“Just answer.”
“Because red is cheesy and peach is ugly and white makes me think of funeral flowers. Pink was just . . . perfect.”
She smells them again then lets the bouquet drop to her side. “Fine. Give me time to get ready. Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see.”
“I need to know how to dress.”
“We’ll be close to the water. That’s all I’m telling you.”
* * *
I’m sitting at Rue’s kitchen table when Delilah’s heels click from down the hall. When she rounds the corner and comes into view, I almost forget to breathe. Her hair is curled into loose waves that drape her shoulders, and her lips are slicked in candy apple red. A navy and white striped sleeveless dress hugs her curves and stops just above the knee, and it takes every ounce of my being not to hike up the hem and have my way with her right here.
“Wow . . . I . . . you . . .” I’m speechless. “You look gorgeous.”
She hooks a hand on her hip. “You going to tell me where you’re taking me now?”
I approach her with small steps, taking my time and enjoying the view. She still wants to be mad at me, but it won’t last long. She licks her lips, her body tense and her demeanor guarded, but by the time this night ends, she’s going to be mine all over again.
Sliding my fingertips down the side of her silken arm, I take her hand in mine and pull her toward the front door. By the time we reach my SUV, the light scent of her perfume envelops us in a cloud of sweetness.
I open her door, treating her like the lady she is, and I neglect to tell her that I’m not sure I’ve ever opened a door for anyone before.
A minute later, we’re leaving Laguna Palms and heading toward the Gulf Coast. Another hour or so and we’ll be at my favorite private beach. One of my buddies owns this little section of shoreline, and tonight, it’s just going to be us, a blanket, the crashing waves, and the starry sky.
I’m not a romantic guy, but I want to make Delilah feel special tonight. Because fuck, she is special.
Chapter 23
Delilah
Zane pulls into a small, tree-covered parking lot. Up ahead a sign marked “Private” hangs from a wrought-iron gate.
“Hop out,” he says, reaching behind him and retrieving a blanket and a small cooler.
“What is this? A picnic?”
“Something like that.”
The sky is pitch black save for a smattering of twinkling stars and a bright full moon. Why Zane would shroud this evening in romance is beyond me, but I’m willing to hear him out one last time for some completely insane reason.
I follow him to the gate, where he punches in a code that lets us through. A sandy path surrounded by greenery leads us toward the sound of crashing waves, and within seconds we’ve reached a private beach covered in sugar-soft white sand and moon-lit turquoise waters.
Zane spreads the blanket out, and I kick off my strappy sandals, and then he lowers himself to his knees, opens the cooler, and pulls out a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a corkscrew.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “I don’t understand.”
“My abuela always told me that actions spoke louder than words,” he says, driving the screw into the cork of the wine bottle.
“Okay, so what are you trying to say with all of this, because I’m really confused. Flowers? A beach picnic? Wine?”
“The other day,” he says, pouring me a glass and handing it off. “I know I hurt your feelings.”
“What gave it away?” My tone is drier than this white wine I’m sipping.
Zane takes his glass, chugs half, and stares over my shoulder toward the rolling waters. For the first time ever, he looks lost in thought.
“I don’t even know where to begin.” He laughs, but it’s not a joyful laugh. It’s nervous. Another first. I’ve never seen Zane de la Cruz nervous. Ever.
My pulse races, and I take another drink. I know from grad school that when someone’s about to reveal something, we let them do it on their terms. We don’t coax or ply the information from them.
“If I tell you some things tonight,” he says. “Promise me something.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t try to analyze me. Don’t try to figure me out.”
That’s going to be really hard, but I’ll try my best. “Okay.”
“I mean it, Delilah,” he says. “If I tell you these things, I don’t want you to look at me differently. For better or for worse. I don’t want anything to change. I don’t want you feeling sorry for me, and I don’t want you to walk away from me without giving me a second thought.”
His preface is beginning to scare me, but I keep a calm gaze and draw in slow, deep breaths. In school, we learned to be prepared to hear anything. You never know what secrets someone is shouldering until they decide to share their story.
“I won’t judge you or analyze you, Zane.” I lift my hand to my heart, feeling my stare turn sympathetic. “I promise.”
He smiles a nervous smile, taking another mouthful of wine and swallowing so quickly I doubt he tastes it.
“Okay.” He pulls in a hard breath and lets it go. “Jesus. I don’t even know where to start. And some of this stuff, I haven’t talked about in years. Decades even.”
I reach across the blanket, scooting closer and placing my hand on his. “I’m honored that you want to share this with me.”