Chapter Six

 

Finn hesitated before knocking on Delilah’s door, wondering yet again if she’d think him too pushy, or that he was making a pest of himself. But in the next second he was scolding himself for worrying about such things, and shaking his head in mild disgust at what a wuss he’d allowed himself to turn into. He had never, ever gone to this much trouble for a woman before, and especially not for a woman he hadn’t even kissed yet, much less fucked.

He’d been sorely tempted too many times over the past ten days to throw up his hands in frustration, give up his futile attempts to win over this maddeningly stubborn female, and go back to his happy, carefree manwhoring ways. He had told himself that no one woman was worth anywhere near this much trouble, and that if by some miracle he ever did get into her panties, it would probably be the biggest letdown of his life.

But then he’d catch a glimpse of Delilah leaving for work dressed in one of her sexy but subtle outfits, and would feel a renewed determination to make her his. Or he would think back to the days when he was still playing football, how hard he’d trained, and how dedicated he had always been at being the best. And he had resolved that Finn McManus was not going to give up that easily, that he was going to see this thing through, and use every trick he and his loyal band of friends had helped him dream up.

Two days after he’d given her the red amaryllis - a Saturday, as it happened - he had dragged himself out of bed at an obscenely early hour just so he could be one of the first in line at a popular local bakery who made croissants so buttery and flaky that they sold out before mid-morning. Finn had no idea if Delilah even liked croissants, but had kept his fingers crossed when he’d knocked on her door. She had still been dressed in her bathrobe - a silky, sexy confection of seafoam green and creamy lace, her long hair still mussed from sleep. She hadn’t been wearing a lick of makeup but, as he had once guessed, her perfect features were even more striking in their natural state.

The look of mingled surprise and annoyance on her face to find him on her doorstep had instantly disappeared when he’d handed her the bakery bag, and she’d taken a deep, appreciative sniff of the still-warm croissants. She’d thanked him for the treats but hadn’t invited him inside to share them. At least, he’d thought somewhat grudgingly, she hadn’t had any overnight guests staying with her, another of her besotted suitors to share the croissants with. That would have definitely sent him over the edge, given how long he’d waited in line on a damp, foggy morning for the damned things.

And while he had seen her in the company of another of those dark-haired, designer-suited clones she seemed to favor, she and her date hadn’t seemed particularly cozy, and Delilah had looked distinctly uncomfortable at being seen with him in Finn’s presence. And though Finn had silently fumed about the fact that another man was going to be with the woman he’d been obsessing over, at least he’d been able to exhale in relief when Delilah had returned to her condo alone a few hours later. He’d told himself that gazing out the peephole of his front door every ten minutes to wait for her return shouldn’t be considered stalking. Instead, he had assured himself confidently, it had simply been neighborly concern on his part, making sure that she arrived home safely.

As for himself, he’d been sticking to his guns and living like a damned monk - or, as he’d joked with his friends, like Max. At first, Finn had had serious doubts that he would actually be able to remain celibate for more than a few days. After all, the habits he’d picked up over the last two decades were tough ones to break. But now that he was past the three week mark, it was admittedly proving to be far easier than he had feared. He had also cut way back on his drinking, increased his workouts, was sleeping better, and overall felt healthier than he had in several years. Maybe, he’d mused, this abstinence thing wasn’t so bad after all if it resulted in his improved health and a clearer mind. However, he had told himself, the very second he got the green light from one Ms. Delilah Ferris then it was game on and adios to living like a hermit.

But as much as he hated to admit it, that light seemed to be permanently stuck in the yellow/”proceed with caution” location. And while Delilah had actually condescended to speak with him, and had thanked him graciously for the “housewarming” gifts he continued to present her with on an almost daily basis, Finn honestly didn’t think he had made any real progress with her. Each time he’d asked her about going out for that drink, she had had one excuse after another - some work to catch up on, a dinner date, needing to be at the office early the next day, fighting off a headache. He was beginning to fear that her response would never be yes - which was precisely why he’d finally decided to take matters into his own hands.

Delilah heaved a sigh of resignation when she saw Finn hovering in her doorway, a goofy grin on his face. “Why am I not surprised that it’s you?” she asked sardonically. “You do know that one housewarming gift is considered more than sufficient, and you’ve already given me half a dozen. It’s almost like you’re trying to win me over or something, even though we both know the likelihood of that ever happening is slim to none.”

His grin only deepened at her sarcasm. “Now, Delilah, you’re not being very neighborly, are you?” he scolded. “Besides, you sure seemed to like all those little gifts.”

“They were very nice,” she conceded reluctantly. “Especially the gift bag.”

In addition to the red amaryllis and fresh croissants, Finn had also brought her a bouquet of vividly hued spring flowers, a brand new DVD of Samson and Delilah, a flat of fresh organic strawberries, and the lavish, extravagant gift bag he’d been presented with at some celebrity-studded event he’d attended earlier this year. The bag had been taking up space in his closet while he’d debated whether to send it to his mother or sister, or give it to one of his numerous bedmates. But given how thoroughly delighted Delilah had been when he had presented it to her instead, it had been a good thing he’d held onto it. He had only given the contents of the burgundy leather weekender bag a cursory inspection, but had noticed a variety of cosmetics and bath products, a gift certificate for spa services, a silk scarf, a gold necklace, some gourmet chocolates, and an iPod, among the two dozen or so items inside.

“I hope you’ve been enjoying it,” he replied gallantly. “And you’re right - I have brought something else over this evening, but it isn’t exactly a housewarming gift. I decided since you keep finding excuses not to go out and have a drink with me that I’d bring the drink to you. I’m guessing that since red is your favorite color that you also prefer red wine? This is a Chateau Montelena Estate Cabernet.”

He held up the bottle of wine that Jordan had recommended, the one that had set him back almost two hundred bucks. Upon seeing the price, Finn had mumbled something under his breath about how this damned wine better be some sort of magical aphrodisiac. Fine wines really weren’t his thing, as he was far more of a beer/whiskey/vodka kind of guy, and certainly nothing of a connoisseur when it came to much of anything. 

Delilah, however, seemed to recognize and appreciate the very pricey vintage he held out for her perusal. She ran a pale pink-tipped nail over the label, her voice almost a croon as she murmured, “I am definitely a red wine fan, especially from this vineyard. I’ve been to a couple of events there, actually, a wedding and a fundraiser tasting party. Beautiful setting, and fantastic wine. Have you ever been to the winery?”

Finn shook his head, figuring there was no sense in trying to bullshit his way through the question, since his overall lack of expertise when it came to wine was sorely lacking. “Nope. I’m pretty much a novice when it comes to choosing good wine. I asked one of my best friends for a recommendation since he has a pretty impressive collection of the stuff.”

“Well, he certainly knows his wines.” She hesitated for several moments before slowly motioning him inside her place. “And since you obviously went to a lot of trouble to bring this over, it would probably be ungrateful of me not to invite you in.”

He glanced at her casual attire of jeans, dove gray cashmere sweater, and bare feet. “So, I’m not keeping you from anything this evening?” he asked teasingly. “No important work assignment or early conference call? Or no hot date with one of the clones?”

Delilah looked confused as she shut the door. “What in the world are you talking about? What clones?”

Finn smirked as he followed along in her wake. “Come on. Don’t try and deny that the stuffed shirts you date all look alike - dark hair, suit and tie, uptight as hell. And I’ll bet none of them have anything resembling a sense of humor. Aren’t you ever tempted to break out of your rut and try something different? After all,” he added with a wink, “it’s really true about blonds having more fun.”

She gave him a little eye roll as they reached her kitchen, where she swiftly produced two wine glasses and a very sophisticated-looking cork puller. “I’m sure you believe that,” she retorted, deftly uncorking the wine and then pouring some into each glass. “And my dates are not clones as you refer to them. I just happen to have a particular type of man I prefer to date.”

“And you’re trying to tell me, in not so many words, that I’m not your type,” observed Finn dryly.

“That’s right,” replied Delilah bluntly. “I mean, you’re not as much of a jackass as I thought at first but you’re still not my type.”

“Tell you what, darling Delilah,” he told her, grinning. “If you agree to go on a date with me - a real date - not only will I wear a suit and tie but I’ll dye my hair, too.”

She burst out laughing. “You know, I’ve had guys say some pretty outrageous things to grab my attention over the years, but I can say for sure that this is the first time anyone was willing to go to that sort of extreme. But coloring your hair isn’t going to make a bit of difference as to whether I agree to go out with you or not, Finn.”

He scowled as he took the glass she held out to him. “So does that mean the answer is still no?”

“It means,” replied Delilah calmly, “that I still haven’t made up my mind. Now, let’s enjoy this really incredible wine, okay?”

“Fine,” agreed Finn rather sullenly.

But as they clinked glasses and then took a sip of Cabernet, even someone as uninformed about wines as Finn professed to be could appreciate such a rich, fine vintage. Delilah closed her eyes as she savored the wine, making a little sound of pleasure deep in her throat that went directly to Finn’s groin. And when she licked those full pink lips, he had to bite down on his tongue and turn away slightly in order to avoid yanking her flush against his very aroused body.

Desperate for a distraction, he ran a hand admiringly over the dark green granite countertop in her kitchen. “I, uh, like what you’ve done to the place,” he blurted hastily. “What with all the workers coming in and out of here before you moved in, you must have remodeled the entire space.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance. “My, you certainly seem to have a lot of time on your hands in order to observe all the comings and goings here - workers, my dates, me. Don’t you have to work for a living?”

“Of course, though I’m in between seasons at the moment.”

Finn gave her an overview of his current job at the network, as well as none-too-casually mentioning the fact that he used to play professional football.  But if Delilah was at all impressed she gave not the slightest indication - unlike all of the groupies he’d been with over the years whose main goal in life was to hook up with as many pro athletes as possible.

“I’ve actually been thinking about making some changes around my place,” he told her. “I, uh, don’t suppose you’d care to give me a quick tour?”

She looked at him in disbelief, obviously considering this some sort of ruse on his part to extend his stay. But rather than argue the point, she merely shrugged and motioned for him to follow her.

“You’ve already seen the kitchen,” she began. “That was totally re-done - floor, cabinets, counter tops, appliances. It was actually in good condition when I bought the place but the colors just didn’t do it for me - light oak cabinets, brown granite, beige floors. Ugh. I knew right away I would never want to cook in a kitchen so bland, knew I had to have more color.”

In addition to the jade green granite counters, the kitchen featured gleaming walnut cabinets, professional grade stainless steel appliances, and recessed lighting. Being a contractor’s son, Finn recognized the high quality of the gourmet kitchen, and knew she had spent tens of thousands of dollars on the room.

The rest of the two bedroom, two bath condo had been just as thoughtfully and tastefully renovated - from the pale gray wood floors to the deep burgundy window coverings and unusual but striking pieces of art that had been hung on nearly every wall. The furnishings were an eclectic mix of antique tables, cushy sofas and chairs, and discreet light fixtures and lamps. The accessories and decor ran the gamut from an artful assortment of candles and multi-hued straw balls to a whimsical collection of music boxes to a shelf filled with framed photographs. Books and magazines nearly overflowed other shelves, and the bouquet of flowers he’d given her a few days ago had been arranged in an antique bronze milk jug and set on the dining table.

It was evident that Delilah had a flair for interior decorating, perhaps an offshoot of her career in fashion design. Equally apparent was her love of bold, vibrant colors - both jewel and earth tones, ranging from luscious sapphires and amethysts to deep topazes and burnt siennas. Finn knew instinctively that she had chosen every piece of furniture, every picture, every dish and glass and candlestick, and that she wouldn’t have permitted some impersonal designer to influence any of her choices.

She’d had both bathrooms completely gutted and re-done to her tastes, including the sunken, jetted tub in the master bath. Finn forced himself not to envision how she would look in that tub, her naked flesh wet and glistening, with those masses of dark hair piled atop her head. And he wouldn’t even allow himself to imagine getting into that spacious granite shower with her, soaping up her curvy little body before wrapping one of her slender legs around his waist and fucking her against the wall. Because if he indulged himself with either or both of those very sensual fantasies, he was going to find it damned near impossible not to at least attempt to reenact them.

Delilah was using her spare bedroom as a home office, complete with a drawing board, sewing machine, and several bolts of fabric. This was the only room thus far on the tour that wasn’t as neat and tidy as the rest of the place.

She gave a careless little shrug when she noticed his raised eyebrows. “I tend to get a little carried away when I’m inspired. Sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night with an idea and dash in here to work on it for a couple of hours. I don’t always have the patience to put everything away neatly.”

Finn held up his hands as if in surrender. “Hey, far be it from me to criticize your housekeeping. If I didn’t hire someone to clean up after me three days a week, I’d be sleeping on the same set of sheets for a year, and would have to keep buying new underwear and socks because all the others were dirty.”

Delilah wrinkled her nose. “Charming. Just charming,” she replied dryly. “Now, since this will probably be the first and only time you ever get to see my bedroom, you’d better commit it to memory.”

He grinned at her lasciviously. “Never say never, darling Delilah. One of these days you might decide that you prefer blonds after all.”

She gave him a dark look, muttering “asshole” under her breath, as she guided him to her room.

“Wow.”

Finn couldn’t think of anything else to say as he studied Delilah’s sumptuously decorated bedroom. The walls had been painted a dark, sensual red, while French doors had replaced the regular sliding door that opened out onto the balcony like the one in his own bedroom. But the focal point of the room was the enormous four-poster bed, with its dark gold brocade duvet and a huge pile of jewel toned accent pillows. The bedside lamps had red silk shades with amber beads hanging from the bottom, and the overall theme of the room made him think of a -

“A harem. That’s what this reminds me of,” he mused, running his palm over the satiny fabric of the duvet. “Not sure if that was your intent, but I definitely think it suits you. And the red walls - well, what else would a she-devil have chosen?”

Delilah laughed softly. “Is that how you see me, Finn - a devil? Or maybe a succubus?”

He walked over to where she stood hovering in the doorway, sliding a hand into her luxurious hair before she could step away. “What else?” he murmured huskily. “You’re gorgeous and tempting as hell, not to mention you seem to enjoy driving me insane. And since red is your favorite color, it all makes sense.”

Surprisingly she didn’t bat his hand away, or try to break his little finger, seemingly content for his hand to remain where it was, at least for the moment. “You really aren’t my type, you know,” she retorted. “And it’s not just the blond hair and - well, let’s call it a very casual dress code. I don’t date players, Finn. And while the last thing I’m in the market for right now is a serious relationship, I also have zero interest in a quick, dirty fling.”

Finn lowered his head towards hers, his thumb brushing over her lips as he murmured huskily, “Baby, trust me. Nothing about going to bed with you would be quick. I’d take my time with a prize like you, make it last a good long time. And there’s nothing the least bit dirty about you, Delilah. You’re a queen, baby. Queen of the devil women most likely, but royalty just the same. And that’s how I’d treat you - like a queen.”

She quivered at his words, closing her eyes briefly. But just as he was ready to finally claim that lush mouth in a deep kiss, she broke away and hurried back into the living room.

“You, um, haven’t seen the terrace yet,” she announced, opening up the French doors that led to the tiled balcony. “I don’t think the view from this side of the building is as good as yours, but I still love having a cup of coffee or a glass of wine out here and looking out over the city. Especially at night when all of the buildings are lit up.”

Finn allowed her to change the subject, but couldn’t contain a satisfied inner smile at knowing he’d finally succeeded in rattling the cool, calm, and collected Ms. Ferris.

“I like it at night, too,” he agreed. “And I also like what you’ve done with the space out here - all of these plants and the rattan furniture with those bright cushions. It feels like a tropical retreat in the middle of the big city. In fact,” he added, “I like everything you’ve done to your place. You obviously put a lot of thought into the process, went to a lot of trouble and expense to give it your personal stamp.”

Delilah nodded, taking a sip of her wine, and he could tell she was pleased with his compliment. “I needed this place to feel like a real home,” she acknowledged. “Something I haven’t really had for - well, a very long time.”

Finn was tempted to quiz her about that particular - and incredibly sad statement - but wisely chose not to. There was no way he had made anywhere near enough progress with Delilah to start asking such personal questions. Instead, he asked her for decorating advice about his own condo.

“It’s pretty bland and basic,” he admitted readily. “A typical bachelor pad. Except that this bachelor is going to be forty years old soon and, well, just about everyone I know keeps telling me it’s finally time to grow up.”

Delilah snickered. “At least your friends seem like sensible people. Why in the world do they hang out with you? As for the decorating advice, I’m not sure, Finn. For one thing, I’m not exactly an interior decorator. I mean, I know the sort of things and colors that I like, but that doesn’t mean I’m qualified to give other people advice.”

He shrugged. “I could care less about your qualifications or experience. I can tell you have good taste and your opinion would mean a lot to me. And I’d welcome the chance to work on some projects. Believe it or not, I’m actually pretty handy around the house with repairs and minor construction. My family has been in the construction business for decades, and I spent a lot of summers out on job sites with my dad and uncles. So if you ever need me to, uh, bring my toolbox over, just knock on my door.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Now, when you refer to your toolbox, are you really referring to - “

Finn laughed heartily. “I mean an actual metal toolbox with a hammer and pliers and wrenches, all that sort of stuff. Why? Was your dirty little mind thinking I meant something else?”

“Of course not,” she retorted huffily. “Can I refill your wine glass?”

He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’d better pass. Been trying to cut down. Now, what’s your answer about giving me some decorating advice?”

Delilah hesitated. “I don’t know, Finn,” she hedged. “Work is super busy right now.”

“I promise not to take up much of your time,” he pleaded. “And I’m prepared to bribe you if necessary. Since you play the piano, can I assume you like going to the symphony?”

She nodded, a soft smile on her lips. “Love it. Why do you ask? And before you answer that question, just know there’s no way I’m going to believe that you’re a classical music fan.”

“No. But I could be persuaded to be,” he cajoled. “Especially if you agreed to go with me this weekend to hear Samson and Delilah.”

She gasped in delighted surprise. “Oh, my God, the symphony is performing Saint-Saëns this season? I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t had time to even glance at the performance calendar.”

Finn extracted the tickets that had practically been burning a hole in his pocket ever since he’d knocked on her door. “Some of the best seats in the house I’m told.”

Delilah examined the tickets carefully, unable to hide her pleasure. “I think you’re the devil, Mr. McManus,” she chided. “Bribing me unmercifully to go out with you.”

He gave her an unholy grin. “I’ll buy you a very expensive dinner first, too. Ladies choice as to the location. So. What’s your answer, darling Delilah? Think you can handle a date with the devil?”

She sighed before throwing up her hands in surrender. “I already know I’m really, really going to regret this but - yes. It’s a date.”