6. Delilah

Chapter 6

Delilah

" I s that something you think we can do?"

I blink, floating back into the awareness of my own body. My heart flutters in my chest at the unfamiliar sensation. What on earth—

I blink again, staring straight ahead at the author client in front of me. Her manuscripts lay in bundles across my tidy desk – novels one and two – with her messy suggested edits scrawled in blue ink across the pages quickly followed by my much neater edits, made in bright red pen, and tucked into the margins of the pages.

Her hands are folded as she looks up at me expectantly, obviously waiting for my answer.

The answer to the question I didn't hear because I'd been daydreaming about him .

What the fuck?!

Me, daydreaming? Me, daydreaming at work ?!

"Umm…" Cut that shit out real fast, Delilah . "Yes, we can totally do that."

My smile feels like wax upon my face.

"Amazing!" my client gushes, too caught up in her own excitement to notice the sigh of relief I let out. Who knows what the hell I just agreed to, but I'm hoping it'll be just fine.

With my head back in the game, I manage to answer the rest of her questions, smile still firmly etched across my lip stick coated lips, until I'm up on my heeled feet, walking her across the carpeted office floor back towards the glass staircase and the exit beneath.

We exchange goodbyes, with a promise to check in next week on a video call, before I'm stalking back to the safe confines of my office, twisting the lock on my door, and sinking into my leather desk chair, spinning to face the wall. Only then do I blow out an audible breath, dig my nails into my scalp and close my eyes.

He's there as soon as my lids fall shut.

Grey fucking Millen.

In my mind, pool water sluices down his well-toned body, down his lean abdomen, running along the black, fine line butterfly tattoo etched below his left pectoral muscle. The one I'd caught a glimpse of last Wednesday evening when his yellow t-shirt had ridden up.

He's like something out of my beloved romance novels.

Except he's real. I've touched him in the fucking flesh.

My God.

If I strain my ears enough, I can recall the smooth sound of his voice, all polished vowels.

My scalp prickles from the sharp tug of my fingers, but the slight pain only trickles down into my nipples, grazing against the satin material of my bra.

I only barely manage to hold back a whimper.

With deft fingertips, I raise my mass of hair away from my neck. Heat pools in my lower stomach, skin becoming achy and taught.

Christ, have they turned the thermostat up to roasting in here or something?

My breath is shaky as I exhale, mouth dry, reaching for my-probably-now-cold cup of tea.

I'm not naive. I know what's fucking happening to me.

After just one chance encounter, I'm attracted to him. To Grey.

And this? This is simply a physical reaction to those pesky feelings. No, not feelings – plural. Feeling – singular.

Attraction.

Want.

Desire.

That's all.

It's my baser instinct lashing out, maybe I'm, I don't know, ovulating or something?

Milky tea coats my tastebuds, I leave a bright pink lipstick residue upon the reusable cup, and my hands squabble to grab my planner sitting beside the keyboard.

Focus, Delilah.

Mind back in the game. Eyes back on the prize.

Repositioning my grip on my pen, I jot down next week's video call and then, out of simple curiosity, check to see if I am ovulating.

Nope.

Fuck.

Never mind.

The ping of an incoming email distracts me enough to move my attention back to work for the day.

Enough fucking daydreaming, Delilah.

Hovering the mouse, I click on the email icon, eyes flicking up towards the time sitting in the top, right hand side of the screen.

4:55 PM. Almost time.

Skimming the paragraph in front of me, I quickly type out a reply, logging out of my computer for the day just before the clock can strike five.

My stomach rumbles as I stand, brushing down my pencil skirt and wishing my blood would stop running so bloody warm.

From beneath my desk, I grab my monogrammed handbag, sliding my planner, pen, phone, and bundles of paper manuscripts into the confines. I loop the bag over my shoulder, picking up my other, much smaller bag too, unlocking the door and heading towards the exit.

At this time of day, during the week especially, central London is swarming with bodies. The heat only seems to make it worse; more people come out in droves; walking, hailing taxis, and riding the underground, to enjoy a drink in the pub or in the park.

Personally, I wish the little smattering of rain we'd gotten on Sunday had stayed for a while longer.

The click of my heels is lost in the hum of London, even as I descend the concrete stairs of Bond Street underground station, happy to be moving. I find it keeps my thoughts at bay.

Oyster card scanned, I patiently wait my turn behind the yellow safety line, enjoying the small breeze from the train tracks even if it is dusty and polluted. I manage to grab a seat – lucky me, in the cramped carriage – holding my gym bag to my chest as we sway along, listening for the Tannoy announcer.

"Now stopping at Marble Arch," comes the standard RP British voice. "Please mind the gap." Feet shuffle as we come to a standstill, the hum of chatter falls as a few people slither out onto the platform beyond.

"Doors closing." And we're off again.

The routine continues, each time the carriage expelling passengers and welcoming them in, almost like it's breathing.

"Now stopping at Holland Park. Please mind the gap." I reach out to hold onto the pole as we trundle to my stop.

Smothering heat kisses the bare skin of my arms in my sleeveless white blouse, as I step away from the tube station, happy to stretch my legs for a few minutes. Being in the draughty, musty smelling underground had only served to make the warmth from outside feel all that more oppressive.

Up ahead, I slide through the doors to the leisure centre, handing my key card to the woman behind the desk to be allowed entry.

The receptionist scans my card with ease and smiles at me from across the desk. "We hope you enjoy the use of our facilities today, Miss Clark."

I smile back, slipping my key card back into my purse and heading straight for the cafe situated at the back of the building.

It's slightly crowded; a mother wrestles with her small child, attempting to secure them into a wooden highchair, two men sit together, slurping down protein shakes, another young man sits alone, headphones in, a brightly coloured smoothie sitting in front of him.

I take a seat in the corner, situating myself into the uncomfortable chair and unloading my bundle of manuscripts, pen, phone and battered up granola bar from the depths of my handbag. I quickly order a cup of tea and a bottle of water from the cafe app on my mobile, simply so I don't look like I'm using my membership like a home office, and pop in my earphones to drown out the distracting noise.

Deliciously cool air-conditioned air licks at the baby hairs around my temples as I double check the time.

Half an hour until my second swim lesson with Grey.

Perfect.

My hot and cold drink order arrives in no time at all, just as I'm slashing through a spelling mistake with the sharp tip of my red ballpoint pen, soothing meditation music drifting through my ears.

I fix my tea exactly how I like it – one and a half teaspoons of sugar, and a large dash of milk – leaving it to cool down as I work my way down the A4 page, careful not to spill or leave a messy tea stain.

When I get to the end of the third page, I reward myself with a bite of my granola bar, the rich taste of decadent chocolate chips bursting on my tongue, swallowed down with a sip of tea.

I blame the cliff-hanger I'm well and truly sucked into at the end of novel one, for not noticing him before it's too late.

A tap on my shoulder and then Grey is standing in front of me, lips moving silently. The left-hand side of his lips uptick and when I feel my brows furrow in confusion, he points to his own ear.

Oh, shit.

I pinch my earphones, pulling them away from both ears, enough to hear him say, "You're here early, Delilah."

His voice… good God.

"I-I came straight here from work." Holy shit, I'm warm again.

He nods, and then gestures to the empty seat across from me. "Can I sit?"

"Of course," I hear myself say, saliva drying in my mouth as Grey contorts his long body to fit beneath the table. Such a simple movement most of us take for granted, but something I can't stop watching.

"What are you working on?"

I peer down at the manuscript in front of me like I've never seen it before. In my grasp, I clench my pen even harder, until its ridges are digging into my flesh.

"Editing."

"I can see that." Grey chuckles. "Are you enjoying it? What kind of novel is it?"

"It's going to be a fantasy series." I drop my pen in search of my cup of tea, wrapping both hands around the ceramic and staring at Grey over the lipped rim. "I'm really enjoying it. I can tell this one is going to be really special."

Grey leans further over the small table, gifting me a close up of his soft-looking brunette curls on the top of his head and the freshly shaved sides. God, he smells good. Chlorine mixed with a tang of sweet mint and—

I catch myself, or should I say, my thoughts, taking a pull of my tea to centre myself back into my body.

It doesn't really help. I'm warm all over again, something in my gut stirring akin to when my bare thigh had bumped into his just last week. It's a visceral reaction, one I can't fucking stop or control.

"You really take your editing seriously? Hm?"

It's only because I'm watching him – unable to draw your eyes away, more like, Delilah – that I catch the way Grey's eyes look down at the bound manuscript, and then trail back up, snagging on my chest for a second, before arriving at my face.

I thought I was flushing warm a second ago, but now it's practically painful. I feel my heart rate pick up, liquid heat pooling in my lower stomach.

Beneath the table, I uncross and cross my legs again, not an easy feat in my pencil skirt, in an attempt to quell the sudden weight I feel growing between the apex of my thighs.

I know what's fucking happening. I'm bloody attracted to the man. To this man who's supposed to be teaching me how to swim. My fucking swim teacher. I'm attracted to my swim teacher.

Christ, Aurelia would be having a field day if she were here right now.

Grey's lips are moving again, but I can't hear him over the roaring of my blood and the spiral of my thoughts. I take a larger gulp of my tea, sugar gnawing at the back of my teeth.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, you take your editing pretty seriously… and you're neat at it, as well. My handwriting wouldn't even be legible," he shakes his head, "just a messy scrawl all over the place. They'd hate me."

I shrug. "It comes with practice, I suppose."

A nod of his head and then said, "Did you have a nice weekend?"

"It wasn't bad," I say, placing my now empty teacup onto its China saucer and pressing my lips together to smooth out my lipstick. "Cleaning, yoga, more editing. Yourself?"

Grey raises his eyebrows in a playful manner. "I've got a little workaholic on my hands, huh? I was here, at the pool, on Saturday and then I hopped on the train home for our weekly dinner. It was nice… chaotic as usual, but—"

"You go home every Sunday?"

"Yep." He pops the ‘p'. "I'm close to my family… are you?"

"Am I close to my family? Uh—" My eyes fall into my lap where I allow myself a second to clench my fists before I forcibly uncurl my fingers and sweep across the cotton material of my skirt. I still can't force myself to look back at Grey. "I'm close to my sister, yes. Mum… not so much."

"Families are tricky," I hear Grey reply. "I'm super grateful I got lucky, but I get how difficult it can be."

That waxy smile of mine, the one which feels like clay upon my face, is back. I look back up to find his eyes on mine, fingertips inches away from the rim of my tea and saucer. He's got nice nails, clean and trimmed, attached to large hands I find myself staring at.

Delilah…

"Is home far?"

"Nah," Grey answers, twin dimples appearing in his cheek. "I'm from a town called Burford, in the Cotswolds, so I just get a train to the nearest station and then my brother, Noah, usually picks me up."

"Sounds lovely, Grey."

"It is," he agrees. "Are you from London originally, or…"

"A small suburb in Surrey. I left it as soon as I could really, I needed a faster way of living where everybody didn't know my business. I did try living abroad, but, um," I feel my left eye twitch, "that didn't work out. Could you see yourself moving back to the Cotswolds?"

"Sometimes I could, yeah, when the traffic gets too loud, and the pub spills out into my street at two am waking me up. But then something comes along, and it makes me want to stay all over again."

I couldn't look into Grey's eyes before and now I can't stop staring into them. They're warm and inviting, chocolatey and decadent, with a gold dot just off centre in his right iris.

Those eyes slide to the clock sitting right above the smoothie bar. "It's almost six. You going to get changed and meet me by the pool, Delilah?"

My heart picks up speed in my chest at the sound of my name dripping from his lips.

"Yes, Grey." I couldn't say no even if I wanted to.It's the main reason I'm here again in the first place; it had scared me how fast I found myself saying yes when Grey had asked me to come back last week. How much I had to pretend I needed time to think about it, when in reality I didn't need any time at all – I knew I wanted to come back, to see him again.

He's looking at me, I know he is, I can feel the pinpricks of heat from his gaze, as I pack up as carefully as I laid my items out.

He's silent while I stand, balancing myself on my thin, black stilettos. I dare not break the invisible bond between us, but apparently Grey has no qualms because his gaze dips down to take in the length of me.

I know what he's seeing – patent, black stilettos. Extra sharp. My matching black pencil skirt which hugs the feminine curve of my hips. A white blouse tucked into the thick waistband, the top two pearlescent buttons unfastened to reveal the dainty gold necklace and matching earring set Aurelia had gotten me a few birthdays ago. A light dusting of makeup, a pretty pink lip and a riotous mass of tamed curls.

Grey's mouth falls open a millimetre, enough for me to notice the tip of his tongue pressing into his bottom canine. He doesn't need to offer me any words. His visceral reaction to my body is enough to make my blood fizz in my veins.

I'm wondering what his next move is going to be, when he stands, towering over me enough to make me totter in my heels. I peer up to watch him, that smirk and—

"After you, Delilah." He gestures with the flat of his palm.

I unstick one heel from the floor, and then the other, straightening my back and striding past the empty reception desk and through the doorway of the changing rooms, all without a backwards glance.

Once I'm locked in a cubicle, I dump my bags onto the small bench and stare at myself in the mirror.

Don't crumble, Delilah. It's okay to be attracted to him. It doesn't have to mean anything.

I work on autopilot to change out of my work attire and into my swimsuit, tie my hair into a semi-neat bun and wipe off my lipstick, all the while my mind chimes, " he's out there waiting for you. "

I blame that thought on how quickly I'm ready, walking towards the pool, towel under my arm and locker key tied safely around my wrist.

Grey sits on a plastic, fold down chair in the viewing area, while he waits for me – all long, lean legs, forearms resting on his thighs.

His line of eyesight meets mine from across the pool, and I swear I can see him smirking for a split second, but then his face slips into neutrality as I approach him, ignoring the way the tiled floor below me digs into the soft soles of my feet.

"I'm ready, Grey. What are you teaching me today?"

"For today's lesson, I'm going to teach you how to float, Delilah."