“Please,” she begged, squirming beneath him, hips bucking, urging him to move. And move he did, pulling out only to plunge home. He set a rhythm that drove them both to the edge within minutes, a slow, pumping, in-and-out slide that had her writhing and mewling and begging, and him gritting his teeth against coming too soon. Then, suddenly, she detonated. Just like he knew she would. Taking him with her in the process. Her body milking his orgasm from him in pulsing, greedy tugs.

Long seconds later, after they’d both managed to catch their breath, after he rolled onto his back, she threw a leg over his, twirling her fingers in his chest hair. Then, she said the words that simultaneously thrilled him and chilled him. “I love you, Mac. And I know you love me, too, even if you haven’t said it.”

He wanted to say it. Knew he probably should say it. That’s what normal folks did when they loved each other. They said it, right? But the words stuck in his throat like a damned cocklebur.

“And I’m never going to leave you like your mother left your father,” she continued, kissing his shoulder. “I’m never going to break your heart like your mother broke your father’s. I’m in this thing until the end,” she said, her voice husky as one more poignant, promising kiss landed near his Texas tattoo. “And when you’re lying on your deathbed at the ripe old age of one-hundred-and-ten, and you’re calling my name in the darkness,” damn Zoelner and his big fucking mouth, “I’m going to be right there holding your hand. We’re Notebook-ing it, you and I. A real-life Allie and Noah. Staying together until we go together.”

Sweet God, he couldn’t stand it. He wanted that to be true so badly…

Crying like a fucking baby, that’s what he was doing. Unwelcome tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, wetting his hair and the pillow beneath his head. His chest shook. His stomach trembled. He hadn’t cried like this since the night his father died. Since the night he sat vigil by the man’s bed, holding his hand, trying to lend comfort but knowing he wasn’t enough as his father yelled for Jolene. Jolene, where are you? Jolene, come back!

“I’m s-scared to death,” he admitted on a hiccupping sob, embarrassed to let her see him like this but unable to stop the strangled tears catching at the back of his throat.

She lifted her head from his shoulder, placing the gentlest of kisses on his lips, her breath the sweetest he’d ever tasted. “Shhh. It’s okay,” she told him, smiling softly, her eyes bright. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too.” She pressed soft kisses to the corners of his lips, his cheeks, his eyes. “Love is a risk for everybody.” And that was the understatement of all time. “But, like I said, we’re going to take this slow. One day at a time. But we are going to take this, we are going to give this a chance.”

That wall he’d built up around his heart began to crumple beneath her words, beneath her delicate caresses. Could he do it? Was he brave enough to take the chance on her? To take the chance on them?

“Because I’ve lost a few people I’ve loved during my life,” she continued, “and this is what I know. In the end, the love we withhold, not the love we give, is what we wind up regretting. I don’t want to die with regrets, Mac. Do you?”

“No,” he told her, pulling her close, kissing the top of her head when she laid it on his shoulder. “No, I don’t want to die with regrets. And I do love you, Delilah.” Another sob shook him, cracking his voice. “I swear to God I do!”

“Shh.” She hugged him close. “I know you do, Mac. I know you do.”

He nodded, his heart full to bursting. The wall he’d built around the organ decimated by the love of one flame-haired temptress. Then a thought occurred to him and everything inside him stilled. “Zoelner told you I’m buyin’ back the ranch, right?”

“Yes.” He felt her nod.

“It’s my legacy,” he stressed. “Even if I didn’t love it, which I do, I’d still have to go back there. I’d have to take back what’s been in my family for—”

“Mac.” She pushed up on one arm to frown down at him. “I’m delighted you’re going to buy back the ranch. It’s the right thing to do. And I can’t wait to own a pair of cowgirl boots.” She bit her lip, winking. “And maybe some of those shirts with the fringe and rhinestones.”

Yeah, she thought it was romantic now, from afar. “Ranchin’ is hard,” he warned her. “And it’s lonely. You’re used to all the fun and excitement of Chicago. You’re used to fifty people a day comin’ into your bar to flirt and banter and—”

She placed a finger over his lips, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. “And there you go again. Comparing me to your mother.”

“I—” He tried to talk around her finger but was forced to stop when she used it along with her thumb to squeeze his lips together.

“I’m only going to say this once, Bryan McMillan,” she declared, her eyes impossibly green, “I’m not Jolene.” And, damnit, there went the waterworks again. “She was a shallow, foolish woman who needed constant attention and adoration from the outside because there was nothing to her on the inside. Sorry to speak ill of your mother”—she made a face—“but from what I understand, it’s true.” He nodded. She was absolutely right. It was true. “I don’t need all that.” She firmed her jaw, her expression daring him to naysay her. “I don’t need adoration or attention from the masses to feel good about myself. I feel good about myself because I’m smart and loyal, caring and kind. And I can mix up a martini that would make James Bond weep.”

It was hard to smile when she was smashing his lips together. Not a shy or a humble bone in Delilah’s body. Just one of the reasons he absolutely adored her.

Reaching up, he tugged her fingers away from his mouth. “Speakin’ of those martinis. Won’t you miss the bar? You love it there.”

She shrugged. “To tell you the truth, it’s lost its appeal since Buzzard died. I’ve been thinking for a while now, especially after the fun I had helping the CIA track down some of Agent Winterfield’s foreign deposits, that I might want to turn forensic accounting into a full-time gig. I’m sure there are telephones and Internet hookups in Texas, right?”

He nodded, tears standing in his eyes even as a smile pulled at his lips. Was it possible? Could he really have it all? The ranch? The girl?

“Don’t you get it, Mac?” she asked, shaking her head. “I just need you. Wherever we go, whatever we do, I’ll be happy because I’m with you. You are my home.”

And with those words, red-hot Delilah Fairchild stopped being That Woman. Because those words gave him the courage and strength to call her His Woman…