Page 12 of Until Delilah

“You don’t need to do that. I’m fully capable of carrying my own son.”

“I know you are, but I also know it’s a whole lot easier for me to lift and carry him than you. Let me do this.” I can’t believe she’s fighting me on this. She looks exhausted.

I hear Delilah continually huff as she follows behind me through the kitchen, living area, and then up the stairs. I pick the first door on the right to place Beckham in. It has a Jack and Jill bathroom they can share.

Delilah shuffles past me and pulls down the comforter and sheet, so I can lay her son down. I let her do what she needs to do and move to stand by the door. Carefully she pulls off his tennis shoes and socks and then pulls the covers up to his shoulders before she sweeps his hair off his forehead and places a gentle kiss there. She walks backwards, keeping her eyes on her son until she’s only a couple of feet away from me. As if she can feel my proximity, Delilah turns on her heel and stares me down.

Not wanting our time to be over, I start to head downstairs. I look over my shoulder halfway down to make sure she’s following me. I wouldn’t put it past her to climb into bed with her son just to be difficult. I find her staring daggers into the back of my skull, and I can’t help but smirk. She’s even more gorgeous when she’s mad. There’s something about the fire in her eyes that has my cock twitching.

The second we hit the living area, Delilah rounds on me and puts her finger to my chest. “I will not have another man tell me what I can and cannot do with my child. You don’t know him or what’s best for him.”

“I never said I did, but even an idiot could see how tired he was. He was about ready to pass out when I dropped you off and he was asleep on you when I picked up back up. Tell me, did he walk the mile to the shelter?”

Her eyes turn to slits. “Of course, not. What kind of mother do you take me for?”

“One that lies. I don’t know why you didn’t tell me you were staying at the shelter. I would have happily dropped you off there.”

“And then you would have asked questions. Questions I don’t want to answer. Questions I can’t answer,” she yells, but then covers her mouth and looks up the stairs.

“I’m not going to press you for answers tonight, but tomorrow you need to start telling me some truths. And if you think about trying to leave in the middle of the night, you better forget about it. The alarm will be set and if you so much as try to leave it will go off.”

Her hands go to her curvy hips. “So, we’re prisoners in your house?”

“If that’s the way you want to think about it to make you feel better, then yes, you’re my prisoner for the night. I’m probably the nicest jailer you’ll ever meet. I only want what’s best for you and your son.”

“Why?” she whispers as a lone tear streaks down her cheek.

Only I can’t answer her question because I haven’t figured out why I brought them to my house.

5

Delilah

Shufflingaround Max’s kitchen trying to find everything is a pleasant chore. His kitchen is a dream with black and white veined cream marble countertops and dark wood cabinets and floors. All of the appliances are top of the line and look as if they’ve never been used along with all the pots and pans. The best part is the big picture window along one wall that has a small table with four chairs around it. I could sit and look out of it for days on end.

The backdrop to Max’s house is a stream with a forest behind it. I can’t imagine how beautiful it is in the fall with the leaves changing colors, or in winter with the ground covered in snow.

I’m placing the last few pancakes I’ve made on a plate when the man himself strides into the kitchen and comes to an abrupt halt when he sees me at his counter with a spread of food put out for him. He stands before me in a pair of gray sweatpants, a tight white t-shirt, and barefoot. Damn, is he fine. Is this what most baseball players look like? If so, I need to start paying more attention.

The food I made is my way of apologizing for last night. I took out my frustrations with Bradley on him. Max has done nothing but be kind to me, and I treated him horribly.

“What’s all this?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest with his piercing blue eyes hard like ice, trained on me. I can’t help but watch as his biceps bulge with the movement.

Clearing my throat, I come around the counter to stand in front of him. I have to crane my head up to look him in the eye, but I don’t mind. All my life I’ve had to look up to my dad who stands six-foot-three and if I had to guess, I’d say Max is six-four or five.

“This is my way of apologizing for last night. You took us in when you could have easily dropped us off at a hotel and been done with us. Life hasn’t been easy as of late and I took that out on you.”

His eyes soften as he looks down at me. “This is the first time anyone’s ever cooked in my house.”

I was right in assuming nothing had been used before.

“I hope you don’t mind. I thought a nice breakfast to start the day off right, might help in my apology.” I indicate the pancakes, eggs, and bacon I’d made. Why did he have all this food if he doesn’t cook, though?

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

Before he can say anything else, I hold up my hand. “I beg to differ. I need to leave my baggage at the door, but…” Easier said than done. Especially with realizing all the signs I’d missed with Bradley.

“But what Delilah?” He steps closer to me but doesn’t touch me. “You can open up to me. I promise I won’t be like Kari and spread whatever you tell me all over town. I like my privacy as well.”

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