Forbidden Fling (Wildwood Book 1) (17 page)

Bang, bang, bang.

“I’m surprised you told Phoebe about us. I’m pretty sure I’ve just been moved to her blacklist.”

“I didn’t tell her. She just knew.” She shrugged. “You get used to it. I lived there as a teen. Just bring her flowers or open her car door for her, and you’ll pop right back over to the golden list.”

He made a sound of doubt. “I don’t think so.”

“Just be glad she can’t read you as well as she can me.” She turned her attention back to another nail. “You’d better go before she gets to know you too well.”

Bang, bang, bang.

But Ethan didn’t want to go. In fact, he didn’t want to do anything but stand around and talk to her, tease her, see her smile, look at her legs in those cutoffs.

“Is that a sixteen-penny nail, Miz Hart? You know the city of Wildwood only allows sixteen-penny nails to hang anything weighing less than twelve pounds.” When she gave him a yeah-right look, he narrowed his eyes. “And is that on center? Because that looks a little too far right to me. You most definitely have to be dead center in a stud, or it won’t be cleared by that asshole of an inspector in this town.”

He turned an openly direct gaze on her, lifted an elbow to the top of a cabinet nearby, and leaned in, lowering his voice. “Now, I know for a fact that you are exquisitely gifted at nailing a stud. But it is my sworn duty to the citizens of Wildwood to make sure you are nailing said stud adequately. And I’m afraid to tell you”—he sucked air between his teeth and gave a small shake of his head—“I believe we need to have a serious talk about arranging some more stud-nailing sessions to make sure you are an absolute expert at this crucial art.”

She was grinning, and when she grinned, her skin glowed and her eyes sparkled. And she was the most gorgeous thing on the planet.

“The art of nailing a stud.” Her laugh bubbled through the air and seemed to untie knots inside Ethan he hadn’t realized were gnarled. “You are a dirty little flirt.”

“It’s actually more of a suggestion, less of a flirtation.”

She gave him a what-in-the-hell-are-you-thinking look. Turning on the ladder, she faced him, crossed her arms, and propped one foot on the rung above. Her ease of movement five feet above the ground, in sandals, and without ever looking down told Ethan just how much time she’d spent on ladders. Something he still wanted to know all about.

“No,” she said, her voice lowered to match his. “Just a hookup—remember? The other night . . .” She looked away and lifted a shoulder. “We just got carried away. And what happened with Caleb should have given you a good enough scare to stay ten miles away from me.”

She was right. And the fact that he was standing here trying to convince her they needed to spend
more
time together created a weird buzz of panic in his gut. It was like a repressed side of him was suddenly emerging and fighting for control.

“Yeah, well, we might not be able to escape them all, but I’ve really tried to outgrow as many should-haves as humanly possible.” Damn, he was going to have to go out on another limb here, or he wasn’t going to get through that shell of hers. “And I’m definitely ignoring this one, because as much as I might agree with you logically, every other part of me flat-out refuses to jump on board. Emotionally, physically, mentally, I only want to be with you. The last week has been miserable without you in it.”

That softened her. Her whole face loosened, and for all of two seconds, Ethan got a quick glimpse of the woman underneath that hard surface. The woman he’d shared his bed with a week ago—her sweetness, her heart, her warmth. Then, in a flash, she caught herself and closed off again. She straightened her spine and tossed out an aloof, “Sorry. Not an option.”

Anger flashed. “Delaney—”

“For one,” she said, pulling her voice down to an almost whisper, “if your family found out, you’d be dead meat. For two, it could be misconstrued as a conflict of interest on a professional level.”

His frustration pushed to the front. “Granted, my family is a nuisance, but they don’t run my life. As for work, you would have to be doing something with the bar that required my involvement to make anything between us a conflict of interest. Which makes this a great time to ask why you had Trace Hutton at the bar. Because if you’re going to demolish, then there’s no conflict. And if there’s no conflict, and you’re still brushing me off, then it’s me, not the situation. So which is it, Delaney? Has your hunger been sated, or are you planning more problems?”

She frowned. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“And you answer almost none.”

She lowered her gaze to the floor and didn’t answer.

“Your aunt seems to think you can weather hurricanes with no damage. I’m beginning to see how you do that—with lots of shutters, all bolted down to make sure nothing gets in. But I don’t think she understands that the act of surviving those storms has damaged you in a whole different way.”

She lifted her eyes to his again, and something floated there that he couldn’t read. She was thinking, he knew that. Conflicted, he could see that, too. But there was more. Something soft. Something he wanted to draw out but didn’t know how.

She hopped off the ladder, landing smoothly and squarely, then folded the metal in one swift motion. “I’m sorry. I’m . . . struggling here. I’m trying to look at all sides of this. Trying to make the best decision for everyone when there isn’t one.”

He took one step toward her before he stopped himself still a foot away. He reached across the space between them and ran one finger down her forearm. God, her skin was so soft. And when she didn’t pull away, he linked his finger with her pinkie.

Her gaze lowered to where their hands barely connected.

“Talk to me,” he said.

“I can’t.” She pulled her hand from his and rubbed her face. “Conflict of interest, remember?”

“Okay, fine. Don’t talk to me about it, but at least
talk to me
. How about dinner? I’ll take you to Santa Rosa where the rumors won’t be an issue.”

She gave him that would-you-stop look. “No, Ethan.”

“Then why don’t you come by the warehouse tonight? We can talk while I work. I’d love to hear about your job at Pacific Coast. About Avery and Chloe. About what you plan to do next.”

“You’re kidding yourself if you think we can pretend to be friends.”

“We’re
already
friends.”

“If you believe in friends with benefits maybe, which I don’t.”

“That’s not what I meant. We have common interests, we get along, we like each other. Those are elements for the basis of every friendship. And you know if my job and my family were taken out of the loop, we’d be a hundred and fifty percent into this thing between us.”

“But you
can’t
take your job
or
your family out of the loop. And you can’t take the bar or our past out of the loop.” She heaved a troubled breath, propped her shoulder against the ladder, and crossed her arms. “Look, I realize there is some weird, crazy . . . chemistry or something . . . here, but that doesn’t mean we should act on it.”

“Again, you mean.”

“Jesus, Ethan,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Her aggravation helped him relax, because it was obvious she still wanted him. And she was having as much trouble fighting their attraction as he was.

He leaned in and lowered his voice, but he met her eyes with all the heat bubbling inside him. “We are fucking
nuclear
together, and we both want the same thing. You’re not going to be in town long, and I don’t give a shit what my family thinks of—”

“Stop. Just stop.”

“I don’t, Delaney. I—”

“God, you’re
such
a liar. Or you’re delusional. Either way, you’re full of shit.” She opened her eyes, but they were still heavy-lidded, and her rebuttal was weak. “You know it. I know it. So just stop denying it, Ethan.”

His inflated hope took a hit.

“Just . . . God. Just come over to the warehouse tonight. It doesn’t have to be for sex,” he said, even though the thought speared his gut with disappointment. “You were there less than twenty minutes last week and you made one suggestion on my layout that streamlined my brewing process. I can’t imagine what would happen if you actually hung out and looked around. And if you’d trust me as much with your thoughts on the bar as you do with your body, I may even be able to help you, too.”

“Ethan.” Her voice dropped, and her gaze flicked to the opening leading to the walkway between spaces.

A pink hue stained her cheeks, making him smirk. The woman was blushing? After what she’d done to him in bed? After what she’d openly let him do to her in bed? After nearly letting him fuck her against a metal wall?

Dammit, why did he think these things? He rubbed a hand over his hot face and threaded it into his hair while he focused on the floor. The boring, stained concrete floor. Surely that would cool him down. Okay, maybe eventually.

“Look, I’m just saying we don’t have to be enemies. Is it really so hard to believe I just want to spend more time with you?”

“It should be.” Those gorgeous blue eyes slid back to his, veiled by her lashes. “But you’re very persuasive.”

He grinned. “I try.”

She put a few tools away beneath the table, but he stayed put when she turned for the exit, which he blocked. She was just a couple of feet away when she lifted her gaze to his.

“God, you smell good,” he murmured. “I’m going a little crazy here, baby. Don’t you think about me? About us?”

She got that look in her eye. The smoldering one. The one she’d gotten that night just before she rolled on top of him and took control.

He reached out and cupped the side of her face. Her lids fluttered in surprise, then closed as her head leaned into his hand. That tiny window into her soul, showing him what she really wanted, really needed, was so powerful, it weakened him. His barriers crumbled again.

He was such a sucker for her. He took the last step, closing the distance, and gripped her waist with both hands. “I’m getting off late tonight, but if you’re still hungry around seven—”

“Come on, Ethan.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “You do realize that you were called here for—”

“A horribly twisted version of the dating game? Yes. This is what happens when your mother gets involved in your love life.”

A split-second smile lifted her lips, then vanished. “You coming here today shows exactly how fast word travels in this town. We’re talking about fifteen minutes between the time Colleen and Misty got here and the time you walked in. How long do you think it’s going to take for word of us being together to travel to your family? And believe me—I’ve already heard all about my mere presence tipping Ellen off the deep end.”

“God
dammit
.” He released her and turned away. “This fucking town.” His crazy family. His own goddamned mistakes. “Can’t anyone move on?”

He let his arm fall and paced in a circle. Normally Ethan loved Wildwood. Loved the town. Loved the people. There were a lot of great things about living in small-town America just an hour or two from a big city. And Ethan felt lucky every damn day.

Except on days like this. When the ugly little small-town demons wiggled out of the crevices to cast shadows. When the people he loved, the very people he stayed here for, tried to control his life in a way that suited them, not him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve got to get going.”

He turned to face her. “What are you doing across the street?”

She smiled, one of those bright, sweet smiles that made Ethan think of the sun coming out from behind rain clouds. “A Scrub-a-Pup scrub-a-thon.”

A laugh of disbelief stuttered out of him. “A
what
?”

“I’m volunteering for Heidi’s scrub-a-thon.”

He glanced through the front windows of the store to the dog-grooming salon called Scrub-a-Pup across the street. It was owned by Heidi Montgomery, a woman who’d been in Delaney’s high school class, and there were people and dogs filling the sidewalk out front. “No way.”

“Proceeds go to the local ASPCA.” She glanced at her watch, then took it off and pushed it into her pocket. “Her business needs a little boost, and scrubbing pups on the curb of Main Street will certainly bring attention. I’m gonna go make some dirty dogs shine.”

“Why am I sure that was your idea?”

She just smiled and started past him.

He fell into step beside her and kept his voice low when he said, “Meet me at Patterson’s later?”

“Ethan, you’re not thinking with the correct anatomy.”

“That means you want to, right?”

She cast him a sidelong look. “Wanting and doing are very different things.”

“If that’s the case, someone’s not trying hard enough.”

That got her laughing and shot a burst of accomplishment through his chest as they turned the corner toward the exit.

Phoebe was back at the register and looked up. “Well, that’s a nice sound.”

Delaney leaned across the counter to kiss her aunt, and her shorts rode up a delicious inch. “See you at home later.”

“Don’t stay up late again,” Phoebe said with clear warning in her voice and a withering look at Ethan. “Sleep
repairs
the body.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Delaney called as she pushed through the front door. Once they were down the stairs and on the sidewalk again, she glanced toward him. “I’m not meeting you tonight, Ethan. We both know we’re already treading dangerous water—”

“Ethan.”

His father’s familiar, hostile bark came from their right, and all Ethan’s fight reflexes flipped on. He turned to face Jack head-on, sidestepping to shield Delaney from the harsh onslaught with his body. The move might have been unnecessary, but it was instinctual.

He reached back and closed his hand around Delaney’s arm to reassure her and found her skin cold. “Can’t talk, Dad. I’m on my way to an appointment.”

“Well, it can’t be the one you just canceled at the last min—” His dark eyes flashed past Ethan’s shoulder, and a combination of shock and rage erupted across his face. “Is
this
why you’re not at Judge Davis’s river house right now? Is
she
the reason you cut your meeting short with Boyd and made a reckless error in your inspect—”