f it’s possible for someone to fall in love with a building, then I have. I love my new apartment. It has a lot more character and charm and space than my old one, and I love that this whole building belongs to me—well, Damon, technically, but he would say me—it feels good and reassuring knowing that my place of business is right below. My new home has nine foot ceilings, huge windows overlooking the street and refinished oak floors that creak comfortingly rather than being annoying. There’s a gorgeous brick accent wall in the living room and the original molding over the doors and windows that are made up of uniformly-spaced little blocks of wood (Jack said it’s called “dentil”). The kitchen is my favorite room—granite countertops, coral-colored walls, and a big center island with bead board around the base. Decorating has been minimal so far—I did pick up some sheers for the living room windows, set out a few framed family photos and a couple of Maddie and me, and I got some cobalt blue bowls for the kitchen—but the rest will be on the back burner till I get Memory Lane Café up and running.

I haven’t seen Damon for six days. I’ve kept replaying that parking lot kiss, including in bed at night, which made my hands wander beneath the blankets, and I’ve also wondered if it felt as meaningful to him as it did me. I don’t know what it was about that kiss—the impulsivity, or the fact that it seemed to convey so many things—for me, anyway. It made me want him more than ever. It made me miss him when I walked away. I almost turned around to go back to him, to leave with him instead of Maddie and Jack, but I got scared. Again. Not only because of what’s holding me back, but because of being afraid that once I’m truly with him, I won’t want to let go.

Not seeing him all week has been hard. Luckily, I’ve been busy. Café preparations are in full swing: deciding on a refrigeration unit, oven and a point of sale system, ordering coffee makers, an espresso machine, a coffee grinder, and looking over Jack’s designs for shelving, my office, the kitchen and counter. And when I get home from work, I try out online recipes, keeping a list of the best ones. My kitchen is filled with the delicious smells of banana-chocolate chip muffins, maple-cinnamon cookies, onion bagels...in just a few short weeks, I’ll be making them for real customers. Until then, Mads and Jack, and Stu, Lou and the Precision Machine gang have been the beneficiaries of some of my baking—figured it couldn’t hurt to sweeten up the boys before I give them my notice.

My days and evenings are packed, so it makes no sense that I still feel empty. Reading romance at night this week was almost torturous—got me all ramped up with no place to race, since Damon has been in Boston for a sales meeting and trade show, gearing up for boat season. He brought Portia. And I’ve been just the tiniest bit concerned about that, even though I witnessed with my own eyes the lack of initial chemistry between them. But things can change. Regardless, I shouldn’t care.

I do, though.

I care enough so that when 1:00 rolls around and I know he’s probably back home, I decide can’t stand the wondering anymore and pick up my phone just like a real girlfriend would, and I call him.

He answers on the third ring with a breathless “Hey.” And just hearing him say that one word sends a rush of longing right where rushes of longing usually go.

“Did you have a good trip?” I say it a little too enthusiastically, like real girlfriends do when they really mean, why the fuck didn’t you call me?

“Very productive.”

“Was it all business?” Jeeezus, Delaney Brewster, would you please shut the eff up!

There is a distinctive layer of amusement in his voice, and my pathetically-needy question spread it. “Nothing happened between Portia and me. Separate rooms, business meetings, friendly conversation at breakfasts, lunches and dinners, and nothing happened, so don’t worry.”

I force out a little laugh that sounds more like a cough. “Who said I was worried? Wow, you can be so arrogant. And besides...I like Portia, remember?”

“Are you saying you want a three-way? Because I’d be down with that. Only she doesn’t seem very into me.”

“It’s killing you a little bit, isn’t it? That she’s not falling all over you like the rest of the women in this country do.”

“Bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think? More accurate to say the women on the East Coast.”

I’m about to think of a retort when I hear what definitely sounds like a woof. “Was that a...dog? Are you at the Humane Society?”

“Just got back from doing some dog walking there, actually. And I brought someone home with me.”

“What?! You adopted?”

“Not yet. But soon. And it’s going to be pretty hard to top this guy.” Damon’s voice softens to a croon. “Hey, buddy...come here.” He addresses me again. “Tucker’s my favorite. Owner passed away, no one in the damn family wanted him. He’s a senior, and big—looks like a black Lab/Dane mix. He may be there a while, since people tend to want smaller dogs or puppies. He wasn’t doing too well in his kennel—must be weird for him to go from a home to all the noise.”

“Aww, the poor thing...do you have him like on a play date?”

“That’s basically what it is. The shelter has this new program called Dog’s Day Out where people can take a dog for a day or two, get him or her out of the stress of the shelter and report back to the staff on how it goes in a home environment, so you have a more realistic picture of the dog’s behavior. It’s kind of like fostering, only very short-term.”

“That sounds like a great idea. Maybe you could...bring him over tonight. You know, so I could meet him.”

There’s a chuckle on the other end—soft, deep, masculine. Panty-dissolving. “That’s the reason you want me to come over? To meet Tucker?”

Grrr, he’s making me flustered when I want to come across as smooth. “I mean, obviously, I’ll see you, since you’d be attached to his leash, but if you don’t—”

“Easy, tiger. I’m teasing. It’s what we do, remember? I want to see you.” His voice takes on a gravelly edge the way men sound when they’re starting to get turned on, and I basically have no panties left. “Pick up where we left off in the parking lot, maybe, if you want.”

I swallow. “Possibly.”

The chuckle again. “You crack me up. Okay. I’m hitting the gym and the grocery store this afternoon, but how about dinner tonight?”

“I’d like that. How about 6:00? I can make something here, so we could...stay in.” Could I be any more obvious?

“Sounds perfect. Tucker and I will see you then.”

* * * *

At 5:55, I take the shepherd’s pie out of the oven. It looks just right, with the scalloping I did around the edges and the little peaks of mashed potato golden brown hinting at crispiness. I made yeast rolls, a salad with homemade vinaigrette, and there are whoopie pies for dessert—tried out my mom’s friend’s recipe. I took more time than I wanted to pick out something to wear and decided on a clingy maxi dress with a navy and white Chevron pattern and a deep V for a neckline. Put some product in my hair to get it extra curly, pulled it back in a big clip, and I’m touching up my lips with strawberry-flavored gloss when Damon texts to say that he and Tucker are here. Gathering up my dress, I clack down the stairs and open the door.

It’s only been six days, but God...it’s good to see him. He hands me a bouquet of purple irises, and grins, a light-up-your-entire-face kind of grin, and I do a lightning-quick scan of his blond and golden self, his cream-colored V-neck and khakis—especially the zipper area. The scan is lightning-quick because after all, there’s a dog I need to see.

I thank Damon for the flowers and then bend down to say hi to the sweetest-looking big black dog I’ve ever seen. He’s got flying nun ears that don’t know if they want to stand up or droop down, a muzzle frosted with gray, and kind eyes that have seen just about everything. I am completely smitten.

I hold out my hand for Tucker to sniff. He wags his tail and lowers his ears, and I stroke his head gently.

“Charming old man, isn’t he?” Damon ruffles the scruff around Tucker’s neck. Our fingers touch, and I feel a shiver at the back of my neck.

“He’s adorable. I love him. I can totally see why he’s your favorite.”

The three of us head up the stairs. I’m hoping Damon is looking at my ass, but then I remember he’s a guy, and I don’t need to hope—just expect. Once we get inside, he takes off Tucker’s leash, and we watch, both of us smiling, as he checks out the place, circling around the coffee table with his tail gently waving, as if to say, I like it here. He hops up on my leather couch, curls his tail around him and gives a great, contented sigh, his old bones settling into the cushion.

I look at Damon. “He is perfect.”

“Tell me about it. I love seeing him relaxed like this.” He sniffs. “Something smells delicious. Besides you, I mean—I’m talking food delicious.”

“Come on in the kitchen. Tucker looks like he’s going to nap.” Damon follows, and as I’m standing on my tiptoes to get a vase out of the cupboard for his flowers, I feel my hair being swept aside and his lips pressing gently at my neck. Shuddering, I make a little gasp. His arms go around my waist, his mouth at my ear.

“I have a plan for you tonight,” he murmurs. “Just so you know.”

My fuck. “A plan?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it all week. What I’m going to do to you.”

“Damon...” I’m whispering, my bones turned to jelly. His lips are nipping along the nape of my neck, and he pauses to ever so gently sink his teeth into my skin. It occurs to me that he might be giving me a hicky. Then it occurs to me that I want him to.

“Is this plan in the contract?” My voice doesn’t even sound like me, all weak and breathy.

“Nope. But neither is you cooking dinner for me. So I guess we’re even. And speaking of dinner—let’s eat. Because the sooner we do, the sooner we can get to the rest of the night.”

He winks at me, and somehow I’m able to bring forkfuls of food to my mouth and ignore that my entire lower half is on fire.

It’s the dessert that does me in.

I bring over a plate of whoopie pies, and he takes one, shaking his head. “You’re spoiling me, Sprite.” I watch as he takes a bite, his eyes widening and thick blond brows arching. “These are fucking amazing.” He turns the whoopie pie so it’s vertical, and fixing his eyes on mine, extends his tongue and runs it up the layer of filling.

“It’s all about the cream for me. And licking.”

Heat pools in my cheeks. I am melting into my chair as I cast my gaze to the ceiling, trying not to burst out laughing. Yet again, I marvel at how this man can make me laugh and make me wet at the same time.

He helps me clear the table. I’m rinsing off our plates at the sink when his fingers close gently around my wrist and I hear his voice, full and low. “That’s enough, Sprite. I can’t wait any longer.”

Oh, God. My stomach feels like it just pole vaulted over my heart. I reach for my almost-empty glass on the counter and take a sip of my water, hoping he won’t see my hand shaking. But he must, because he whispers in my ear. “I just want to make you feel good, but only on your terms. It’s okay, Delaney.”

Hearing him say my name pushes me over the edge. I put the glass down and turn to look up at him. I feel very small, but not in an intimidated way—small in a highly erotic sense, as in this tall, gorgeous man is going to do things to me, and I am going to love those things very, very much.

Damon takes my hand. I freeze up. “Where are we going?”

He looks at me quizzically. “Your bedroom? If that’s okay.”

“Can we not? I know this sounds weird, but I can’t—I can’t have you in my bed. Not yet.”

“Okay.” He nods as if this makes perfect sense. I know he doesn’t get it, but he accepts it, and that’s all I need from him right now. “So...the living room.”

Giving my hand a squeeze, he leads me to the straight-backed antique chair that used to belong to my grandmother.

I don’t want to be thinking about my grandmother right now. And I hope she forgives me for what may happen in her chair.

I glance over at Tucker, who is snoring blissfully on the couch. It is such a sweetly-amusing thing, an old dog in my new place who feels comfortable enough to sleep.

Damon slides whisper-light fingers under my chin and tilts my head back. His eyes caress my face, and then he leans down to give me a soft, slow, deep kiss, his warm tongue searching mine. I put my hands at his trim waist, and then my fingers find their way underneath his sweater and travel up to the broad, hard planes of his chest. Pulling away from my mouth, he lifts up the bottom of my dress, gathering it at my waist, and then pulls it up and over my head.

Goosebumps erupt on my skin. “You’re not wasting any time,” I say, with a nervous little laugh.

“No. I don’t want to waste a second when I’m with you.” His gaze rakes over my body, making me shiver more. “Christ, Delaney...I don’t know if you can fully comprehend how gorgeous you are. Or what you do to me.”

A tide of arousal surges within me. Rough. Wild. And very, very wet. I want to tell him I feel exactly the same way about him. I want to, but right now, I can’t speak. My breasts are rising with each inhale. He’s watching like he’s entranced, his eyes glazed with lust.

He takes one, two steps toward me and rests his hands on my hips. “Remember when you said you wanted me to act natural with you—do with you what I would do with other women? 

I nod.

“Do you still want that?”

“Yes.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Good,” he murmurs. “It starts now.” He leans down, his mouth inches away from my ear, and growls. “Lose the bra and panties.”

Ohhh, God. That commanding tone, telling me what to do. My body is humming with arousal, buzzing with want. I’m trembling as I do what he asks, and then I’m standing before him completely naked. And vulnerable.

I can do this. I want to do this.

He locks his eyes with mine and in one quick motion, yanks his sweater over his head. His hair is sexily rumpled, and I suck in my breath as I drink in the sight of his broad, hairless chest, his defined abs...my own personal romance novel character come to life. My gaze drifts down to the front of his khakis—his tented khakis with his hard cock straining for release.

“You have the most perfect tits,” he tells me. “Those nipples are aching to be sucked, aren’t they?”

I can only nod. A gush of arousal soaks me between my legs. Self-consciously, I shift my feet and clamp my thighs together.

He shakes his head. “No. I want your legs apart, sweetheart. I need access to that beautiful pussy.”

Fuck.

Hesitantly, I put my feet apart again, and then I remember we’re not alone. “Damon...what about Tucker?”

He turns his head to glance over at the couch and grins at me, shaking his head. “You are too much. Tucker is sleeping. And even if he wasn’t, that old boy has seen it all. All you need to be thinking about is me making you feel good. I’m going to make you come so hard, Delaney.”

A choked little gasp escapes me as he reaches out and takes my nipples in his fingers. I lift my chin, and his mouth crashes down on mine for a deep, rough, I want to fuck you kiss. He kneels on the floor in front of me, still pinching and tweaking my nipples which have become long and hard. I sink my fingers into his glorious hair as I feel his right hand release my nipple and be replaced by his warm, wet mouth, tonguing and sucking on the erect knob. The tugging sensation in my breast goes straight down to between my legs, creating more wetness. More aching. More want.

Damon puts his mouth on my other nipple now, his right hand going back to pinch the nipple he just sucked on, and God, it hurts just enough to make the sensation exquisite. I’m overcome with the urge to touch him, grasp his erection in my hand and make him feel as unbelievable as I do.

“I want to stroke you,” I whisper. “Please.”

He releases my nipple and looks up at me, his face heart-stoppingly handsome. “Love that you’re thinking of me, Sprite,” he answers huskily, “but no. Not tonight. It’s ladies first with me, always. And tonight, it’s only about you.”

It is incredibly erotic, looking down at the hottest man I’ve ever seen on his knees in front of me. I splay my fingers out on his head, loving the feel of his thick, soft hair, and he crouches lower. I gasp when I feel him kiss my mound.

“Sit down, Delaney. On the edge of the chair, with your legs apart. Wide.”

Holy fuck, is he going to…?

I have my answer. His hands grip just above my knees, his thumbs pressing firmly on the inside of each. Moving forward, he pushes my legs apart gently, and I bite my lip when I feel his fingers spread my labia open.

“Christ—you’re fucking drenched. I’ve wanted to taste you for so long. Do you want me to?”

I am gasping for breath, every fiber of me buzzing with heady anticipation of what he is about to do to me.

“Do you want me to, Delaney?”

“Yes. God, yes, I do.”

He spreads my lips open more and expels his breath in a long sigh. “Your pussy lips are so engorged—just begging to be tongued.”

My fingernails dig into the arms of the chair. It is not my grandmother’s chair anymore.

I cry out when I feel his finger lightly stroke my labia and then circle, agonizing and slow, around the hard knot of nerves.

His next words make me unravel. “I want to lick that needy little clit until you can’t walk.”

“Damon!” I feel his breath on my pussy. Fucking Christ, I can’t take this. I am gasping, moaning, doing everything in my power not to shriek out loud...it’s been such a long time since I’ve been intimate with a man, and also this is Damon Cavanaugh.

The tip of his tongue flicks against my clit as he tunnels two fingers inside me. I feel myself clench around him, and he pauses in his licking. “Don’t come, Delaney—not yet. I want you to hold back and enjoy it. I’m not quite done with you, gorgeous.”

Oh God...oh God, his mouth. I feel his lips kiss my epicenter of pleasure, I groan as he flattens his tongue and laps me from the bottom to the top of my slit. He’s pushing his fingers into me rhythmically, and I want it to be his cock.

Tucker makes a deep sigh, and my eyes flash open briefly to look over at him. But the further this goes, the less I care. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade could march through, and the only thing I’d be focused on is Damon’s unbelievably talented mouth between my legs.

“Open your knees as wide as you can,” he orders. “You taste so fucking delicious, I want to bury my face in you.”

I move closer and open myself to him—literally and figuratively. I am soaking wet. His slippery fingers slide in and out of me harder, faster, as he fastens his lips around my clit and sucks vigorously. I am in awe that he knows exactly what I want, what I need. My climax starts to take hold. I fill my hands with his hair as if I’m holding on for dear life. A third finger, stretching me, and I tip my head back and cry out his name again and again as I lose myself in the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. It feels like I’m shattering into a million shards, but I know Damon can put the pieces of me back together again.

As terrifying as it is to admit this to myself...he makes me feel whole.