Read Online Delilah's Weakness by Kathleen Creighton - Free Book Online
Authors: Kathleen Creighton
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love?"
Love?
He was wearing a fawn–colored suede sport jacket, dark slacks, and a textured silk shirt. Locks of his hair, damp around the edges, fell silkily forward as he bent toward her. He lifted his chin to give her clear access to his throat and tugged with exasperated ineffectiveness at his collar. He smiled at her with heart–stopping radiance. "For some reason it keeps eluding me." And he winked.
Delilah drew in her breath in a desperate gulp and reached toward his snowy–white shirt front, appalled to see that her hands were shaking. Behind her she heard Amos ask belligerently, "Hey, who the hell is this guy?"
"Oh, sorry," Luke said. "MacGregor. Luke MacGregor." He grinned pleasantly and reached around Delilah to offer his hand. "That’s my plane out there. Don’t know what I’d have done if that pasture hadn’t been there." He turned that potent dark gaze on Delilah even as Amos absentmindedly and uncertainly pumped the proffered hand. Delilah, thus enclosed in fawn suede and enveloped in a subtle aura of after–shave and shower–heated male, promptly forgot how to breathe.
"Surprised you’re still around," Amos muttered gruffly.
"Yeah…well," Luke murmured. Delilah, the top of her head just about even with his mouth, could feel the warm puff of his laughter.
What is he doing?
Biting fiercely at her lower lip, she slipped her fingers inside his collar and drew the two ends together. His skin was moist and very warm. His pulse hammered against the backs of her fingers, an insistent rhythm that seemed to flow down her arms and into her body, taking over and dominating her own frantic cadence.
"Turned out to be kind of hard to leave, didn’t it, baby?" he said.
Baby?
That was almost too much for her.
Somehow, miraculously, Delilah got that button fastened. She stood back, winded and glaring.
Luke bent his head and gave her a lingering kiss. "Thanks, babe. I’ll be ready in a minute. I’ll just get the rest of my things out of the bedroom." He gave her another eye–crinkling smile that melted her bones, and turned away. About halfway to the bedroom he stopped and turned. "Oh—nice to have met you––I don’t believe I caught your name."
"Amos Chappel," Delilah said hoarsely. "My neighbor."
"Ah. Mr. Chappel. Well, nice meeting you. That’s one terrific neighbor you’ve got here." He grinned one last time and went on into the bedroom. Delilah could hear him whistling beyond the closed door.
She turned slowly back to Amos, not at all surprised to find that his eyes were slits and his lips a thin line of contempt. "Amos," she began, knowing there was really nothing she particularly wanted to say.
"Delilah," Amos said, breathing heavily through his nose, "are you telling me that—that fella spent the night here with you last night?"
"Yes," she said, "I guess he did." The seeds of mirth were sprouting deep inside her. She tried halfheartedly to stunt them.
"In your bed?"
"That’s right." With great effort she kept her face solemn.
"A stranger?" Amos was almost sputtering. It struck Delilah so funny that all she could–do without bursting into guffaws of laughter was lift her shoulders in a helpless shrug. Behind her she heard the bedroom door open.
"Delilah," Amos said, shaking his head sorrowfully, "I’d ‘a thought a lot of things about you, some good and some bad, but I always figured with a little straightenin’ out—a firm hand—you’d make a pretty decent wife. I sure never figured you for a… a…" He struggled for a word, frowning down at the hat he was turning over and over in his hands. Finally, almost triumphantly, he spat out, "…a
strumpet!"
Delilah smothered a desperate gust of laughter only by clamping the tips of her fingers over her mouth. Amos gave her a fearsome scowl, clamped his hat down on his head, and stomped out. When the door slammed, Delilah folded her arms across her stomach and doubled over, helpless with laughter, unable to make a sound.
From
Love?
He was wearing a fawn–colored suede sport jacket, dark slacks, and a textured silk shirt. Locks of his hair, damp around the edges, fell silkily forward as he bent toward her. He lifted his chin to give her clear access to his throat and tugged with exasperated ineffectiveness at his collar. He smiled at her with heart–stopping radiance. "For some reason it keeps eluding me." And he winked.
Delilah drew in her breath in a desperate gulp and reached toward his snowy–white shirt front, appalled to see that her hands were shaking. Behind her she heard Amos ask belligerently, "Hey, who the hell is this guy?"
"Oh, sorry," Luke said. "MacGregor. Luke MacGregor." He grinned pleasantly and reached around Delilah to offer his hand. "That’s my plane out there. Don’t know what I’d have done if that pasture hadn’t been there." He turned that potent dark gaze on Delilah even as Amos absentmindedly and uncertainly pumped the proffered hand. Delilah, thus enclosed in fawn suede and enveloped in a subtle aura of after–shave and shower–heated male, promptly forgot how to breathe.
"Surprised you’re still around," Amos muttered gruffly.
"Yeah…well," Luke murmured. Delilah, the top of her head just about even with his mouth, could feel the warm puff of his laughter.
What is he doing?
Biting fiercely at her lower lip, she slipped her fingers inside his collar and drew the two ends together. His skin was moist and very warm. His pulse hammered against the backs of her fingers, an insistent rhythm that seemed to flow down her arms and into her body, taking over and dominating her own frantic cadence.
"Turned out to be kind of hard to leave, didn’t it, baby?" he said.
Baby?
That was almost too much for her.
Somehow, miraculously, Delilah got that button fastened. She stood back, winded and glaring.
Luke bent his head and gave her a lingering kiss. "Thanks, babe. I’ll be ready in a minute. I’ll just get the rest of my things out of the bedroom." He gave her another eye–crinkling smile that melted her bones, and turned away. About halfway to the bedroom he stopped and turned. "Oh—nice to have met you––I don’t believe I caught your name."
"Amos Chappel," Delilah said hoarsely. "My neighbor."
"Ah. Mr. Chappel. Well, nice meeting you. That’s one terrific neighbor you’ve got here." He grinned one last time and went on into the bedroom. Delilah could hear him whistling beyond the closed door.
She turned slowly back to Amos, not at all surprised to find that his eyes were slits and his lips a thin line of contempt. "Amos," she began, knowing there was really nothing she particularly wanted to say.
"Delilah," Amos said, breathing heavily through his nose, "are you telling me that—that fella spent the night here with you last night?"
"Yes," she said, "I guess he did." The seeds of mirth were sprouting deep inside her. She tried halfheartedly to stunt them.
"In your bed?"
"That’s right." With great effort she kept her face solemn.
"A stranger?" Amos was almost sputtering. It struck Delilah so funny that all she could–do without bursting into guffaws of laughter was lift her shoulders in a helpless shrug. Behind her she heard the bedroom door open.
"Delilah," Amos said, shaking his head sorrowfully, "I’d ‘a thought a lot of things about you, some good and some bad, but I always figured with a little straightenin’ out—a firm hand—you’d make a pretty decent wife. I sure never figured you for a… a…" He struggled for a word, frowning down at the hat he was turning over and over in his hands. Finally, almost triumphantly, he spat out, "…a
strumpet!"
Delilah smothered a desperate gust of laughter only by clamping the tips of her fingers over her mouth. Amos gave her a fearsome scowl, clamped his hat down on his head, and stomped out. When the door slammed, Delilah folded her arms across her stomach and doubled over, helpless with laughter, unable to make a sound.
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