There are some things I’m going to miss about living in Northeast Harbor. Kayaking in Somes Sound to see Bear Island Lighthouse. The Lobster Risotto and Daymark Pale Ale at the Asticou Inn. How the sun’s been my silent alarm clock in my current bedroom, sliding through the crack in the drapes and teasing my eyes open. But I’m pumped about my new place in Hancock—I’m going to have the ocean in my backyard, breathtaking views, more space and more privacy. I’m a lucky bastard.

I was finishing up my Saturday morning run—Tommy had asked me to go to the gym, but I decided to run outside where it’s so mild—when Madeline called to tell me my offer on the Hancock house was accepted and that she received a pre-qual letter from a buyer on The Condom. So things in the real estate department are falling into place, but the rest of my life feels unsettled. The impending arrival of Portia amped up the stress, although I have to say that so far, she’s not as bad as I anticipated. I was picturing a cold, stuck-up bitch, but she’s turned out to be quite unassuming and actually nice. Talking to her on the ride to her apartment from the airport was surprisingly easy, and I got a charge out of her British accent. She’s gorgeous and refined—if I was looking for someone, she’d definitely turn my head, and I know my mother must be gloating over how attractive she is. But first, I’m not looking for anyone, and second, I’m not feeling it with Portia. Part of it is probably because of the way she acts toward me—friendly and warm without being flirty. I have a feeling, though, that the lack of initial chemistry is due to something else.

But I know things can change, so I’m going to be on my guard with Portia—and with Gloria, who’s going to be pushing like hell. Then there’s the pull of my fake girlfriend, and knowing I need to watch myself in that regard, too—making sure I keep my feelings from tangling up with my dick, and being careful not to confuse either one of us.

So for all these reasons, I’m damned grateful for my happy place, because being there like I was this afternoon is grounding and calming. Even though I’m there to help, the place ends up also helping me—every time.

I’m in my bedroom closet starting the packing process boxing up winter clothes when my phone rings. It’s Delaney. Seeing her name on the screen makes my insides clench up. I wanted her to be the one to initiate the next move, and Christ, I hope she wants to see me tonight.

We’ll find out.

“Hey. Missing your boyfriend?”

“I think you meant to say fake boyfriend. Whom I just found out was in cahoots with my real best friend.”

“Ah. You talked to Madeline. We were going to tell you later.”

“We? It sounds like quite the conspiracy plot.”

“It was. You mad?”

“Yes.”

She’s not. I can hear it in her voice that she’s not.

“Let me make it up to you.”

There’s a pause, and I can picture her smiling. “That’s so selfless of you.”

“I’m just that kind of guy.”

Another hesitation, and then her words come out in a tumbled rush, like she can’t hold them in anymore. “Do you want to come over tonight?”

A slow warmth begins inside my chest, spreading out to reach into every corner of me. “Absolutely. What time?”

“Is 7:00 okay? I’ll make an appetizer and a dessert.”

“7:00 sounds perfect. What would you like me to bring?”

“Nothing, thanks. Just you.”

The way she says that makes me grin. “I’ll think of something. I’m not going to show up empty-handed.”

“All right. It seems like you usually get your way.”

“Oh, I do, Sprite.” I hesitate, because concern is overriding my horniness that typically equals the amount of water in my body. “Are you sure about me coming over?”

A little laugh from her. “Honestly? No. But I want you to, if that makes any sense.”

“We can go slow. I’m not going to pretend it won’t be hard for me—literally—but I won’t do anything you’re not ready for. And slow can be really, really sexy, Sprite. Just sayin.”

I can hear her sharp little intake of breath, and the sound goes straight to my dick. Jesus, this will be a challenge. But I’m up for it.

So to speak.

* * * *

Delaney opens the door just as I’m raising my hand to knock on it. “Hi,” she says breathlessly. “I saw you drive in.”

I take a second to study her, and I can’t stop the grin from grabbing my lips. I’ve never known a woman to look adorable as hell and sexy as fuck at the same time, but Delaney’s rocking it.

“Sorry I didn’t dress up. I hope you don’t mind that I went for comfort rather than style.”

Uh, no. I don’t mind at all. “You look fantastic.” I step into her apartment, wiping my shoes on the mat.

She’s wearing a white tank top under a thin, peach-color sweater and flowery stretchy pants that I really want to see the back of. The sweater is big on her, or maybe the neck is supposed to be wide like that, but the end result is that one of her shoulders is bared, and I want to put my lips and a little bit of teeth on it. Her blonde hair is gathered up in a high ponytail, and her cheeks are the soft pink of a conch shell. She keeps pulling the sweater up on her shoulder like she’s self-conscious, her clear blue eyes darting to my lips, and Jesus, it’s taking some fucking major resistance not to pull her into my arms and kiss that sexy mouth.

“Here,” I say quickly, handing her the small bouquet of flowers and bottle of Riesling. “I disobeyed you and brought something. Plural.”

Delaney takes them, smiling and shaking her head. “You didn’t need to do that. But thank you. You didn’t wear a coat?”

“Nope. Being a true Mainer, forty-five degrees in early April feels like a heat wave.”

“Agreed.”

“You’re looking very spring-like yourself. Nice pants.”

“They’re Lularoe leggings. Kind of all the rage right now.”

I follow her into the kitchen, glad of the chance to check out her perfect round ass. She gets a vase out of the cupboard for the flowers, fills it with water and sets it on the table. “I made coconut shrimp, and I just need to pop the nachos in the microwave. I hope you like them loaded.”

“Is there any other kind? It all looks great—thank you.”

“It’s no trouble at all—I love to cook, which is a good thing, seeing as I’m going to open up a place that serves food.” She smiles at me and shakes her head slowly. “Still find it hard to believe.”

“Believe it.” I spy a plate of what looks like homemade brownies with green frosting. “Those look dangerous.”

“Oh, they are. Chocolate mint squares.”

“Everything looks delicious. Including the cook.”

Her lips part slightly, I see her breasts rise up with her inhale, and that does it. I reach her in two strides, sweep her up against me as she makes a little gasp, and cover that sweet mouth with mine. If she’s at all resistant, I’ll back off, but no...she’s yielding to me, all of her—her mouth opens to take my tongue, her back bends and her pelvis tilts forward, and fuck me, I want this beauty.

I pull her closer with one arm, my other hand splaying out at the base of her ponytail, gripping her hair as I kiss her deeper. Her mouth, it’s incredible—warm, soft, eager. I’m falling deeper into her, my right hand leaving her hair to travel down the front of that peach sweater, and then, I remember.

Slow, Cavanaugh—you said slow.

As much as I want to go further, I don’t want to freak her out. Reluctantly, I take my mouth off hers, pulling back to assess the situation. She’s blushing like crazy, breathing hard, and there’s a comical expression on her face that clearly says, whatwhatwhat? why the fuck did you stop?

She doesn’t ask the question, but I answer it. “I told you we’d go slow.”

I watch the little skirmish of desire and resignation duke it out on her face. Her breathing slows, and she nods. “I know.”

“It’s fucking excruciating, though, Sprite.”

“I know that, too.”

The quick little smile she flashes launches me back into thinking-with-my-cock-mode, and I have to change the subject fast. “How about we get something to eat?”

I open the bottle of Riesling while she sets out white plates and wine glasses. We eat the nachos while the shrimp’s in the oven, and she admonishes me when I decide I have to try one of the chocolate squares.

“Will power, Demon, remember?” She waggles a finger at me.

“You gotta allow me this one slip, Sprite. Especially when I’m being so good holding back with you.”

“All right.” Delaney sips at her wine, looking at me over the glass, and I’m back to wanting to fuck her this very second.

She seems to know what I’m thinking, because her cheeks are getting pink again. “Alexa, play 80’s rock.”

The kitchen fills with the sounds of Motley Crue.

“Ahh..classic. I’m impressed you like the old stuff.”

“It’s because I’m cool.”

“I’ve never doubted that.”

“But I like more refined music, too.”

“Are you saying Smokin’ in the Boys’ Room isn’t refined?”

The oven timer chimes, and she’s laughing as she gets up to take the shrimp out of the oven. “Oh, it totally is. I meant to say other refined music. I love listening to piano.” She gives Alexa a command to play it.

“What a coincidence, because I happen to play piano.” I’m watching her bend over and take out the baking sheet. Not thinking very refined thoughts right now.

Sprite twists around to look at me, clearly surprised. “Seriously? I had you pegged for a jock.”

“Oh, I was that, also. The son of Gloria Cavanaugh was raised to be very well-rounded.”

“Did the son of Gloria Cavanaugh also have a dad?” Instantly, her face turns contrite. “Ugh, sorry—that was insensitive.”

“No worries. My father was around till I went into high school. He lives out of state, and I hardly see him, which is just as well since he’s an asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So when I’m a prick, that’s my dad coming out. Although as you’ve seen, my mother can also be a prick. I’m fucking doomed.”

She smiles, and then her expression gets soft. “You’re not a prick, Damon.”

“I’ll do my best to make sure you keep that lofty opinion of me.”

“So back to the piano—could you ever do Richard Gere in that Pretty Woman scene?”

“Sure—but only if you could do Julia Roberts.” I wink at her, but underneath the table, things are getting hard, picturing Delaney in a black teddy on a piano. “He actually played the piano in that scene. Composed the piece, too.”

“Really? And you know this how?

“Buzzfeed.”

Delaney giggles, and then we’re both laughing. I’m feeling good, relaxed, and it’s clear she is, too. The delicate notes of the piano swirl around us as we finish our wine. Her eyes are fastened on mine, and something between us changes.

“Let’s go in the living room,” she murmurs.

I’m not used to a woman taking the lead—if it were up to me, we would have skipped the shrimp and gone straight to her bedroom—but I want her to be okay with whatever we do. And I had my doubts we’d actually ever get to this point, so I’m feeling fortunate.

She takes a seat on the couch. There are two other chairs in the room, and I’m waffling about where I should sit when she pats the cushion next to her.

I like that option.

She pulls her legs underneath her, the sweater slipping off her shoulder again which puts me back in nibble mode. She’s looking down at her hands like she’s not sure what to do or say next, and I don’t want awkwardness or uneasiness to spoil what’s been a really good night so far.

“Nothing needs to happen, you know,” I tell her. “It’s been great, just talking to you.”

Gratitude shines in her eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by an unmistakable craving, and seeing this makes me want to shove the kinder, gentler Damon aside to make room for the Damon who wants to climb on top of her and fuck her lights out because she’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.

Jesus Christ, easy, boy.

“So you’d rather share some more trivia about Pretty Woman?”

“I can do that.” My pants are getting tight. “Did you know that the homeless guy in the scene where Richard Gere asks for directions is actually Garry Marshall, the director?”

“I didn’t know that.” She slides the tiniest bit closer to me, rests her small hand on top of mine.

Fuck. “Yeah, it’s true.”

“What if I want something to happen?”

I swallow hard. “I can do that, too.”

Those sparkling blue eyes catch mine, hold them. They’re almost beseeching as she speaks. “The thing is, though—I want this to be natural and not forced. I’m going to try to just be me, and I want you to just be you.” A pause, and I see her face tighten. “I mean, I know we’re not dating for real, but I want—I want this mutual fun thing to be real.”

Fucking Christ. I want that, too. “Tell me what you want me to do, Delaney.” My words come out rough and husky, and I know she hears how horny I am for her. 

Her voice is low and feathery. “I want you to do what you usually do, with women. Help me get carried away, so I can maybe forget and lose myself in it. I want to be able to do that.”

Whoa. There’s a fierceness in her eyes, a determination along with the pleading. I want her more than I can express in words, but even more than that, I want her to enjoy it. Lose herself. Totally let go.

“I’d love to help you, Delaney. You have no idea how much.” I shift a little on the couch; my dick is hard and uncomfortable, but this is going to be about her. Reaching out, I brush the wisps of blonde strands back and tuck them behind her ear. She shudders. “Just tell me if at any point you want me to stop, and I will, immediately.”

A barely audible murmur. “Okay.”

I pull her close, inhaling the flowery scent of her hair, and her arms go around my neck. God, I love the feel of her, just holding her like this. I wanted to do this the second I came in the door.

My lips are at her ear. “That sweater looks great on you, but it has to come off.” I press my mouth gently behind her earlobe, on her cheek and neck, grinning when she shivers. I kiss her bare shoulder, nibble lightly at her skin like I wanted to and feel my hard-on grow as she gasps. “God, I love how sensitive you are, Delaney.” I lift the bottom of her sweater, and we both pull it over her head. Her hair is falling around her flushed face, she’s breathing harder, and watching her perfect little tits rise up and down under the fabric makes me want to see more of them.

“Your shirt.” Without hesitation, she takes off her tank top, and Jesus...I have to just look at her. Flawless skin, toned arms, her perfect round tits peeking out of a white satin bra...I want my lips around her nipple and my cock deep inside her, but I’m not going to rush.

“You’re gorgeous, Sprite,” I tell her huskily. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

She raises her gaze, her lips parting slightly, and I crush them with mine. Our tongues meet, we find our kissing rhythm, and I can’t get enough—her mouth is so eager, so hungry. I taste wine and warmth; I’m swallowing the little sighs she’s making and it’s driving me fucking crazy.

“You want me to touch you, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because I’m going to.”

Wrapping my left arm tight around her small waist, I slide my right hand into her bra to cup her breast, pulling my mouth away from hers just a fraction so our warm breaths are entwining, and so she can concentrate on only my fingers as they roll and tweak her nipple. Fucking erotic as hell, listening to her sounds.

I move to the other breast, circling my finger around the pebbled skin and pinching that nipple, and then she’s lifting up the bottom of my sweater, fumbling with my belt...holy fuck, she’s trying to release the Kracken, and I’m not about to stop her.

I attack her mouth again, groaning when I feel her hand slide past my waistband and grasp my length.

“Feel how hard you make me, Delaney?”

“God, yes,” she breathes against my lips. “You feel so big.”

“I’m so fucking hard for you, girl. And I bet you’re wet for me, aren’t you?”

Her fingers wrap around the base of my cock, sliding up to my head and stroking hesitantly. Just having her down my pants is enough to make me blow my load. I grit my teeth and reluctantly take her hand away. “You’re turning me on so much, Sprite—but I want this to be about you, and I’m not going to be able to last long. I’ve got to touch you—see how wet you are. Get on your knees.”

“Damon...oh, God...” She’s moaning as I ease the leggings down her hips. I have all I can do not to lay her down on the couch and take her. Not too fast, Cav, I warn myself. But Christ, nothing could have prepared me for how much I want her.

I’m kissing her again, hard, as I slowly walk my fingers down into her panties. White lace panties. What is she, trying to kill me with the virgin vibe here?

I can feel the heat of her pussy even before I touch her there. She’s trembling; I’m so close, my fingers just millimeters away from those sweet soft folds I’m out of my mind wanting to feel, and when I whisper for her to close her eyes and relax, everything comes to a shocking, screeching halt.