Picture Me Sexy (6 page)

“Ah,” she sighed knowingly. Her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Candles, gas logs, a gas stove. Totally prepared. You're just a regular Boy Scout, aren't you?”

Right down to the box of condoms in his nightstand drawer, Sam thought and immediately regretted it. Condoms made him think about sex and thinking about sex made him think about having sex with her. Within seconds, a vision of himself plunging between her thighs flashed behind his lids, practically burning the image into his retinas.

“I suppose,” Sam finally replied and conjured the required smile. “I can make a pretty good omelette. Does that sound okay to you?”

Delaney's stomach issued a hungry growl. She
looked up and her lips tucked into an embarrassed grin. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah. Everything-but-the okay with you?”

Her brow wrinkled. “Everything-but-the?”

“In your omelette. Everything-but-the, as in everything but the kitchen sink.”

She poked her tongue into her cheek. “Oh, sure. That sounds great. Need any help?” she offered.

“Nah, I've got it,” Sam told her, hauling himself up from the couch. He grabbed the flashlight. “Bumbling around my kitchen in the dark might not be safe.” On many levels, Sam thought, as another handy vision of the two of them rocking his dinette table across the kitchen floor flitted through his sadistic mind. “You, uh, just sit back and relax. I'll be back in a sex.”

Her expression froze.

“In a
sec,
” Sam quickly clarified with an embarrassed chuckle.
“A sec.”

Twin spots of humiliation burned his cheeks as he speedily retreated out of the room. A sex? Sam marveled again. Jesus. What the hell was wrong with him? What was it about this female that had knocked him so far off his game? Granted, he'd made a few choice blunders over the years, but today… Sam exhaled mightily. Today he'd simply outdone himself.

Between the physical annoyances, dropping his camera, and now that whopping Freudian slip, he barely recognized himself. This lust-crazed, eternally-aroused, charm-deficient klutz wasn't him. He
was a professional, dammit, and charming and smooth. Not today, buddy, a caustic little voice reminded.

Sam grimaced. He laid the flashlight aside, leaned against the counter, speared his hands through his hair and contemplated the probable impact of that blunder. A soft humorless laugh erupted from his throat. Good job, Martelli. So much for keeping things on a professional keel.

If she hadn't realized his problem with her spending the night here before, she most certainly would now. Short of him actually whipping out his rod, he didn't see how he could have made his thoughts any clearer. Hell, only a moron wouldn't come to the right conclusion, and Delaney Walker was no moron. He supposed he could pray for a break in her typically sound intelligence, but imagined that would be an exercise in futility.

He seemed to be honing that particular skill, Sam thought with a derisive snort, because he gloomily suspected trying to resist her would be an exercise in futility as well.

At any rate, he'd inadvertently put the ball in her court and all he could do now was wait and see what she planned to do with it. Given the day she'd had and her sudden fascination and proclivity for acting out of character, Sam didn't know whether to be excited…or terrified. He grunted. Hell, probably both.

 

B
E BACK IN A SEX
?
Delaney thought as a warm flush of female satisfaction bloomed brightly in her chest.
A slow unrepentant smile rolled around her lips as she watched Sam hastily exit the room.

So her belated assumption hadn't been wishful thinking after all—he
was
hot for her. She bit her lip and her gaze slid to where he'd disappeared a few seconds ago. What a lucky coincidence…because she was unequivocally hot for him as well. A naughty form of anticipation swirled around in her belly, making it quiver with longing.

From the second she'd landed up against his magnificent chest when the power had so fortuitously gone off, Delaney had been wondering whether providence had finally bestowed on her a much-needed break and given her the chance to do the wildest, most out-of-character thing imaginable—
him.

A thrill raced through her at the thought. She'd always erred on the side of caution, had always done the right thing, and look at where it had gotten her.

Another woman was enjoying the fruits of her labor, reveling in the dream honeymoon Delaney had painstakingly planned.

Another woman was with the man she'd planned to spend the rest of her life with.

That woman wouldn't have to worry about returning wedding gifts—or her china, Delaney railed with a silent, frustrated sob. She'd wanted that china, dammit.

No, that woman wasn't worried about canceling caterers, saving face, or growing old alone. That
woman hadn't been weighing the pros and cons of becoming a lesbian. Delaney humphed under her breath. No, apparently that lonely role had been eternally predestined for her. Irritation flattened her lips.

Well, not anymore.

Or at the very least, not tonight.

If she'd learned anything from her new attitude it was that acting on some of her baser impulses was very therapeutic. She'd felt great when she'd pulled that little vengeful prank on Roger, had felt empowered when she said those slightly wicked things to Sam.

Rather than stifling her darker impulses, she'd probably be much happier if she embraced a few of them. Momentarily threw caution to the wind. Frankly, Delaney wasn't sure her nerves would hold up to a complete overthrow of her cautious character, but she was feeling particularly reckless today. And it had been thrilling, so very thrilling just to do whatever made her happy.

Undoubtedly sex with Sam Martelli would make her happy.

His splendidly proportioned body loomed into mental focus and a shivery melting sensation whirled behind her navel and radiated out until Delaney bit her lip in longing. That body combined with the skill and unquestionable talent she instinctively knew he possessed would be a sheer delight for the senses. An adventure of a lifetime.

Delaney blew out a shaky breath as indecision
gnawed at her. She'd never been one to indulge in casual sex, had never had a one-night stand in her life. She'd always been so careful with whom she shared her heart and her body with, and had always considered casual sex as a misnomer. Could an act that intimate be casual? It had never been for her, and frankly, she'd never met a man who had inspired the overwhelming combination of lust and longing that would propel her toward that end.

Until now.

She'd known the moment those masculine feet had come into her line of vision that Sam Martelli was the kind of man who could inspire a cautious woman to be reckless. Her reaction to him had been instantaneous—she'd wanted him. Really wanted him. A wellspring of untapped longing and pure unadulterated primal need had been plumbed, releasing a geyser of sexual energy that had practically washed away any thought of inhibition.

The motivation and the means had practically been handed to her on a silver platter. She was trapped for the night in a romantic loft with the unequivocally best-looking man she'd ever seen on the brink of her new life where men sucked and were ultimately forsaken. At least until she got her head on straight, until she could trust her own judgment.

But who said she had to start right now, this very minute?

After all, would there ever be a better time to indulge in a little out-of-character sensual behavior?
Could she hope for a better partner or better circumstances? In the end, what did she have to lose? Sam Martelli didn't have her heart therefore he couldn't break it. That was liberating in and of itself. She paused, considering, let that semi-profound thought sink in and take root.

Delaney's heart began to race as the weight of her decision gained momentum. A tangled cord of anticipation and desire unreeled through her. She chewed the corner of her bottom lip and her gaze moved to the door where Sam had disappeared. She heard the sizzle of butter hitting a hot pan, could hear him puttering around the kitchen.

In a few minutes, he'd come out of there, they'd eat dinner and then they would have the rest of the night to pass in some sort of activity. Delaney mentally shrugged and a tiny smile curled her lips. It might as well be the one they both wanted and would both enjoy.

Besides, she had the distinct feeling that Sam Martelli would be much better for her self-esteem and general mental health than revenge therapy. Sex therapy with a man who looked cocked, locked and ready to rock would undoubtedly go a long way toward restoring her flagging confidence. Not to mention, just plain fun. What could possibly be better for her than one night in the dark with a man who looked like a sexual god, with no boundaries, no inhibitions—and most importantly—no regrets?

Her lips slipped into another feline grin. Honestly, when she put it that way, it was a no-brainer. She'd been a good girl her entire life. She deserved a little chocolate-covered sex.

“W
HAT WOULD YOU LIKE
to drink?” Sam's disembodied voice called from the kitchen. “I've got water, milk, soda and beer.”

“Uh…a beer,” Delaney answered. Though beer didn't necessarily go with this particular dish, it wouldn't hurt to have a little alcoholic courage running through her veins.

Sam heaved a dramatic sigh and humor tinted his deep voice. “A woman after my own heart.”

Seconds later he made his way back from the kitchen. He carried a couple of Heinekens under his arm and his hands were loaded with steaming plates of huge, fluffy omelettes. He hadn't been kidding when he'd called it an everything-but-the, Delaney noticed as Sam slid her plate onto the coffee table in front of her. Chunks of cheese, ham, mushrooms and bell pepper were spilling out the sides of the dish. It looked and smelled heavenly.

She hummed a low note of approval and smiled her appreciation. “That looks wonderful. Thank you.”

Smiling, Sam handed her a beer. “Let me grab a couple of forks and napkins and we'll be set.” He
headed back to the kitchen and Delaney took the opportunity to covertly study him once more.

Sam Martelli looked every bit as impressive from the back—if not more so—than from the front. Dark brown waves tumbled over his sexy, curiously vulnerable nape, brushed the collar of his shirt. His shoulders were spectacularly broad, the muscles so well defined beneath the flimsy cotton that she could see every ripple, plane, and rise. Could see the slim indentation of his spine at the small of his back.

If that wasn't enough to parch every bit of moisture from her mouth, he also had the hands-down, bar-none best ass she'd ever seen.

Mercy.

It was tight and perfectly proportioned and she instantly imagined it naked with her hands clutched over it. Imagined playfully nipping it with her teeth.

A quiver of longing arrowed through her belly and lodged deep in her womb. Something hot and needy snaked leisurely from one end of her body to the other, making her alternately tight with anticipation and boneless with desire. She wanted him with a desperation that exceeded any sort of rational explanation, wanted him on a level past anything in the realm of her experience.

Sam Martelli was sex on feet and every woman's secret fantasy. He was that oh-so-rare perfect combination of pure masculinity and genuine sensuality. From the carnal curve of his lips, to the languid yet predatory way he moved, everything about him
screamed the promise of immeasurable pleasures, screamed unforgettable sex. Hell, even his loft was a feast for the senses. His taste, his very hedonistic nature, seemed to permeate the air. He was undoubtedly a connoisseur of pleasure and Delaney simply couldn't wait for him to share his extensive expertise with her.

“Okay,” Sam said as he strolled back into the room. “Forks and napkins, salt and pepper. Can you think of anything else?” he asked.

Delaney shook her head. “No, looks like you've thought of everything.”

Sam nodded, seemingly satisfied, and arranged the table to his satisfaction. “In that case, let's dig in.”

The first bite confirmed another suspicion. He was one helluva cook. Her lips quirked. Somehow she'd known he would be.

Delaney moaned thickly. “This is fantastic.”

Sam washed a bite down with a swig of beer before responding. She watched the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed the drink and felt the bite of desire nibble along her tingling spine.

“Thanks,” he told her. “I enjoy cooking. It's a great stress-reliever.” His lips kicked into a lopsided grin and a playful gleam danced in his eyes. “As well as being a necessity. It's cook or go hungry. I figured I might as well learn how to do it well.”

Delaney imagined he took that philosophy into other areas of his life as well. Suitably impressed, she carved off another chunk of omelette.

“I like to cook, too…so long as whatever I'm fixing comes with microwave instructions.” She chuckled under her breath. “Trust me, Martha Stewart I am not. I don't know how to make my own potpourri, or interesting party favors and I don't color coordinate my clothes hangers. I'm a firm believer in the microwave and store-bought piecrusts. I'm hopelessly domestically challenged.” Wearing a wry smile, she looked up and her humorous gaze tangled with his. “The only thing that saved me from flunking home economics was sewing.”

He arched a brow. “Sewing?”

“Yeah.” Delaney paused, wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “It was the weirdest thing. I'd failed at cooking, at household management, budgeting and planning. I broke my egg baby three times before Mrs. Hunter finally decided I was a hopeless case and refused to issue me another one. I—”

“Egg baby?”

Delaney glanced up and caught Sam's puzzled expression. “Yeah. An egg baby. We were assigned eggs to take care of like babies.” Delaney poked her tongue in her cheek. “It was supposed to impart the key responsibilities of parenting. Eggs, like babies, were fragile and had to be treated with extreme care. We had to keep our egg baby with us at all times, had schedules we had to follow, feedings and diaper changes, the whole nine yards.” She waved her fork
airily. “Even had to arrange for an egg-sitter if we wanted to go out.”

Sam chuckled and gestured toward her omelette with his fork. “Are you feeling like a cannibal?”

“No.” Delaney sighed in mock dejection. “I never managed to keep one long enough to really form an attachment.”

Delaney watched him flatten his wonderful lips to keep from laughing. “Because you kept breaking yours?”

She nodded. “Right.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “I'm with you. Now what about the sewing?”

Finished with her dinner, Delaney leaned forward and slid her plate back onto the coffee table. Pleasantly full, she rested against the couch once more. “I was good at it,” she said, remembering with a fond smile. One of the only things she'd ever been good at. “Really good at it. I could look at an outfit, make my own pattern and go from there.” She shook her head and smiled. “I loved it, and finally finding something that I was actually good at was very gratifying. I knew from that moment on what I wanted to do. I might have killed a few egg babies,” Delaney said with a laugh, “but
Laney's Chifferobe
was born out of that class, and for that, I'll always be grateful. Mrs. Hunter was very encouraging, took extra time with me and really nudged me in the right direction. She was a special teacher.”

“I had one of those,” Sam replied thoughtfully.

“You did?”

“Yeah.” A grin tugged at his lips. “Mine was Mrs. Farris. I was on the yearbook staff my last couple of years in high school. I'd always enjoyed taking pictures, but she was the first person who ever commented on my talent. I'd gotten some really good shots of the cheerleaders and—”

Delaney huffed a derisive breath. “Why am I not surprised?”

Merriment danced in his dark bedroom eyes. He lifted one powerful shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Hey, I'm a guy. What can I say? Anyway, up until that point, I'd always just played around with the camera, had never really considered it more than a hobby. But something about her confidence in my ability sparked a little ambition—” he sighed deeply and smiled “—and the rest is history.”

A picture above the mantelpiece snagged her attention. An older Sam and a kind-eyed woman with salt-and-pepper hair gazed fondly at one another. It was a sharp black and white, a private moment caught on film and it seemed to capture the couple's love, the essence of their relationship.

“You're very good,” Delaney told him softly, and meant it. Something about the picture tugged at a thread of regret, reminded her of what she'd apparently never have. A family of her own. A couple of big-eyed babies. She longed to upgrade to a minivan, lug a stroller around.

Sam followed her gaze and nodded in thanks. “That's Mom and Dad.”

Delaney shifted. “I figured as much. You look a lot like your dad.” He had the same dark good looks, the expressive eyes.

“We all do.” Sam speared another generous bite of egg. “I've got three brothers, two older and one younger.”

“No sisters?”

“Nah.” Sam chuckled. “Mom always said that there was too much testosterone in the house.”

“I'll say,” Delaney agreed. She couldn't fathom that many men and one woman living under one roof. “Ours was just the opposite. I've got a couple of older sisters.” She laughed. “Dad routinely pleaded estrogen overdose and headed for the golf course.”

“Sounds like a wise man,” Sam told her. “Does your family live around here?”

Delaney shook her head. “My sisters are both married to military men. Pam's in Germany and Renea is in Alaska. They each have three kids, are regular soccer moms. Mom and Dad retired and headed farther south. They live in a seniors' community in Pensacola. They're bingo fanatics.” For all intents and purposes she was an unofficial orphan. She supposed that's why it was so important to her to have her own family, to build her own nest. She finished her beer and set it aside. “What about yours?”

“My brothers are here, as well as my dad. They
own and operate Martelli Brick, the company my grandfather started right after he emmigrated from Italy.” He glanced at the picture of his parents and a shadow passed over his face. He drained his bottle. “Mom died a couple of years ago.”

Delaney's heart drooped with sympathy. “Oh, I'm so sorry.”

Sam's expression grew curiously guarded. “Dad's had the hardest time, of course. He always doted on her.”

Delaney's gaze inexplicably moved back to the photograph. That was certainly obvious. She was suddenly at a loss for what to say and Sam moved to fill the awkward silence.

“Let me clear these dishes away and we'll check the radio again for any news.” He deftly gathered their empty plates and bottles, and strode off to the kitchen again. “Can I get you another beer?” he called.

“Sure.” She felt completely useless letting him do all the work, but what else could she do? She didn't know her way around his kitchen and would undoubtedly bumble into something. Of course, were that something Sam Martelli, then that certainly wouldn't be a bad thing, Delaney thought with another private grin.

Hoping for an update on the power outage, Delaney attempted to turn the volume up on the radio, but accidentally bumped the tuner instead. To her immense horror George Michael's old song “I Want
Your Sex” instantly throbbed from the small speakers. A short burst of laughter erupted from her throat. She couldn't think of a more fitting song. The hot, blunt lyrics summed up her present feelings perfectly. Sam chose that exact moment to emerge from the kitchen and his step momentarily faltered on the return trip to the couch.

Delaney tucked her hair behind her ear and managed a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I was trying to turn it up.” She finally tuned it into the correct station and they both listened attentively as the newscaster reported more information regarding the blackout.

“…crews still haven't been able to restore power to any area as of yet. Naturally, the areas around hospitals are first in line, but at this time power hasn't been restored to any part of town. Stay tuned to WCBX for future developments….”

Sam wore a tight, resigned smile and absently rubbed the back of his neck. “Looks like we're in for a long night.”

Indeed it did, and there was no time better than the present to make it a little more interesting.

 

S
AM LISTENED TO THE
DJ douse his futile hopes about having the power restored one more time and felt himself lose a little more resolve where Delaney Walker was concerned. The spaghetti strap that was supposed to be on her shoulder had slipped down during dinner, and whether she'd noticed this or not, Sam couldn't begin to know.

He only knew that
he
had noticed and his blood had reacted accordingly—it had immediately pooled back into his groin, giving him a whopping hard-on he didn't have a prayer of controlling.

He'd kept his plate in his lap the entire time and had almost sent his omelette flying into the floor when she'd casually licked her lips a few moments ago. His dick had jerked so hard, it was a damned miracle it hadn't burst right out of his jeans.

Despite the sexual torment, conversation had flowed easily between them. For reasons he didn't care to ponder, this disturbed Sam. He wasn't accustomed to enjoying talking to a female he wanted to sleep with. Those conversations tended to begin with a little sexual innuendo and quickly segue into the X-rated, both in dialogue and in action.

Strangely, Sam had been able to simply enjoy talking to Delaney while his thoughts had morphed into a serious porn flick with them cast in the starring roles. It was nothing short of astonishing and, quite frankly, he didn't know what to make of it.

“Are you cold?” Delaney asked, breaking into his turbulent thoughts.

Perplexed, Sam frowned. “No. Are you? I could get you another blanket.”

“No, I'm fine. I was talking about you.” Smiling, she leaned over and rubbed his arm. “You've got goose bumps.”

And now his goose bumps had goose bumps, Sam thought as his entire body reacted from the inside out
to her merest touch. He sucked in a slow breath. Shivery heat roiled through his limbs, affected every single cell in his body. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Literally blew him away. Who needed electricity or even a generator? One touch from her generated enough energy to light up the world, or at the very least, his. His scalp was tingling again and the gnashing need he hadn't been able to subdue seemed to have taken on a life of its own.

The word “quickening” buzzed like a pesky fly around his brain, but Sam refused to consider it. This was lust, dammit, plain old-fashioned lust—not some supernatural Martelli phenomenon he didn't even believe in. Damn dramatic Italians.