standing out in long, blue lines. Mean glinted brightly in his dark gaze.

"Cat got your tongue, Forsythe? No greeting for your old pal?"

Travis nodded. His memory was long—especially where Delaney's safety was involved. Pleasant was the best Eddie would get.

"You're looking good."

"Are you coming on to me? What did I tell you?" Eddie grinned at the men with him. Three bruisers about the same size and build. "Heard that team of Forsythe's let a fag play for them. You and him butt buddies?"

When Pete would have stood, fists clenched, Travis shook his head. He'd dealt with men like Eddie long before Cyclones' rookie of the year, Drake Langford, came out to his fellow teammates and the world last summer.

Prejudiced. Ignorant. And without a compassionate bone in his body.

Arguing wouldn't help. Fighting felt good but ultimately solved nothing. As for logic. Eddie's skull had always been too thick for common sense to penetrate. Even so, Travis couldn't resist pushing back—if only with words.

"You know, Pete? I read an article in a medical journal. Guys who constantly complain and make sick jokes about homosexuality? The ones who act as though a gay man is worse than the plague? The study found that ninety-three percent of them have man-on-man fantasies."

Eddie wasn't stupid. He immediately understood Travis' meaning. Red-faced, the veins on his arms as he clenched his fists looked like they were about to burst—as did the matching ones at his temples.

"Did you just call me a fag?"

"What I call you doesn't matter. Are you, or aren't you, Eddie? Your friends would probably be interested in your answer."

"Fuck you, Forsythe," Eddie ground out, the flush on his face turning a fiery—vaguely alarming—shade of red.

"I thought you were going to placate this asshole," Pete whispered.

"I changed my mind."

Fighting solved nothing. But sometimes, nothing felt better than pounding his fist into the face of a first-class asshole.

"You two. Hit the road."

Miles Weller, manager of Dewey's, didn't look happy. Another blast from the past, Travis thought. Former best friends to the left of them and to the right of them. Former being the operative word.

"They approached us, Miles," Pete said.

"They drink here almost every night." Miles nodded toward a smirking Eddie and his crew. "You drop in what? Once a month. Maybe? I side with good, reliable customers. Not upshot, dickwad politicians and their stuck-up buddies who roll into town thinking their shit don't stink."

As Pete's temper rose with each word out of Miles' mouth, Travis realized the situation had morphed into something out of a bad action flick. Or an equally lame sitcom. He saw himself and Pete as the heroes—naturally. Though Eddie and Miles might have a different take.

"Come on." Travis grabbed their jackets, practically bulldozing Pete toward the exit. "You don't want to get into a brawl with the election only a week away."

Pete—reluctantly—allowed himself to be pushed out the door.

"Do you know how many votes I would get if I shoved Miles Weller's teeth down his throat? And if you knocked Eddie Hayes on his ass? Hell, I'd win by a landslide."

"Okay. Calm down, Bruiser."

"What are you talking about? I'm calm. Hell, I'm ice."

Amused, Travis watched as Pete almost shoved his fist through the lining of his jacket while in the act of retrieving his car keys.

"Want me to drive?" he asked when Pete's fumbled keys landed at his feet.

"Give me those." Pete took a deep breath as he unlocked the car. "The irony isn't lost on me, you know. I could've been one of those guys. Drinking every night. Bullying my way around town. A massive S.O.B."

"We all make choices."

"Pete the hero?"

"Damn straight."

Pete chuckled. "Who'd have thought a white hat would look so good on me?"

The friends looked at each other and grinned.

"Delaney," Pete said.

"Delaney," Travis nodded.

"Hey, pussy!"

Travis tensed, turning, fists ready. But Eddie seemed content to do his taunting from just inside Dewey's.

"I hear your girlfriend's back in town. Tell her my boss is really interested in getting reacquainted."

Sending Travis a middle finger, Eddie let the door slam behind him.

"Well, shit," Pete muttered.

"Tell me, Pete," Travis asked with admirable calm. "Who does Eddie Hayes work for?"

"You already know."

He did. But Travis wanted to hear the name.

"Tell me."

Pete let out a long sigh.

"Munch Brill."

 

DELANEY LOOKED AT herself in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth. Face washed, hair pulled back into a neat little ponytail, wearing her favorite two sizes too big Calvin and Hobbes t-shirt. She looked about sixteen—seventeen if she squinted.

With a frown, she let her hair loose, shaking her head until the ends brushed her shoulders. The effect was a little better. Nobody would mistake her for a femme fatale. But at least she no longer looked like jailbait.

Laughing, Delaney turned off the light. The process of getting comfortable in her own skin had taken time. But she was finally at a point in her life where she liked herself—inside and out.

Trips to the gym four times a week had made her body strong. She ran three miles every day. Tried to eat the right foods—for the most part. Delaney drank plenty of water. Moisturized her skin.

Delaney Pope had come a long way in eleven years.

So why suddenly worry about how old she looked? Or how she looked—period.

I'm not worried, Delaney assured herself as she slid under the covers, smoothing a hand over the soft patchwork quilt. Curious was a better word. Delaney had seen the spark of interest in Travis' blue eyes.

But what did Travis see when he looked at her. The girl he once knew? Or the woman she'd become.

Delaney had changed. So had Travis. Her hair was longer. So was his. She had curves—hips, breasts. He'd filled out—more muscles in all the right places. So much was different and new. Including the intense attraction. A mutual attraction.

However, one thing hadn't changed. The connection that had drawn them together as teenagers was still there. If they were willing to provide some much-needed time, care, and attention, Delaney was certain their friendship could be as strong as ever.

As for the rest? Delaney's marriage to Travis was nothing but a scrap of paper. A legal formality that one of them should have annulled years ago. Why they hadn't didn't matter. Neither of them had worked very hard at keeping their vows.

She did believe they cherished each other. Love? In a way. Honor was a stretch. As for to keeping only unto themselves? Delaney snorted. Nope. Nada. Not a chance.

Eyes heavy, Delaney turned off the bedside light. One thing she knew for certain, she wouldn't solve anything tonight. For now, Travis wasn't going anywhere. Tomorrow was soon enough to start to figure out what the future held for them. If anything.

With a settled mind, Delaney closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

 

DELANEY MADE A humming sound as she felt a pair of warm lips nuzzle her neck. Almost by magic, they found the spot just below her ear that always jump-started her blood to a low sizzle.

"DEL? YOU AWAKE? I need to talk."

Mm, Travis. Wait. Delaney's eyes popped open.

"Travis?"

"Yes."

"Your mouth is doing a lot more than talking."

Delaney knew she should roll away. Or protest. Call a halt to Travis' wandering lips. But she didn't have the strength—or the desire. Instead, she tipped her head to the side, allowing him better access to all the good spots.

"You shouldn't be here."

"All you have to do is ask me to go," Travis' breath tickled her ear, a shiver coursing through her body. His hand slid up her leg, caressing the inside of her thigh. "One word, Del. Yes? Or no?"

The dark fell over them like a seductive blanket giving Delaney the courage she might have lacked in the light of day.

"You smell so good," she said, turning on her back.

Dark, but not pitch-black. Delaney could see Travis' slow smile and the intense blue of his eyes.

"And you taste like heaven." Using his teeth, he grasped her bottom lip, biting. Lightly. Yet hard enough to give her a zing of pleasure. "We can start with a kiss. I tried to take one this afternoon. I apologize. I will never force myself on you, Del."

Delaney felt a tug at her heart. Travis knew her so well. She could send him away. He'd go without protest. Or, she could take a chance and get what she really wanted.

"Yes. A kiss."

"And…?" he asked, so close his lips brushed hers as he spoke.

"Everything. I want everything."

Travis' kiss had been her first. Sweet and perfect. Innocent. But they weren't kids anymore. And the way his mouth took hers was as far from innocent as two people could get.

Delaney sank into pure carnal bliss. Long, slow, wet kisses that went on forever, Travis was content to take his time so they could get to know each other. He touched her as if they had all the time in the world.

Inch by inch, Travis pushed the t-shirt up. Past her hips. To her waist. Over her breasts.

"So pretty," he said.

"How can you tell?"

The room was dark, and Travis had been too busy enjoying the taste of her mouth to spare a glance at her body.

"I have the touch. For ground balls, and beautiful women."

Talk about your cheesy lines. And from the smile on Travis' face, he was perfectly aware. Delaney tried to laugh—to let him know she appreciated his brand of humor, but he chose that moment to cup her breast, the pad of his thumb doing crazy good things to the hardening tip.

"Holy—" Air burst from her lungs. "Travis…"

"Hmm?"

Delaney struggled to remember what she wanted to say. How could she think when his mouth replaced his thumb and his tongue— Oh, his tongue.

"We're in Pete's home. Candice is my friend. Should we do this in their guest room?"

"Where would you prefer? The kitchen?"

"Don't be silly. Of course not."

"You're right. Too public. How about the bathroom?"

Her laugh turned into a moan. Travis wouldn't be derailed from his goal—to find every sensitive, toe-curling point on her body.

"The room isn't the point."

"Pete and his family are on the other side of the house, Del." Travis sat up, removing his shirt in one fluid motion. "They won't hear us."

Gorgeous. Every rippling inch. One look at a half-naked Travis and all Delaney cared about was seeing the rest of him. And getting a taste. Her mouth watered at the thought.

"Okay," she said, placing her hand on his flat stomach. "Your skin's hot. Hard, yet soft."

"I'm hard all over. And getting harder by the second." Travis waggled his eyebrows. "You want to see?"

"Yes, please."

With a flick of his wrist, Travis unbuttoned the waist of his jeans. Slowly, watching her watch him, he began to lower the zipper. Just as she caught her first glimpse of his underwear, a knock sounded.

"Don't answer it, Del."

"But—"

"Don't answer it."

Delaney frowned. Travis' voice seemed to dim as the knocking grew louder.

"Delaney? Delaney! Are you awake?"

Delaney's eyes flew open to find Candice—not Travis—standing over her. Caught between disappointment and embarrassment, she rolled over, smothering her face with the pillow.

"From all the moaning, I was afraid you were sick." Delaney felt the mattress dip as Candice took a seat. "If I'd known you were in the middle of a sex dream, I never would've interrupted. We were supposed to go for a run, but I can come back if you want to finish."

"The dream is gone." Delaney was about to toss the pillow aside the bed. When she caught the glint in Candice's eyes, she changed direction, bopping her friend on the head. "You mean finish. As in, take care of myself? No!"

"Masturbation is a healthy way to let off steam. I shouldn't have to tell you. You're a head doctor."

"I'm pro-masturbation. But not after my friend makes the suggestion. Then pops out of the room so I can do the deed."

"Point taken. I'll meet you downstairs in five minutes." Candice paused half in, half out the door. "So, how was Dream Travis?"

With a groan, Delaney pulled the sheet over her head.

"That good? Can't say I'm surprised."

When Delaney heard the click of the door, she lowered the sheet.

How was Dream Travis? She stared blindly at the ceiling. Better than any real man she'd been with. And they hadn't moved beyond some hot, hot, hot foreplay.

Perhaps the dream was an omen. A sign sent to warn Delaney to be content that she and Travis were friends again. To stop while she was ahead. Keep sex on a subconscious level because if it turned out to be a bust, she might lose him forever.

Delaney rolled out of bed, grabbing her running gear from the closet. She tugged on a pair of leggings, a sports bra, and socks. As she tied her shoes, she ran a different scenario through her head.

What if their undeniable chemistry translated into mind-blowing sex? Why not? She certainly liked the idea. Loved the idea. Hoped. Literally dreamed.

As she zipped up her jacket, pulling up the hood, Delaney gave herself a mental shake. Go for a run. Get out of your head.

If she were a patient, her words would be simple. Instead of worrying, let whatever happens with Travis take a natural course. Good luck, she laughed as she jogged down the stairs.

Like most doctors, Delaney was much better at giving than taking advice.

 

AN HOUR LATER, Delaney felt ready to face whatever the world threw at her. A brisk run and a hot shower tended to make everything look brighter.

In the kitchen, she walked straight to the refrigerator to pour herself a glass of juice and contemplate what she wanted for breakfast.

Candice had left for work, dropping Emma at school on her way. With the election next Tuesday, Pete's schedule was jam packed. Delaney planned on spending the morning at the thrift shop before lending whatever help was needed at campaign headquarters.

As for Travis—

"I'm starving." Travis crowded her out of the way, filling his arms with half the contents of the refrigerator. "I make a mean omelet. Want one?"

Speak of the devil. Travis was fresh from a shower, the ends of his still-damp hair curling around the collar of a clean, dark-red, button-down shirt. She knew she shouldn't look, her eyes straying to the way his excellent backside filled out a pair of faded jeans. Since she was only human, she enjoyed the view, innocently averting her eyes when he turned toward her.

Delaney took a seat on the far side of the huge island. She rarely cooked anything more complicated than toast. If Travis wanted to feed her, she wouldn't argue.

She knew from watching him play ball that he had the grace of a dancer on the field. However, Delaney was surprised to see his athletic timing and rhythm translate so seamlessly to the kitchen.

Watching Travis skillfully crack eggs into a bowl, grate cheese, and chop vegetables, she almost forgot the erotic nature of their last encounter. Dream or no dream, the scene had felt incredibly real. She might have blushed—if he'd known.

Travis slid a perfectly cooked omelet from the pan, setting the plate in front of her.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, taking the stool next to hers.

Delaney met Travis' less than innocent gaze. He couldn't know. Could he? Certain Candice hadn't spilled the beans, she shrugged.

"Good. How about you?"

"I couldn't sleep for the longest time." Travis licked a bit of cheese from his fork. "When I finally did, I was a bit… restless."

"Did you dream?" Of me?

"Not that I remember. Why?" As he turned his head, Travis sent her a speculative look. "Del? Did you dream about me?

"No. Maybe," she said, swallowing a delicious bite of omelet. "What did you mean? Why were you restless?"

"Because you were right across the hall. But if I'd known about the X-rated movie playing in your head, I would've been happy to give you a taste of the real thing."

With a shake of her head, Delaney placed her empty plate in the dishwasher, adding Travis'.

"Were you always so full of yourself? Or has your head expanded since the last time I saw you?"

"A bit of both, I imagine."

Delaney laughed. Damn him. Travis' ego was balanced with the ability to make fun of himself. How could she help but join in?

"Del. I ran into Eddie Hayes last night." Travis' expression turned serious.

"And?" she asked. She barely remembered Eddie Hayes.

"Eddie works for Munch Brill. He made certain I knew that Munch is keeping an eye on you."

Cold, like a shaft of ice, ran through Delaney's body. Not of fear. Those days were long gone. The most intense feelings of rage weren't always accompanied by heat. What she felt for Munch Brill was pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Every time I think about how my mother died in that car crash, and somehow he survived? He was behind the wheel. And drunk. I don't care what his brother the sheriff and a bogus breathalyzer test said."

The accident occurred on a Saturday. Munch would have started drinking before noon—as was his habit. Delaney didn't know why he and Alma were out on Miller's Road after dark, but by ten o'clock—the time the car sailed through the guard rail and into the steep embankment—Munch would have been in no condition to drive. As usual, her mother paid for her husband's disregard of anybody. This time, with her life.

"He broke his spine," Travis reminded her without a trace of sympathy.

"And will never walk again," Delaney nodded. "I hear he's in constant pain. Popping Vicodin like candy. After all the years of suffering inflicted by him on my mother? He got off easy."

Travis seemed to understand. Right now, she didn't need sympathy or comforting. She scrubbed a frying pan with barely concealed rage. Calmly—in quiet solidarity—he dried it.

"I couldn't come back for Mom's funeral." Delaney rinsed the last pan as she reminded herself through the next wave of pain-laced fury. "I knew if I saw Munch's face, I might kill him."

"Justifiable in my opinion."

Briefly, Delaney rested her head on Travis' shoulder. He'd always understood her. Instinctively. From the beginning. With a sigh, she dried her hands and finished straightening up the kitchen.

"The only saving grace is that Munch's days of targeting inexperienced, underage girls are over."

"You got away, Delaney. Men like Munch Brill hold grudges to the grave."

"Careful, you just gave me another reason to finish him off. Besides, I no longer have the two things Munch wanted from me. My youth and my virginity."

"Not funny."

Crossing her arms, Delaney leaned against the poured-concrete countertop.

"Laugh, cry, or commit murder. Take your pick."

"You have a fourth option." Travis placed his hand at the base of Delaney's back, tugging until her hips were aligned with his. "Concentrate on something pleasant instead."

Delaney went from cold to hot in seconds. Travis-fueled heat. The kind designed to make her blood sizzle in a good way.

She loved the way Travis neither grabbed nor manhandled her. He eased her toward him, leaving the final decision in her hands. Full participation or nothing at all.

"Pleasant?" Delaney leaned into his embrace, her arms sliding around his trim waist. She didn't want to leave any doubt. She was with him. All the way. "Aren't you selling yourself short?"

"Pleasant is a takeoff point," Travis said, his intense blue gaze focused solely on her. Specifically, on her mouth. "In your dream? Were we a slow burn? Or instant combustion?"

"Slow. But in a good way."

"Slow can be good," Travis conceded. "Fast can be better."

Delaney didn't wait. Ready. Eager. She met him more than halfway. She laced her fingers through Travis' impossibly soft hair, gripping the back of his head.

The kiss wasn't fast. More like wild. Expertly controlled chaos of the senses. Delaney opened her mouth with a welcoming sigh, her tongue touching his. Tasting. Learning. Exciting and heady.

"We have the house all to ourselves."

Delaney's eyes shot open as Travis bit the side of her neck, then slowly closed with a low, happy groan. Holy crap. She hadn't realized how good a little nip—delivered with precise expertise—would be so erotic.

"Don't tempt me."

What a silly thing to say. The man was nothing but walking, talking temptation. Head to toe. Breathing hard, Delaney didn't move as she allowed herself a moment to simply feel—to savor Travis' arms around her. A small, yet infinitely important—moment where she closed her eyes, smug in the knowledge the way his heart raced beneath her hand was because of her.

"I need to get to the thrift shop this morning. Then I can spend the afternoon helping out at Pete's campaign headquarters."

"Are we still on for dinner?"

"Yes." Delaney felt a bit reckless—the heated blood, she supposed. So, she pushed her luck. "Any chance you'll let me drive your motorcycle?"

Travis didn't laugh. Or brush off her suggestion out of hand. But his blue eyes did carry a shadow of a doubt.

"Have you ever handled a bike? They're trickier—and a hell of a lot heavier—than you'd think."

Delaney shook her head. "But I'm strong. Want to see?"

"Show me later," he said, eyeing her flexed bicep. "When I have time to give all your muscles a thorough inspection."

"What about the bike?" Delaney asked, following from the living room.

"No."

"But—"

Travis jogged up the stairs, pausing at the top. He leaned over the railing.

"No. Del. After you take some lessons and get certified, I'll be your first passenger. But not until then. Got it?"

"Fine."

Honestly, Delaney hadn't expected Travis to say yes. Her request had been spur of the moment. However, his response had been much better than a simple yes.

After you take some lessons. I'll be your first passenger.

Both sentences gave Delaney the impression Travis planned on staying in her life. How long and how close? She couldn't ask. Not yet. She was afraid the answer might break her heart.

One thing was certain. Delaney didn't want to lose Travis again. Maybe—just maybe—he felt the same.

Delaney snatched up her purse, exiting the house with a bounce in her step. A bounce powered by hope.