She strolled over to him, making sure to give her hips an extra little swing, delighted that his eyes were superglued to the bounce of her boobs. When she reached for the hem of his T-shirt, he grabbed her wrist, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the tan column of his throat. “W-we had a deal. A one-night stand only. No strings. No hurt—”

“I’m reneging on that deal,” she said, feeling not one ounce of regret even when his wonderfully dimpled chin jerked back. “We’re going to make a new deal,” she said, reveling in the feel of his hot skin along the backs of her fingers where she was still gripping his shirt. “A new deal where we take this thing one day at a time. Every day, I’ll wake up and remind you that I’m not your mother and that you are not your father.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked frantically as his nostrils flared wide. She saw she’d distracted him enough to whip his T-shirt over his head. The sight of him, of all that tanned, toned flesh made her throat constrict and her nipples furl.

“Every day I’m going to wake up and tell you I love you.”

His eyes became overly bright. His big chest began to quake. It caused tears to prick behind her nose—seeing big, bad Mac McMillan so scared and vulnerable—but she swallowed them. She had to remain strong, resolute. It was the only way she was going to win this game. Win against years of hurt and confusion. Win against plain ol’ wrong-headedness.

“And every day I’m going to wake up and tell you that I’m not leaving you.”

She could see him struggling. Struggling against his past. Against the desire to believe her words. Against the tears that filled his eyes. She knew he was hovering on the precipice, and she knew this could go one of two ways. Either he’d admit his love for her and agree to her terms, or he’d fall back on his old patterns and kick her out of his bedroom…

In such a volatile state, she didn’t trust him to make the right decision. So, she put it off for a bit longer by reaching for his belt buckle and saying, “So, what’ll it be? The dresser again?”

“Huh?” he gulped, shaking his head, blinking rapidly.

“It just seems to me,” she whipped off his belt and started in on the buttons of his fly, “that you’re a bit partial to dressers.”

“I—”

He stopped talking, his eyes rolling back in his head when she reached into his pants, into his boxers, and wrapped her fist around the hard, hot, pulsing length of him.

“Mmm,” she murmured, stepping up to him, thrilled by the warmth radiating from him as she pressed a kiss to his delectable Texas tattoo. “I’ve missed this.” She grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast, simultaneously licking the flat brown disk of his nipple, delighted when the little nub sprang to life against her tongue. “Have you missed this?”

“God, yes,” he admitted, his fingers plucking at her, causing a liquid ache to build and throb between her thighs.

When her hand slid to the end of his shaft and she felt a silky drop of moisture waiting there, she couldn’t help herself. She dropped to her knees, simultaneously dragging his jeans and boxers down his large thighs.

Mary and Joseph, just look at him…

So unapologetically male. So big and…and angry looking, all red, violently veined skin and shiny, plump head. Saliva pooled on her tongue. She leaned forward to kiss the tip of him, to clasp his shaft in a hard fist just as he’d showed her, to cup his tight, warm balls in her free hand.

“Delilah!” Her name was barely discernible his voice was so guttural. And when she opened her mouth and swallowed the head of him, drank in the salty essence of him, he was reduced to nonsensical syllables.

Both his hands were fisted in her hair. His hips moving slightly, the muscles in his thighs twitching as if he were struggling to keep himself from thrusting forward violently. The feel of him against her tongue was amazing. Such soft skin covering such unyielding hardness. His veins were bumpy. They pulsed rhythmically when she pressed her lips against them.

In and out.

In and out.

He tasted good. Like male. Like sex. Like Mac…

“God, Delilah,” he gasped, pulling from her mouth, from her hands. “You’ve gotta stop, darlin’, or you’re gonna make me lose it.”

“So lose it.” She smiled up at him, past the impressive jut of his shiny erection, past the corrugated muscles of his flat belly, past his big chest and shoulders to his beautiful, sparkling eyes.

She could see him hesitate, could see that he was tempted. But he shook his head, the muscles in his five-o’clock-shadowed jaw clenching. “No. I want to come inside you,” he growled, grabbing her by the shoulders and hauling her to her feet. His callused hands spanned her waist, and the next thing she knew, she was airborne…

* * *

Delilah landed on the mattress with her silky thighs spread wide, and Mac couldn’t strip out of his boots, socks, and pants fast enough. Launching himself atop her…ah, God…she instantly wrapped her legs around him, her slick channel welcoming the length of his aching erection as he pressed it against her.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Knew it flew in the face of the vow he’d made himself. Knew that it was incredibly dangerous. Was this how it’d been between his parents in the beginning? Would it end for him the same way it’d ended for his father? Would—

Delilah fisted her hands in his hair, hungrily claiming his mouth, and every single thought in his head slid out through his ringing ears.

“Mac,” she gasped against his lips, her breath hot. “Make love to me.”

And it would be love. Because he did love her, and by God, he believed her when she said she loved him, too. Reaching down between them, he tested her readiness with two fingers. When he found her hot and wet and pulsing, he grabbed his shaft and teased his head against her opening.

“Yes.” Her thighs rode high against his sides. “Yes. I want you inside me.”

Her hands skimmed down his back. Her fingers digging into the muscles of his ass as she pulled him close.

“Delilah…” he breathed, slowly sinking into her tight, sultry body, ducking his chin to suck the peak of one rosy, hard nipple into his mouth.

“Unnnhhh.” She arched into him, trying to seat him to the hilt. He had to pull out slightly and press in again before he could accommodate her, before her body finally yielded to his, before his heated balls slammed against the warm curve of her ass.

Right…

That’s how it felt. Right in a way that it’d never been before with any other woman. It thrilled him almost as much as it scared the living shit out of him.

“Please,” she begged, squirming beneath him, hips bucking, urging him to move. And move he did, pulling out only to plunge home. He set a rhythm that drove them both to the edge within minutes, a slow, pumping, in-and-out slide that had her writhing and mewling and begging, and him gritting his teeth against coming too soon. Then, suddenly, she detonated. Just like he knew she would. Taking him with her in the process. Her body milking his orgasm from him in pulsing, greedy tugs.

Long seconds later, after they’d both managed to catch their breath, after he rolled onto his back, she threw a leg over his, twirling her fingers in his chest hair. Then, she said the words that simultaneously thrilled him and chilled him. “I love you, Mac. And I know you love me, too, even if you haven’t said it.”

He wanted to say it. Knew he probably should say it. That’s what normal folks did when they loved each other. They said it, right? But the words stuck in his throat like a damned cocklebur.

“And I’m never going to leave you like your mother left your father,” she continued, kissing his shoulder. “I’m never going to break your heart like your mother broke your father’s. I’m in this thing until the end,” she said, her voice husky as one more poignant, promising kiss landed near his Texas tattoo. “And when you’re lying on your deathbed at the ripe old age of one-hundred-and-ten, and you’re calling my name in the darkness,” damn Zoelner and his big fucking mouth, “I’m going to be right there holding your hand. We’re Notebook-ing it, you and I. A real-life Allie and Noah. Staying together until we go together.”

Sweet God, he couldn’t stand it. He wanted that to be true so badly…

Crying like a fucking baby, that’s what he was doing. Unwelcome tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, wetting his hair and the pillow beneath his head. His chest shook. His stomach trembled. He hadn’t cried like this since the night his father died. Since the night he sat vigil by the man’s bed, holding his hand, trying to lend comfort but knowing he wasn’t enough as his father yelled for Jolene. Jolene, where are you? Jolene, come back!

“I’m s-scared to death,” he admitted on a hiccupping sob, embarrassed to let her see him like this but unable to stop the strangled tears catching at the back of his throat.

She lifted her head from his shoulder, placing the gentlest of kisses on his lips, her breath the sweetest he’d ever tasted. “Shhh. It’s okay,” she told him, smiling softly, her eyes bright. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too.” She pressed soft kisses to the corners of his lips, his cheeks, his eyes. “Love is a risk for everybody.” And that was the understatement of all time. “But, like I said, we’re going to take this slow. One day at a time. But we are going to take this, we are going to give this a chance.”

That wall he’d built up around his heart began to crumple beneath her words, beneath her delicate caresses. Could he do it? Was he brave enough to take the chance on her? To take the chance on them?

“Because I’ve lost a few people I’ve loved during my life,” she continued, “and this is what I know. In the end, the love we withhold, not the love we give, is what we wind up regretting. I don’t want to die with regrets, Mac. Do you?”

“No,” he told her, pulling her close, kissing the top of her head when she laid it on his shoulder. “No, I don’t want to die with regrets. And I do love you, Delilah.” Another sob shook him, cracking his voice. “I swear to God I do!”

“Shh.” She hugged him close. “I know you do, Mac. I know you do.”

He nodded, his heart full to bursting. The wall he’d built around the organ decimated by the love of one flame-haired temptress. Then a thought occurred to him and everything inside him stilled. “Zoelner told you I’m buyin’ back the ranch, right?”

“Yes.” He felt her nod.

“It’s my legacy,” he stressed. “Even if I didn’t love it, which I do, I’d still have to go back there. I’d have to take back what’s been in my family for—”

“Mac.” She pushed up on one arm to frown down at him. “I’m delighted you’re going to buy back the ranch. It’s the right thing to do. And I can’t wait to own a pair of cowgirl boots.” She bit her lip, winking. “And maybe some of those shirts with the fringe and rhinestones.”

Yeah, she thought it was romantic now, from afar. “Ranchin’ is hard,” he warned her. “And it’s lonely. You’re used to all the fun and excitement of Chicago. You’re used to fifty people a day comin’ into your bar to flirt and banter and—”

She placed a finger over his lips, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. “And there you go again. Comparing me to your mother.”

“I—” He tried to talk around her finger but was forced to stop when she used it along with her thumb to squeeze his lips together.

“I’m only going to say this once, Bryan McMillan,” she declared, her eyes impossibly green, “I’m not Jolene.” And, damnit, there went the waterworks again. “She was a shallow, foolish woman who needed constant attention and adoration from the outside because there was nothing to her on the inside. Sorry to speak ill of your mother”—she made a face—“but from what I understand, it’s true.” He nodded. She was absolutely right. It was true. “I don’t need all that.” She firmed her jaw, her expression daring him to naysay her. “I don’t need adoration or attention from the masses to feel good about myself. I feel good about myself because I’m smart and loyal, caring and kind. And I can mix up a martini that would make James Bond weep.”

It was hard to smile when she was smashing his lips together. Not a shy or a humble bone in Delilah’s body. Just one of the reasons he absolutely adored her.

Reaching up, he tugged her fingers away from his mouth. “Speakin’ of those martinis. Won’t you miss the bar? You love it there.”