Read Online Delilah's Weakness by Kathleen Creighton - Free Book Online Page A

behind. Luke took her by the arms and turned her. "Delilah?" His voice sounded puzzled, almost fearful.
    "Oh," she gasped, clutching at the soft suede lapels. "Oh, Luke. I can’t…believe…you did that!" Tears were streaming down her face, and she struggled for breath. "Poor Amos."
    "Delilah, look, I’m sorry. I thought—"
    "
Sorry?
Did you hear what he…what he called me? A strumpet!" And now at last a howl of laughter escaped her. She whooped and chortled helplessly into Luke’s shirtfront, only dimly aware that his body had relaxed, that his arms had gone around her, and that his hands were stroking her back.
    Gradually her laughter died into fitful giggles and contented sighs. She felt so good, happy and relaxed, utterly at peace, without a care in the world. Her cheek was pillowed on Luke’s chest, her head fitted perfectly under his chin. Her arms were around his waist. Inside his jacket, the warmth of his body was pervasive and intimate. His hands… His hands were roaming sensuously over her back, triggering involuntary cuddle responses. She moved against him like a cat being petted.
    Awareness came simultaneously to them both, with different effects. Luke’s hands slipped down, past her waist, to the taut curve of her bottom, and his body tensed and tightened. Delilah’s tensed too. She stiffened and pushed away from him, whispered, "Oh, Lord," and sank into a chair.
    For a few moments there was silence; then Luke sat down across the table from her and reached for a cigarette. "You had me worried there for a minute." His voice was casual, amused. "I thought I’d misread the whole situation when you doubled up like that."
    He was releasing her, letting her off the hook, she realized, watching his hands as he tapped out a cigarette, paused, then put the pack away. She was grateful for his chivalry, but still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. "Do you know," she murmured unsteadily, "that in a matter of seconds you managed to do what I’ve been trying to do for two solid years? Do you have any idea how hard it is to discourage that man?" She put her face in her hands, overcome by a fit of giggles that was half residual amusement and half nervous tension. "
Strumpet.
Oh, my." She sighed, exhausted, and finally dared to lift her gaze to Luke’s face.
    My goodness, but he is gorgeous, she thought.
    He had put on a tie in the bedroom, a dark brown knit that matched his hair and eyes. Against the snowy white of his shirt his skin had a dusky matte texture, his hair a satin sheen. His eyes, without the charismatic twinkle, held hers in a long, sober look. He was so wonderful to look at, she wanted to go on doing it forever. And so, perversely, she turned away, refusing to allow herself to look at him at all.
    But still…deep, deep inside her, in the secret hideaway of her emotions, something was aborning. What a temptation it would be to nurture it, to let it grow…
    "Delilah—"
    "I’ll change my clothes," she said huskily, struggling to rise. "I know you’d like to get out of here."
    His hand reached for hers, but he didn’t touch her. She looked at him, half–fearful. "What?" she asked.
    "Please." His eyes looked almost black. She settled slowly back in her chair. "Listen to me for a minute, all right? Hear me out before you start arguing."
    She stared at him without comprehension, and he took a deep breath. "I have a proposition for you. How would you like a hired hand? For the duration of your lambing season, room and board, no strings attached?"
    It seemed a very long time before Delilah could think of anything to say. He might have been speaking Swahili, for all the sense his words made to her. Finally she decided he must be making some sort of obscure joke.
    "Um–hmm, I’d like that," she said, beginning to nod. "And then I’d like to win a sweepstakes and be a five–foot–seven blonde." She managed a dry sound that was only half laughter.
    Luke’s hand moved toward hers again. "I’m