She turned to thank him for walking her home when his lips landed on hers. That heat she had noticed earlier hadn’t gone away; in fact, his lips seemed even hotter. The kiss scorched and she felt the fire of it all the way to her core. Her legs softened under the pressure of his kiss, and he had to wrap his long arms around her to keep her upright.
The kiss lingered, his tongue working against her own, dancing and parrying, drawing out the heat they shared. Her entire body wanted to burst into flame from this one kiss, then Tom pulled away.
“Again, I’m sorry—” he started to say, but Delilah placed her finger over his lips, the same lips she wanted back on hers, on her neck, on her body . . .
“No need to apologize,” she whispered and leaned into him again, crushing her breasts against his lean form and thrusting her own lips back upon his. They stumbled backward toward her door, and her hand fumbled in her purse for her keys. If only she could get him inside . . .
“No, we must stop.” Tom pulled away abruptly. Delilah’s brows furrowed in confusion and frustration.
“Please, let me get to know you a bit better. Again, I don’t want to be inappropriate.”
Delilah could not deny she wanted him — she had never felt such a compulsion to be with a man as she did with Tom. He was right, however.
Though she would not hold on to the idea of marriage — she was, after all, twenty-five, and getting too old to be considered — she should probably know him better before she took him to her bed. What if the gossips talked?
Opening the door wide, Delilah stepped to the side. “Come in then. We can sit at my table and get to know each other. Would you like coffee? Or tea?”
Tom ducked as he entered her run-down trailer. “Tea would be lovely.”
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