Chapter 11

"I've been thinking," Della announced into the quiet semi-darkness of the car.

Perry took his eyes off the road momentarily to smile at her. They had left Gerald and Ginny's house only a few minutes earlier, after endless rounds of good-bye's and glad-to-have-met-you's, and promises to keep in touch. Della had written her Brussels sprout recipe a dozen times and gathered several recipes from his cousin's wives, all while managing to fill plates with pumpkin pie and cheesecake to take with them. "I've learned that can be potentially dangerous," he commented.

Della was glad it was too dark for him to see the blush she felt spread across her cheeks as she forged forward. "You have a fireplace."

"I do indeed."

"It's gotten a bit chilly since the sun went down."

"It has indeed."

"Do you have firewood?"

Perry brought the car to a stop at a traffic light, using the opportunity to turn and face her. "You're unusually cryptic. What are you getting at?"

She heard more than saw the twinkle in his eye and looked down at the plates of food on the seat between them and then back at him. "Pie in front of a fire would be nice."

"It would indeed."

She laughed, the spate of nervousness gone. "Talk about cryptic. Well?"

"I like how you think." He leaned over the plates and pulled her in for a kiss.

She pushed him away when a horn sounded behind them. "The light is green, Chief."

He snapped his eyes back to the road and put the car in gear, stepping on the gas and squealing the tires. "If we time this right, Della, we can make it to my place without stopping at another red light."


He had never considered feet to be anything but utilitarian – unattractive, workhorse appendages that deserved to be covered up by leather.

But Della's feet changed his mind.

Not quite as long as his hand, gracefully arched, slender toes straight and in proportion to one another, the nails perfectly shaped – even on the baby toe – and painted a deep coral, her feet were incredibly attractive.

She gave a soft sigh as his fingers kneaded the ball of her foot, pulled gently on each toe.

"I don't know how you can wear those shoes," he said, nodding toward the discarded brown suede pumps with three inch heels. He wanted to kiss her feet, take each toe in his mouth and…

"It's not so bad if you wear good shoes. And I do." She wanted him to kiss her feet, take each toe in his mouth and…

"You have a run in both stockings," he reported. "Starting at mid-calf with little holes and running up to…well, running up."

Her sigh this time was one of consternation. "I was so concerned about my skirt on the deck steps I forgot about my stockings." She sat forward in order to inspect the damage as he turned her leg slightly to afford a better view. "They're silk. Maybe I can salvage them to wear with long skirts like this one."

"Speaking of this skirt," he began, and stopped with a grin at the expression on her face. "Okay, back to stockings. Why don't you take them off before the runs get worse?"

She nodded and eased her foot from his hands. "It's getting late anyway. I should be going home."

He reached out and grasped her ankle. "It's not late at all, Della. Stay." His hand moved from her ankle to her calf, from her calf to the back of her knee. His eyes bored into hers. "Trust me?"

She could barely breathe, could barely nod her head. His eyes held hers as his hand slowly slid up the long line of her leg to the top of her stocking, and with a deft flick of his fingers the garter clip was open. Another flick and the second clip opened as well. Neither of them so much as blinked as Perry's fingers slipped between the soft skin of her thigh and the stocking top, pulling it down and off in one smooth motion. He bent his head then and kissed the impossible arch of her foot with warm, caressing lips.

Wordlessly, she withdrew her bare leg from his hands and exchanged it for the one still clad in silk, her trust in him absolute. Perry couldn't help but smile, and her answering smile touched a place deep within him that no woman had ever reached before. With the same nimble movements the second stocking was removed, and the foot thoroughly kissed.

"The under skirt is rustling silk and tulle."

Perry lifted his head from her foot and blinked.

"The noise my skirt makes," she explained. "Rustling silk and tulle."

He tugged on her leg so that she slid down in a reclining position against the couch cushions they had thrown onto the floor in front of the fireplace and stretched out next to her on his side. His fingers played with the soft curls at her forehead and she turned to face him, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. "I've never been so interested in women's clothing before," he said with a dimpled, lopsided smile. His hand dropped to the suede belt at her waist and rolled her hips closer to him. "Women's clothing was always just a frustrating barrier."

"This woman's clothing still is," she said pointedly.

He chuckled. "Translation: stop?" To his great surprise, she reached out and grabbed his shirt, bringing his face a scant inch from hers.

"Baby steps, Chief. Taking off my stockings…that was – that will have to be…oh hell." She pressed her lips to his firmly.

Perry wrapped his arm around her and drew her closer, rolling her onto her back again as her lips parted in invitation. She tasted of coffee and pumpkin pie, and he couldn't get enough as his tongue explored the depths of her soft mouth, her tongue tangling with his, sparring, parrying, dancing; teeth nipping and nibbling at lips swollen with desire. Kissing Della didn't merely increase his need - kissing Della fulfilled it. He had never seen a more beautiful woman outwardly, but it was her he wanted, every stubborn, independent, intelligent, witty bit of her.

She pushed at him gently, breaking the kiss, but still nibbled at his lower lip with her teeth. "I can't breathe," she whispered.

"I know the feeling," he croaked in reply, and captured her lips once more.

She pushed at him insistently. "I mean it, Chief. I can't breathe. You're holding me so tight…" she broke off as his lips left hers and wandered down the slender column of her neck, his breath warm against flushed skin. "Ohhhh."

He hovered above her now, his mouth slanting across hers after the delightful detour to her neck to taste her perfume, his arms still holding her against him, but looser now so she could breathe. She discovered it wasn't how tightly he held her that made her breathless. He made her breathless by just being him.

His hand moved to the hem of her skirt, bunched up around her knees and after a second of hesitation, slid beneath and caressed the silken skin of her thigh. He felt her begin to tremble, then to struggle. He withdrew his hand and brought it to her face, brushed back tousled curls. "All right, baby. This is as far as it goes."

She was still trembling in his arms, her lips still seeking his, wanting him, but knowing it couldn't be. "Chief, I – I…"

He touched his forehead to hers. "I know, Della," he whispered.

No, you don't, her mind shouted. Your sister-in-law is convinced my last name will one day be Mason, and I can't allow myself to dream that dream right now, not when so much is at stake. "I'm sorry Chief."

He sat up and pulled her to a sitting position along with him, then cupped her face with his hands. "Oh, beautiful girl, don't apologize. Don't ever apologize when it comes to..." he kissed her "…this."

She managed a faint smile. "Considering a proper apology involves this…" she kissed him "…I won't."

He hugged her to him with a snicker, so damn glad she was who she was. "I think maybe it's time I took you home."

She nodded against his chest. "I have an appointment in the morning."