Dear Delilah

Delilah

At eleven o'clock at night, thunder cracked and rain came pouring down.

I stood at the door of Edmund's villa, rang the bell, then bowed my head and waited—obedient, pitiful, the very picture of a girl in need.

Edmund Blake, my fiancé's adoptive father, a mature man fifteen years my senior, the finest heir the Blake family had produced. I knew his type. Men like him found it hardest to resist the urge to protect a sweet, harmless girl.

Head lowered, I put on my most fragile, docile expression, my gaze dropping to the fullness of my chest. Rainwater ran down my golden hair. My white blouse was soaked through, clinging to my skin, tracing out the outline of my underwear beneath—a pale pink, brimming with youth, the kind of thing meant to set a man's imagination running.

Edmund didn't make me wait long. When he opened the door, warm yellow light spilled over me. I flinched, lifted my head, gazed up at him, and called out in a timid little voice, "Mr. Blake…"

He wore a dark grey shirt, the cuffs rolled up slightly to reveal forearms corded with veins, lean and strong.

His appraising eyes moved over me. Instinctively I hugged my own shoulders—making sure the shadowed line of my cleavage showed more clearly—and let them tremble faintly.

"Delilah, is there something you need?"

I bit my lower lip. I'd always known Edmund was a guarded man. He hadn't even let me past the threshold. A flicker of resentment stirred in me. What a man—not a shred of tenderness for a lady in distress.

The cold rain had drained the color from my face. Softening my voice into something small and pitiful, I said, "Mr. Blake, could you help me? I… I really have nowhere else to turn."

My eyes reddened, my voice trembling. "My mother needs money for treatment. Please, lend me a little."

Still Edmund didn't invite me in. He was a man who prized his privacy. As far as I knew, no stranger had ever set foot inside this villa—not even his adopted son, Julian Blake.

"You should go to Julian. He's the man you're going to marry."

At the question, I dropped my head, as if in shame.

"Julian… he has matters of his own."

I let the words stay vague. I trusted he'd understand what I meant. After all, Julian was a notorious playboy, trading one girlfriend for another every few days.

I laid my most delicate weaknesses bare for Edmund to see, unafraid he wouldn't believe them. When he'd chosen me to be Julian Blake's wife, he had already dug up every detail of my background.

A father nearly crushed under debt. A sick mother who needed treatment.

And me—a little princess raised in indulgence, ignorant of the world's hardships, without a scheme or an ambition in her head, who could do nothing but weep and beg for help when trouble came.

Perhaps men looked down on a woman like that. But they would never be on their guard around me.

I kept my head bowed, offering him a length of pale, exposed neck, utterly defenseless.

Suddenly a bolt of lightning tore across the sky, its glare sweeping over my profile. A tremendous clap of thunder followed. My chest tightened.

I had to seize this chance.

Before the thunder faded, I gave a cry, as though terrified out of my wits, and threw myself into Edmund's arms, trembling as if frightened half to death.

The thunder died away. Edmund didn't push me off—but I knew I couldn't stay pressed against him. It didn't fit the innocent image I'd built.

I pulled back in feigned fluster and stammered, "I—I'm sorry. I'm afraid of thunder."

Edmund studied me for a few seconds, then turned slightly to the side. "Come in."

Joy leapt in my heart, and I couldn't quite keep it off my face. "Really? Thank you, Mr. Blake. I'll leave as soon as the rain stops."

Edmund said nothing. His tall figure carried a kind of pressure, his deep-set features hard and cold, unreadable. The smile froze on my face, then slowly withdrew into something wary and cautious.

I saw his expression ease a little, the suspicion in his eyes gradually clearing.

Perhaps he was thinking: what harm could a little girl like this possibly mean?

Head down, I stepped over the threshold, my high heels dangling from one hand, walking barefoot across the marble floor and leaving damp prints behind me.

He glanced back and saw the broken heel of my shoe. "There are slippers in the cabinet. The bathroom's at the end of the hall."

I nodded blankly, watching his steady, composed back, and narrowed my eyes just slightly.

There were no women's slippers in the cabinet. It seemed the rumors were true—Edmund really did keep his distance from women.

Getting close to him was born of necessity, but I had to admit, I liked this kind of man—clean, mature. Far better, at least, than that wastrel Julian.

After my shower I blow-dried my hair until it was only half dry. I knew this was its most alluring state. Then I put on the oversized men's robe.

Edmund was very tall, and the robe hung loose and slack on me. I arranged it—half-revealing, half-concealing, careful to seem unstudied—and wound the belt twice into a knot, so it looked tightly fastened. But I knew: one touch and it would come undone.

Once everything was in place, I shaped my expression in the mirror back into that pitiful, helpless look, and eased the door open.

Edmund sat on the living room sofa, reading, warm light falling over him. The instant he raised his eyes to me, I let the adoration and infatuation on my face pull back, as if caught off guard.

He closed the book, his gaze settling on me. "How much do you need?"

I shot him a quick glance, then withdrew my eyes and murmured, "The doctor said two thousand dollars. I can write you an IOU. I'll pay it back."

"You're a student. What are you going to pay me back with?"

"I can work. Take part-time jobs. Please believe me, Mr. Blake."

I looked at him imploringly, a sheen of tears rising in my eyes at just the right moment.

Edmund gave no answer either way. "I don't need you to pay me back. What I need is for you to be a good wife to Julian."

I stared at him, my eyes trembling, and finally lowered my head, as though every ounce of strength had been drained from me.

"All right."

"Come and take it."

He set a stack of bills on the coffee table before him. I shuffled over, and when I was two steps from Edmund, I stepped on the hem of my robe and 'accidentally' pitched forward into him.

A faint scent of cedar mixed with tobacco filled my nose. I looked up at him, dazed. Something seemed to be held back in those brown eyes of his.

My face went red all at once, and I fluttered as if I didn't know what to do.

He narrowed his eyes slightly and didn't move. I lay half across his lap, the soft roundness of my chest pressed against his thigh—I was certain he could feel it, to say nothing of the broad expanse of white skin bared at my chest where the robe had slipped open.

"Are you going to get up?"

I went still. Then, suddenly, I lifted my head, resolve in my eyes, and wrapped my arms around his waist.

"Mr. Blake, could you hold me?"

A powerful force shoved me upright. I cried out—and even as I marveled, inwardly, that he wasn't the least bit moved—the next second I fell back into his embrace.

Those large hands circled my waist. His warm breath brushed against my ear.

"Delilah. Are you trying to seduce me?"