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Over the Edge / Slow Hands
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Delia's world went suddenly, horribly still. Every echo of pleasure drained away in such a physical rush that she actually felt dizzy. Jackson's admission filtered through her, stunning, yet not quite bridging the distance from disbelief to acceptance to utter horror.

She wanted to close her eyes and block out the sight of his face, that resigned expression that revealed he wasn't pleased about confronting her yet hadn't been able to do anything else. But she couldn't shut out the sight of the man she knew. The man she'd wanted with all her heart for so long.

The man she thought she'd deceived.

Though nothing had changed about their positions, or their expressions — indeed they both stared at each other as though caught soundly in the harsh glare of the truth — Delia no longer had the cover of her disguise to conceal her. She was exposed beneath Jackson's dark eyes.

Visible in all her naked, postorgasmic glory.

Something had to break before she dissolved into a humiliated puddle right before his eyes, and since he didn't seem to be gearing up for any other shocking revelations... "How long?"

"Since the night you told me the Olde River House was your favorite place to eat."

"You knew it was me because of one comment? What's so unusual about the Olde River House?"

"You knew exactly how many bricks were used to construct the facade."

Delia could only stare, though she was very grateful for his smug expression that distracted her with a good dose of righteous disbelief. "How could you possibly connect that to me? We've never even discussed —"

"I overheard you telling Dr. Fairfax's design team about the construction while we were at dinner the night they came to town."

"Jackson, you were sitting all the way across the table."

All traces of smugness faded from his handsome face and he grew so serious that Delia braced herself for what was coming next.

"I don't have to be sitting next to you to notice what you're doing."

There was something so solemn about this admission, so unexpected, that she couldn't believe she'd heard him right. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He glanced down at where his hand hovered above her thigh and traced another circle as though to make a point. "It means I've been paying very close attention to you."

"You...you have?"

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss where he'd traced that circle. She quivered in what was becoming a predictable reaction to his touch. "I have."

She wanted to ask if that's why he'd played along with her game while she'd established her cover as RisquéHistorian and laid the groundwork for her fantasy seduction. But she couldn't make her voice work.

"I want you, Delia."

But that didn't explain why he'd never tried to turn their friendship into anything more and she finally managed to say so...while she tried to scoot away.

He leaned across her legs so she couldn't move. "Hear me out. You promised."

She had indeed. Another one of his slick moves. Here she'd thought she'd been the one with all the tricks up her sleeve and he'd been snaring her soundly in a trap of his own.

She scowled.

He traced another circle. "I didn't want you to lump me in with the other million guys who chase you because you're beautiful. I wanted you to feel comfortable enough to pursue me. And you did, online, as RisquéHistorian."

"I do not lump..." she began to defend herself, but when Jackson arched a dark eyebrow, she trailed off, forced herself to entertain his point.

I wanted you to feel comfortable enough to pursue me.

He'd known how much she wanted him, so much that she'd been willing to risk everything, including his friendship, with her crazy plan, and he'd been willing to wait for her, to play along, just so she could transition from friends to more at her own pace.

Delia couldn't seem to wrap her brain around the fact that they might actually have a chance to consider tomorrow. "Jackson, I was convinced you weren't interested, that you didn't see me as serious girlfriend material."

"Because of the way you looked?"

"You sound surprised. I have had the problem before and you have to admit that I'm a polar opposite from your last girlfriend." A woman who'd looked like a delicate china doll with her shiny black hair and big dark eyes.

"True enough." Another circle. Another shiver. "But it's me we're talking about, Delia. I'm not just some man drooling after you. I'm your friend."

"Is that why you played along?"

He nodded. "Why did you pretend you were the Risqué Theatre's historian? And where did you learn all that stuff you told me about this place?"

"Were you impressed?"

"Very."

She smiled. "It seemed a good way to get your attention. We're both interested in the theater and my neighbor worked here for forty-five years. She's been telling me all about the place. Not the facts that Dr. Blake quizzes us on, but all the juicy gossip. When the theater isn't undergoing construction, there's a plaque in the hallway with her name on it. She's the employee with the longest-running tenure."

"Esther Lou Quincy. I remember. Dr. Blake told us about her."

She nodded.

"That explains where you got all that good trivia. But how did you get Dr. Blake and Dr. Fairfax to let you borrow the theater tonight?"

"Blatant lies. I told them I wouldn't have a date for their wedding if they didn't give me the key to the place," she explained. "You know Dr. Blake. She's a mush. As soon as I told her I was tired of waiting for you to ask me out and wanted to give you a nudge, she handed over the key. And it did help that the security guard needed the night off."

Jackson laughed. Then before she even realized what he was about, he'd rolled on top of her, pressing her back into the soft bedding.

Delia might have gasped had she not been so caught up in the feel of his hard body against her. As it was, she sighed at the suddenness of his movement and then all thoughts fled as he brought his mouth down on hers.

His urgency stole the sound from her lips and drove home what Delia hadn't been able to absorb yet — Jackson had been waiting to make love to the woman he

wanted. Not the bold and daring RisquéHistorian, but her, Delia, his intern partner and friend.

Slipping her arms around his neck, she savored the warm heat of shared breaths, the knowledge that he'd been willing to wait for her. Arching her body against him, she let him know with touch just how long she'd been waiting for him. "Make love to me, Jackson."

Delia didn't need to ask twice. With sultry whispers and longing, she finally got to watch Jackson's face sharpen with his desire, hear his voice as he reached his pleasure, got to savor her response to this man and the magic they made together.

And as they lay in each other's arms afterward, sated, their heartbeats racing, their bodies clinging skin to skin with the sheen of their exertions, Delia stroked the damp hairs from his temple and marveled at the turn of the night's events.

"You're not angry that I misled you?" she asked.

He leaned into her touch, a response that conveyed how satisfied he was more than words ever could. "Technically, I misled you, too, so I'm willing to call it even. As long as I don't have to settle for just one fantasy night."

Delia snuggled into his arms with a smile. "I think we can look forward to a fantasy future, instead."

The End