Page 52 of Under Pressure

“You’re damn amazing,” he groaned, keeping her tight against him, like he never wanted to let her go.

She laughed. “No, I’m not.”

“You are to me.”

She sloughed it off. “If I really was, where would we be?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” His voice dropped, and the reminder hit close to home. “My issues have nothing to do with you.”

She parted her lips in surprise with the realization that he was starting to understand her too well.

Chapter Nineteen

In last night’s clothes, Kendra leaned against the white granite kitchen countertop. Finishing the best damn omelet she’d ever had, she marveled at Delta crafting her a second coffee. The man clearly knows what he’s doing in the kitchen, she thought, as he adjusted the dials of an expensive-looking machine to perfectly extract espresso from grounds. Simultaneously, he had the milk frothing, ready to pour into two beautiful cups, white and delicate with engraved flowers on the edges.

She could see his military training—focused, precise. He was as attentive and skillful in the kitchen as he was in making her body sing, something he seemed determined to do whenever he got his hands on her. Despite what he seemed to think, things were changing between them. She felt it, though she didn’t yet know if that was for the better or worse, tepidly hoping for the first time that it could be the former.

Finally, Delta poured the frothed milk into her cup but not his—creating the perfect cappuccino for her and black espresso for himself, its own metaphor. As he handed it to her, she traced the flowers engraved on the cup, getting a closer look at the design. It didn’t look like something she’d expect a man like him to own.

As if reading her thoughts, he explained without probing, “They were my mother’s. My dad gave them to me when I bought my first house.”

“This house?” she asked, which was met with a sly chuckle from him.

“No”—he shook his head, his thick hand practically gripping the entire cup as he sipped—“I’ve owned a handful of houses over the years, on either side of the country—near whatever base the Navy posted me to. Dad always taught me to put money in property.”

“Where do your parents live?” she asked, eager to keep him talking about himself.

“DC,” Delta started, adjusting his dark shirt over his fitted black jeans. “That’s where I grew up—just with my dad. My mom passed away a long time ago.”

“I’m so sorry. There’s so much I don’t know about you.”

But Delta simply shrugged and turned away, the morning rays catching his face as he gazed out of the kitchen window. The room became filled with the sounds of Timber lapping up water in her dish. Kendra opened her mouth to speak but got lost in her coffee instead, unsure if cross-examination would be welcome.

Delta leaned back against the kitchen counter, putting down his cup and rubbing his unshaven chin. His expression turned more somber, and he looked over to her again, breaking the quiet.

“I don’t want to get too serious—”

She flinched, her stomach dropping, fearing the worst.

He continued, “But we need to talk about Hunter.”

Collecting herself, she realized she’d jumped too fast. He shot her a deadly gaze, getting on with it, and she briefly saw that other side of him—the one that gave her the wrong kind of chills.

Kendra acknowledged him, quizzing, “What do you think is going on?”

“I want to hear what you think.”

Obviously assessing her, Delta let his tongue run across the bottom of his lip, clearly holding his cards tight.

“He’s jealous,” she conceded. “He’s jealous of you.”

“You have no idea how deep that rabbit hole goes,” Delta warned, his tone dire. “What do you reckon is his endgame here?”

“Me,” she replied, dropping her gaze to the dog.

“Could be.”

She snapped her gaze back, locking onto him. The way he said that stirred her suspicion, as if he doubted that was all.

---