Page 110 of The Parent Trap

I frown and laugh. “Why are you thanking me?”

“For all of this. For the candles, the rose. The books. The absolutelyincrediblesex. The bath. The massage. The orgasm.” A happy sigh. “That was a really,reallygood orgasm.”

She pulls my face down and kisses me. “Mmm. You taste like me. Not sure how I feel about that.” Another kiss. “Kinda tangy.”

I laugh. “I love the way you taste. Honestly, I do. You’re sweet as sugar.”

She hums the chords of a recent popular song involving a certain melon and sugar, and I laugh. She reaches her arms up around me and clings to my neck. “Take me to bed and hold me.”

I lift her in my arms, and her nose nuzzles against my neck—she inhales, and sighs, as if the scent of me is reassuring, comforting. Holds tight. When I set her on the bed and pull back the covers, she just watches me, and waits as I go around blowing out all the candles—and let me say, it takes almost as long to blow them all out as it did to light them. Eventually, all the tea lights are out, and I climb into bed next to Delia. She rolls toward me, reaching for me; her head goes onto my chest, her thigh over mine. Hand on my belly. Breathing soft, slow.

“Be here when I wake up, ’kay?” Her voice is already muzzy and faint.

“I will be. I promise.”

I have an arm around her, underneath her, cupping her hip. Somehow, my other hand finds hers, and I cradle her hand inside me, as if sheltering it, protecting it.

She’s soft as silk, warm as a summer wind. Flesh and curves against me. I’m hypersensitive to every point of contact between our bodies.

I assume she’s asleep based on her breathing, so I’m surprised when she speaks.

“Thai?”

“Hmm?” My own voice is drowsy; the comfort of her in my arms is like intoxication, but infinitely better.

“Don’t be scared.”

“Huh?”

A pause. The words sound like they’re bubbling up from the depths of her, unfiltered as she tumbles into sleep. “Don’t be scared, Thai…”

“Of what, honey? What would I be scared of?”

She nestles closer. Nothing has ever been more right than this, her and me. “I think I love you.”

Everything inside me contracts, clenches. I know I go tense.

“Don’t say anything.” This is a faint whisper. More asleep than awake.

“Delia…”

Her hand leaves the shelter of my hand, drifts up. Finds my face, my jaw, pats me. Scratches. Rests there. “I know. We have forever. It’s okay.”

I’m spinning.

Don’t be scared…I think I love you.

Iamscared.

But more than I’m scared, I crave her.

I…

I crave her affection. I crave her touch. Her kisses. Her body.

I crave her love.

To be loved—to be told that I am loved, to be shown, physically, to have it demonstrated the way she so bravely does…it fills the hole in me that I hadn’t even realized was there.