Della was very aware that her baggage could choose to rear its ugly head at the worst possible moment. But she couldn’t think of a better, more understanding guy to be with than Tucker Daniels if something she couldn’t control happened. She slid a tentative hand onto his forearm. The hard, warm muscle contracted beneath her touch, but he didn’t withdraw. He just went very, very still.

“Maybe. But you knowing I have history works to our advantage. I don’t have to tell you. I don’t have to explain. I know you don’t know the nitty-gritty, but you know enough to understand that there might be roadblocks and not to push if there are but to be patient and work around them. That’s why it has to be you, Tuck. Because you make me feel safe.”

“God…Della…”

He looked down at her hand dwarfed by the solid muscle of his forearm. He shut his eyes briefly, his expression grim, like he was in pain, and Della was terrified he was going to reject her.

“Look…I know I’m probably not the kind of woman you’re used to. I’m not…worldly or flirty. I don’t have a closet full of slinky dresses and stilettos. I don’t even own a negligee.”

She glanced down again at her pajamas and grimaced. Maybe it would have been easier to convince Tucker if she’d been in something silky and see-through.

“I don’t know the kind of things to say to a man to turn him on,” she continued, her gaze returning to his, “or make him want me. I don’t have any game. Any moves. I know squat about hair and makeup and all that stuff. But I think there’s an…attraction between us that could make this proposal doable.”

Della let out a shaky breath. She really was putting it all out there. If he rejected her after this, she wasn’t sure she’d recover. “Please, tell me I’m not imagining this, and you feel it, too.”

For long moments, he didn’t say anything. The muscle under her hand stayed rigid, his jaw locked tight. Then slowly, he exhaled, and bit by bit, his body relaxed, and the denial, the keep-out signs posted in his eyes, gave way to smoky heat furling around her, making it difficult to breathe.

He lifted a hand to her face and cupped her cheek. “You’re not imagining it.” His voice was deep and ragged. “I am attracted to you. I really wish I wasn’t, but…I am.”

The noise of the rain overhead faded until all Della could hear was their breathing. A rush of emotion swelled in her chest at his husky, honest admission. It was hardly a declaration of raging desire or runaway passion, but she could feel his sincerity—and his conflict—right down to her bone marrow.