Chapter One

Saturday, one week before the wedding.

She’d been called a goddess in four-inch heels. She’d also been called a bitch in stilettos. Sometimes she’d preferred being a bitch, because trouble usually followed the goddess title. It was hard work being a goddess. It was easier being a bitch.

And Delilah Storm found this moment to be a bitch one of the easiest of all, because the man sitting across from her at brunch was definitely trouble. She’d been thinking about it for the last few weeks when Cliff—Cliff? Why did she even agree to a date with a man named Cliff?—had stood her up time and time again. And when they did finally go on a date, he took her someplace where he could get the meal for free. He had connections, he called them.

And every time they did manage a date, she ended up driving nearly an hour out of her way to get to the place. And despite his claims he had to rush home to the babysitter, being the single dad and all, she had her suspicions he was actually still married. After all, she’d never seen the inside of his house or met the kids. And she didn’t even want to think about the numerous times they’d gotten it on in his car because he claimed he was overcome with emotion.

She’d been swept up in their sheer physical attraction, their whirlwind dating, their meeting and greeting and getting to know each other. She could overlook a lot of things. She could tolerate even more, since she was a no-strings kind of gal. But when she’d sensed he was still married, and she’d overheard the conversation with his “business partner” the night before, she knew it was time to cut him loose.

She’d been so stupid. And she would never doubt her intuition again.

She knew, sitting here now at brunch with this man who claimed he was divorced, today was Cut-Loose Day. Too bad Cliff didn’t know. She had put up with it for nearly three months. What did she see in this guy? A quick meal ticket and hot sex? No, that wasn’t it. He made her feel powerful, as if she were in control. When really she wasn’t in any sort of control at all. He was. And that flat ticked her off.

What was he talking about anyway? Delilah refocused, tried to pay attention to what Cliff was saying. He was chattering about some client party he wanted her to attend with him. She should have been tipsy with glee at the very fact he was actually inviting her somewhere other than (a) his car for sex or (b) some restaurant on the other side of God’s green earth to meet for dinner. Instead, annoyance crawled under her skin.

“Listen, Cliff,” she said, cutting him off. “That sounds nice, but I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

He paused, stared at her across the table as though she’d grown another head. The only sound around them was the clink of silverware on plates, the murmur of voices from the other brunch diners.

“What?” he said.

Oh, crap. Please don’t cause a scene. It was too early for a scene, and she hadn’t had nearly enough coffee. “I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately, and it’s just that…well, I’m not ready to get serious.” There. That sounded plausible.

“It’s a damn client party, Delilah. I’m not asking you to marry me, for Christ’s sake.” He threw his fork on the table, the silverware clinking against his plate.

Did she mention he had a bit of a temper, too?

“I realize that.” This discussion was going sour quickly, and she didn’t want to get into a long, drawn-out conversation about breaking up. Or, worse, a fight. She wanted it to be over and done with. Quickly. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea if we see each other anymore. Even though we’ve only been dating a few months, I’m not ready for the next step.” She leaned back in her chair, hooking one elbow over the back, pleased with her well-practiced speech.

He gave her a blank stare. “The next step as my date to a party, you mean.”

“I don’t think it’ll work out.”

“Because you don’t want it to.” Cliff leaned back in his chair. He pinned her with a hardened gaze. “I know your type.”

She laughed. “What type is that?”

“The type that’s afraid of commitment,” he said. “You’re so scared of being with someone you deliberately fuck it up. Or head them off at the pass by breaking up first.”

“That’s not true.” Immediately on the defensive, she shoved her long, strawberry-blonde hair over a shoulder. “I don’t deliberately fuck anything up. And as far as breaking up first—”

“Sure you do.” He said it casually, cutting her off, as though conversing about the weather. “You don’t want to go with me to the client party because that makes it all too real. It would make us a couple.” He sipped his coffee, looking triumphant.

“No,” she snapped. “Not at all. Maybe I don’t like you that much.”

“If you don’t like me that much,” he said slowly, leaning forward, “then why did you scream at the top of your lungs while you were fucking my brains out last night?”

“In your car, you mean?”

Delilah pursed her lips. “Why” was the real question, wasn’t it? After last night, she’d made up her mind no amount of money or looks could make up for the way he treated her. Like the dirty mistress. They were both going through the motions, and Delilah was sure Cliff would realize that once she made the break.

She was pretty sure he was still married, and she was the mistress.

“Bullshit.” Cliff leaned back again, a smug smile on his face.

“As much as I’d love to stay here and chat about my relationship shortcomings, I have important wedding things to do.” She picked up her purse, preparing to stand.

“Oh, of course. The wedding you weren’t going to invite me to.”

“It’s better if I go alone.” And it was. If she brought Cliff, she’d have to deal with unending questions from Marion about who he was and how long they’d been seeing each other, yadda yadda.

“Go ahead, then. But someday you’ll call me begging forgiveness and asking to come back, and you know what? I’ll say no. Because, Delilah, you’re walking away from something great.” He waved his hand up and down his body, indicating the “something great” was him.

Right. Add egomaniac to the list.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we? Good-bye, Cliff.”

She walked away from the table, her heels clicking on the floor, out of the restaurant and to her car. She always made sure she drove her own car so she could have a fast getaway if she ever needed one. It was her dating Rule #1. Today, her instinct was right on.

And anyway, she really did have wedding things to do today. Since her best friend, Marion, was getting married and Delilah was the maid of honor, she had duties to perform. Like purchasing the happy couple a wedding present. She wanted to get them something different. Not your everyday, run-of-the-mill wedding gift. Nope, no blender or service for eight for Marion. Delilah was different. Delilah was getting the happy couple a vibrator.

Technically the gift was for Marion, but she knew Graeme, her fiancé, would have fun with it, too. Delilah knew exactly which one she wanted to get her—the Super Rabbit with the clitoris stimulator guaranteed to help any woman achieve the biggest orgasm of her life. Marion had never had one—a bunny, that is—and despite her protests, Delilah thought she and Graeme would have a helluva time with it.

Besides, a visit to her favorite toy shop would take the edge off breaking up with Cliff. Delilah hadn’t frequented the store in a while, since she was satisfied with her current collection. Liquid Heat wasn’t the typical adult toy store. It wasn’t the kind that creeped you out when you went inside. Or made you wish you carried a .38 special for your own personal safety in the store or in the parking lot.

The door swooshed closed behind her as she entered the store and perused their selections, looking for the Super Rabbit. A pair of pink fluffy handcuffs caught her eye, and she reached for them to check the price.

“Can I help you?”

She knew that voice. It was a voice she hadn’t heard in ten years. It couldn’t be, could it? She froze mid-reach, not wanting to turn and see him. Her heart did one of those flips in her chest, and she suddenly felt cold all over. She couldn’t exactly pretend to be invisible. Or pretend she didn’t hear him.

“Delilah?”

He sounded as surprised as she felt. The man who had a starring role in all her wet dreams. She turned to him, pasted on her best smile, and flipped her long hair over her shoulder—her signature move. Ten years after their divorce, Sam Ford had reappeared in her life.

Or rather, she’d happened to reappear back into his. Damn the luck.

He had shredded her heart, left her soul for dead. He had taken every ounce of love she ever had and sucked it dry. He had nearly destroyed her.

But Delilah had somehow managed to recover. She had never loved anyone as intensely as she had loved Sam…and she never would again.

“Sam Ford. I don’t believe my eyes.”

Delilah had met Sam—short for Samson, and yeah, she’d heard all the jokes—ten years ago in the place you met those of the opposite sex: a bar. Back then, Sam came strolling in looking all scruffy, with long, unkempt hair and jeans with holes in the knees. She would never forget what he wore: a faded St. Louis Rams T-shirt and beat-up sneakers he never bothered to tie. He had tattoos on either bicep.

They’d sized each other up immediately, latched onto each other instantly, and hours later were screwing like rabbits.

Even now, he still looked damned good, Delilah had to admit. He had cut his hair and shaved his face. He had to be pushing forty, and he certainly didn’t resemble the young man she had fallen in lust with so long ago. He looked…grown-up. And…hot. All those long-buried feelings surged forward.

Before she could take evasive action, he enveloped her in a huge hug. He smelled good. Like something clean and crisp that tickled her olfactory nerves and triggered that part of her brain that remembered how awesome things had once been. He felt good, too. His hard body pressed against hers, making her nerve endings stand at attention. They saluted him valiantly for the male-to-female contact, elated at the familiarity of him. Delilah hugged him back, resisting the urge to grab his ass. His face brushed hers before he drew away, holding her at arm’s length and grinning. His scent lingered on her short-sleeved Gucci sweater, enticing her further.

“Delilah…” He let her name roll off his tongue. That glorious tongue she remembered doing glorious things to her. “How long has it been?”

Ten years, four months, three days. But who’s counting? “Too long, I’d imagine.” She grinned. “It’s good to see you, Sam.”

She was telling the truth—it even surprised her how good it was to see him, and the last of her annoyance over Cliff evaporated. She looked Sam over appreciatively and let him see her as she did so. She covertly checked out his left hand for evidence of a gold band and found nothing. So, he hadn’t remarried either. Unless, of course, he’d become one of those guys who never wore a ring just to trip up the single gals who lusted after him.

From what she could tell, he still had that sexy body under that white collared shirt. Delilah wondered if he still had the tattoos. The memory of lying on his chest, trailing her fingers through the sprinkling of hair there, came forward with such power it nearly knocked her back a step.

But wait a minute. Since when did Sam Ford start wearing golf shirts? It was like the world momentarily tipped on its axis as she processed that. She peered at him closely and could see the faint lines of his tats on his biceps. Whew. What a relief. She’d hate to think Sam had gone and done something crazy like laser removal.

He wore a pair of faded blue jeans that hugged thick thighs and caressed hard calves. All that remained to be inspected was his backside. She could see the shoelaces peeking out from under his jeans—maybe he’d learned how to tie his shoes in ten years. He looked downright delicious.

Too bad he was dead to her.

“I never thought I’d run into you again,” he said, still grinning. He had perfect white teeth in that ruggedly handsome face. He must have endured serious sessions of teeth bleaching for those pearly whites.

Delilah found herself wanting to kiss him. She eyed the thin line of his lips, and he ran his tongue over them as if in invitation. He knew what she was thinking. Aggravation warred with desire. Vexation sparred with longing. She clenched her mouth tighter.

“I guess the world really is a small place. It’s good to see you, too, Delilah.” Finally he dropped his hands and stood back. She hadn’t realized until that moment he’d still held on to her shoulders. “So, what are you doing in my shop?”

“Your shop?” She’d been coming here for a couple of years and had no idea he was the owner.

“I bought it about three months ago.”

That explained why she didn’t know. She hadn’t been in the shop in at least six months.

“Well, congrats on the new business venture.” Delilah wondered if he would have the same enthusiasm—or lack thereof—for Liquid Heat as he did all his other jobs. Sam wasn’t exactly a go-getter. He’d floated from one job to another while they were married, never landing in one for any length of time.

“What brings you here?” he asked.

“Marion’s getting married.” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out.

“No kidding!” He looked genuinely happy. “That’s great.”

Sam had known Marion back then, too. She was dating some guy named Ralph at the time, one of her many beaus B.E.—Before Ethan, the greatest asshole known to man, had dumped her at the altar. That was B.G.—Before Graeme.

“She’s madly in love with him. Imagine that.”

“She’s not marrying that Ralph guy, is she?” Sam wrinkled his face as if he smelled something foul.

Indeed, that Ralph guy was somewhat foul. She shook her head. “She caught herself a painter.”

“How about you? Are you madly in love with anyone?”

A trick question and a trap. One Delilah was all too familiar with. She ignored it altogether and got right to the point. “I’m here to buy Marion a wedding present.” She waved away the discussion. She was here to buy toys, not rehash the past.

“Here?” He quirked one blond brow and laughed. “I see you haven’t changed much. You always did have that twisted sense of humor.”

A flash of anger swelled inside her. Oh, yes, she had changed. She had grown up, too. She had evolved from the naïve, nerdy girl of so long ago who just wanted to get laid to the smart, savvy businesswoman who had shed that geeky persona—and just wanted to get laid. She’d finished college and gotten a great job.

“A little untraditional, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is. This is me we’re talking about here. I’m looking for the Super Rabbit.”

“Oh, sure. I have those in stock.”

Sam walked through the store toward the counter, and Delilah paused long enough to watch him walk. Awesome ass—check. The one she used to plant her hands on and squeeze when he was on top of her. And he still had that strong, muscular gait, hinting that he worked out.

But there was something different about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it and found she really wanted to put her finger on it to find out.

“What made you buy the shop?” Curiosity made her ask; she had to know.

He shrugged, lifting one thick shoulder in a sexy move. God, she wanted him. The feelings of love and hate warred inside her. “I was tired of corporate America.”

Delilah burst out laughing. Who was he kidding? Sam in corporate America? Picturing Sam in an office was like picturing a hippie at a black-tie event. She couldn’t see him wearing shirts and ties and nice pants and looking businesslike.

 “Hey, now, it’s not that funny.” He frowned, his brow furrowing. “I worked in an office for about eight years.”

Doing what? Delilah wondered. Sorting the mail? Filing? She knew Sam had ditched college like she had, and she also knew he didn’t really have any skills. “Sorry, but I just can’t see it.”

He leaned on the counter and gazed—or maybe leered—at her, a twinkle in his mellow blue eyes. As if he had something on her. Yeah, sure, ten years ago she was adrift in a sea of bad jobs, too. But at least she was always steadily employed and paid the rent on time. She had this terrible fear of becoming homeless.

He cocked a half grin. “And what about you, missy? What are you doing these days?”

This was where Delilah looked down her nose at him, all haughty. “I’ll have you know I earned my master’s degree and am now the public relations director of an advertising firm.”

She spared him the part where she wore couture, owned a Balenciaga bag and drove a Mercedes, which she got at a police auction for a steal, no pun intended. Sam’s grin fell, as if he’d been one-upped. And maybe he had. She only felt a small twinge of guilt. Finally, she’d proved to him she was better than that girl of long ago.

He chunked the Super Rabbit on the counter. “It’s sixty-nine dollars plus tax.”

“Sixty-nine,” Delilah said, still grinning as she reached for her Coach wallet. “My favorite number.”