Page 44 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

“She’s adorable. Long, wavy blonde hair, more golden than mine, which she hates. She would love to have it all chopped off, given a perm, and dyed red.”

“Like Annie.”

“You remembered.”

“Delilah, I remember everything you say.”

Okay, that is heavier than I am ready for right now. “She’ll be here next month, before school starts. Just starting kindergarten.”

“You’ll be glad to have her here with you.”

“More than you can imagine.” Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them away.

The too-observant Merrill noticed and reached across the table, taking one of her hands in his.

The press of his palm against hers, warm and comforting, was more than she could handle now, too. But she didn’t draw away. His eyes held hers, and he said, “Let’s dance.”

They both stood and he followed her out to the deck, where the band was playing some country song about beer and horses. She was wearing the same white halter dress she’d worn to the Rutledge wedding, the one that was modest enough in front but bare to the waist in back. Was that a mistake? When he put a hand there, guiding her, a tingle ran through her body. Definitely a mistake!

Was it a tingle of alarm, or a tingle of something alarming?

Either way, it was too late to turn tail and run. Too late to pull up her bubble shield. Too late for so many things.

Merrill turned her when they were outside on the dance floor and put linked hands on that sweet bare spot. She looped her arms around his neck.

He tugged her closer, as they swayed to the music.

She put her face into the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply of his pine-scented skin. Probably soap, she noted with what was probably hysterical irrelevance, or panicky irrelevance.

He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “At last!”

She felt his breath through the whorls of her ear, rippling down to all her extremities, and some interesting places in between. She sighed and moved in closer. In her four-inch heels, he still had several inches on her, but they were pretty much chest to breast, belly to belly, groin to groin. Tongue in groove, in more ways than one.

She moaned.

He did, too.

And so they danced, and danced, and danced. If it could be called dancing. She couldn’t say what songs were played, or whether they were fast or slow. It was magic, and it was reality, and it felt so good.

She was a woman. He was a man. It was as if they were meant to be. For now, anyway.

Thus, when Merrill leaned back and looked at her and said in a voice raw with emotion, “Let’s get out of here,” she didn’t protest.

She was in way, way over her head and not a life buoy in sight. Who knew drowning could be so wonderfully delicious? Or was it surrender that was so sweet?

Ah, the pains and perils of dating! . . .

Merrill was drowning in his need for Delilah, and it took every bit of his strength and skill to fight the overpowering waves of passion. One of the first things a Navy SEAL learned in BUD/S training was drownproofing. Piece of cake for an old vet like him!

Ya think?

Not when you’re drowning in testosterone, like I am.

Not that drowning of a certain type doesn’t hold some appeal. In fact, I want to dive right in with Delilah, and I will, but I need to slow things down. The worst thing that could happen would be for her to wake up tomorrow and feel that I seduced her into something she didn’t really want. No regrets, that’s my goal.

But, man, it is fucking hard.

And speaking of hard . . .