“Maybe I have a thing for peaches.”

Somehow, we’re only a foot apart, the space between us humming with something. It licks over my tender skin, tickles the back of my neck. Take it slow, Saint. She’s skittish. Back off. My body resents this greatly and strains toward her warmth.

Her voice is a thread, drawn tight. “You’re still staring.”

“Paying proper respect,” I amend quietly. “You don’t ignore a body like yours. It would be rude.”

“Pretty sure you have that backward.” She’s breathless now, her glorious breasts rising and falling with agitation.

I lean down, take in the warmth of her scent. “Come on, Tot. I’ve grown up, seen the error of my ways. Give me your bountiful banana pie.”

Again she sways into my space, laughing softly. “Pervert. You’re not getting any pie from me.”

I hum, heat and need making my head swim. “But I have this craving.”

She’s whispering now. “Disappointment can be character building.”

“I’ll need my strength for that. How about peach pie?” Kiss me, Delilah. Or let me kiss you. I’m not picky.

The pulse at the base of her tanned neck visibly beats. The scent of her skin is like honey.

“I thought you wanted banana cream,” she says, a dazed look in her eyes.

The tips of my fingers touch the collar of her shirt. “I don’t think pie is what I want anymore.”

Her breath leaves in a whoosh. I’m more aroused than I’ve ever been. I want to press up against her and ease the tight ache in my dick. But the moment is gone; she’s backing away. “I’ll make you pie later. I’m on break now.”

A nice reminder meant to set us firmly back into our places of boss and servant.

I might have walked away, let it go. But she whisks her shirt off, revealing a tiny sixties-style bikini top and that body with curves for miles. She is glorious, her peachy ass swaying as she drops the shirt like a dare, then saunters to a lounger. Yeah, I might have let it go if she hadn’t looked back, a quick glance as though to make certain I was still there.

I’m still here, honey. And I’m not going anywhere.

Delilah

What was that? I swear I almost kissed Macon Saint.

My heart is beating like an angry metronome. I’m tender and flushed between my legs. All from a little banter with Macon. I want to lie to myself and say it wasn’t anything different than the light meaningless flirting we’ve been doing since I walked into his office all those weeks ago. Except it isn’t meaningless anymore. Something fundamental has changed.