Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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When we get back to the hotel, I swap my button-down for a T-shirt and sweatpants, then tell Delaney to change and meet me by the private elevator at the end of the hall. The last thing I want is her out of that dress – unless I'm the one doing it – but she won't be comfortable with what I've planned if she stays in it.
I grab the blanket from the foot of the bed while she disappears into the bathroom, check that the room key is in my pocket, and head for the elevator.
I've had this in mind since I saw the pictures of the rooftop veranda when I booked this place. So, while she was at the spa, I called the front desk and asked for it – figured I'd have to push, drop some cash, maybe offer my first born son to get it all to ourselves – but they gave it to me without hesitation. Didn't even ask for a credit card.
It felt like the kind of yes you don't question.
A few minutes pass before our door finally opens. I turn at the sound, and everything in my head clears out in one quiet sweep.
Her hair is still down, the curls brushed into something smoother. There's no more makeup – just her bare skin, her freckles, and that small mark on her cheek I love so much. The one I used to graze with my thumb, slow and deliberate, like there was nowhere else I needed to be.
She's in a baggy sweater that falls off one shoulder and pajama shorts that don't bothering pretending to cover much at all.
My attention moves over her without permission, taking in the length of her long tan legs, the pale color on her freshly painted toenails, the peaceful smile on her face – the kind of details that stay with a man long after he looks away. Even like this, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I'm so gone for this girl.
It's not just the way she looks, or the way she laughs when she forgets herself. It's everything underneath that – how she thinks, how she gives people more than they've earned, how being around her changes the shape of a place without her even trying.
I'm in love with her. All of her.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
"It's a surprise."
"Another one?" Her hands find my forearm, fingers curling around it as she bounces on her toes. "Just tell me."
"I could," I start, a hint of a smile pulling at my mouth, "but then I'd have to kill you and deal with the fallout. I'd be explaining to your family why you didn't make it home, showing up to the ESPYS alone, fielding questions I don't feel like answering. Seems easier to let you wait the thirty seconds it'll take to get there."
"Fine," she says, laughter slipping through. "But you keep this up, you're setting a dangerous precedent. A girl starts expecting things like this, she might decide she's not going anywhere."
My hand finds her waist, bringing her in without hesitation until she's pressed against my chest. I lower my head, close enough that my cheek brushes near her temple, her skin warm beneath it.
