Page 35 of The Stranger

“I ate something earlier.”

“Earlier … when?”

“Around three.”

“You don’t get a dinner break at this job?”

“The manager wants us to take our breaks when it’s slow.”

“You haven’t eaten in over seven hours, Delilah,” he growls.

“I’m hardly going to starve in that time, Spencer.”

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turns towards the door. “Shower, I’ll order us some food.”

Chapter 12

Spencer

I’m pacing in the foyer, waiting for the doorman to bring up our food. It feels weird having a guest stay. I rarely have people here … I like my solitude. Apart from my mother, and occasionally Simone, my assistant—if she has paperwork she needs to drop off—I don’t have women here ever.

Why I suddenly thought this was a good idea, I’ll never know. All my common sense seems to go out the window where Delilah St. James is concerned.

I hadn’t planned on having her stay here when I went to her parents’ house. I was simply there to get the information her daughter refused to give me. But after speaking with her mother, I felt backed into a corner. Especially when I found out she was travelling on the bus alone at that time of night. Delilah may technically be an adult, but they seem to have a reckless disregard for their daughter’s safety and well-being, and I consciously could not turn my back on that.

When I asked her why her husband wasn’t collecting their daughter when she was finishing so late, she simply said,“She never asked us to.”

“Didyou not think to offer?”I’d countered.

That’s when I came up with this hairbrained scheme to bring Delilah here. I’ll probably live to regret this decision, but until I can figure out an alternative arrangement, this was my only option.

I almost popped a damn artery when I arrived at the restaurant to collect her only to find she’d already left. When I found her sitting alone at that bus stop, looking like the young woman I first met—sweet, innocent, and all doe-eyed and fresh-faced, with her long hair pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head—my heart squeezed in my chest. She appeared so vulnerable and ripe for the picking. A crime of opportunity just waiting to happen, and all the fucked-up scenarios that flashed through my mind are going to keep me up tonight, I’m sure.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when the elevator dings. I retrieve a fifty-dollar note out of my pocket and give it to the doorman as I take the two large brown paper bags out of his hand.

“Thank you, Mr Prescott. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

I nod my head once. “You too, Derek.”

When the doors close, I turn and make my way back into the apartment. I’m only a few steps into the room when I almost trip over my own two feet. The last thing I’m expecting to see is Delilah standing in my kitchen practically naked.

My eyes involuntarily move down the length of her body, and thankfully, I have enough sense to move the bags I’m holding in front of me because my dick seems to like what I see as well.

Delilah’s dressed in a tiny pair of pink silk pyjama shorts paired with a matching camisole. The entire ensemble is trimmed with an inch of delicate black lace,and despite her short stature, her smooth, bare legs appear to go on for days.

“I’m sorry,” I hear her whisper, and when my eyes move back to her face, I notice her cheeks are the same colour as her pyjamas. “My mum isn’t aware that we broke up, so I guess she packed the sexiest pair of PJs I own.”

I can’t help but chuckle when she adds the last part. “Like I said earlier, I was unaware that we split.”

“You realise we were never technically together?”

“I believe your status said otherwise, Miss St. James.”

Her eyes narrow as I continue towards the kitchen and place the bags of food on top of the island. “Do you have a T-shirt or something I can put on? My mother only packed these, some clean underwear, socks, my toiletries, and a denim skirt for me to wear tomorrow.”

A part of me wants to deny her request, but I’m unsure if I can trust myself to remain in the same room as her when she’s dressed in next to nothing. Even the sweet-smelling shampoo from her freshly washed hair is playing havoc with my senses. I have to physically restrain myself from wrapping my arms around her tiny waist and burying my nose in her hair.

I clear my throat before saying, “I’ve ordered a variety of things since I was unsure what you wanted. Why don’t you unpack the food and I’ll grab something for you to wear.”