Forbidden Fling (Wildwood Book 1) (27 page)

He should just let it go. He should just turn around and walk out. Let Delaney make her own mistakes. Bide his time and be ready to swoop when Trace screwed up Delaney’s renovation and she found herself in dire straits. By then he could probably scrape together enough to buy the liquor license. By then she’d probably be desperate to sell it.

Business sense told him to get his feet moving toward the door. But his heart told him to stay. And just like it always did where Delaney was concerned, his heart won out.

He started toward her, glad he’d stuck with water tonight instead of drinking his own brew, leaving him clearheaded enough to tuck under all his ragged corners. To remember that she didn’t belong to him. To remember that she didn’t owe him anything. And that he
wanted
it that way.

As he neared, he heard Shiloh say, “I’m thinking of going with laminate floors so I can afford a Carrara marble vanity.”

“Carrara,” Trace said with a lift of his brows. “You have always had champagne taste.”

“True,” Shiloh said, then leaned close and whispered something in Delaney’s ear that made her laugh in that low, sexy way she had just before she’d done something naughty to Ethan in bed. The memory shot sparks along his spine and jealousy through his gut, sure Shiloh had just made a comment about Trace.

“What’s Carrara marble?” Hunter’s voice dragged Ethan from the dark, jagged thoughts.

“It’s a very beautiful, very expensive type of stone,” Delaney told her.

Ethan pushed himself forward as Hunter turned to her mother. “Princesses have expensive things, Mommy. Can Delaney use Carrara marble for my princess bed?”

“Look at that.” Trace barked a laugh. “She’s a mini version of you.”

Shiloh smoothed her thumb over Hunter’s round cheek. “Sweetie, there are certain things queens always get before princesses, like platinum, diamonds, Carrara marble . . .”

Ethan stepped up to the table. “That doesn’t sound very fair.”

Everyone at the table looked up, but Ethan held Delaney’s gaze for a long moment before returning greetings from others and satisfying Hunter’s demand to be picked up. He lifted her from Delaney’s lap and swung the little girl to his shoulders.

She squealed with glee, and her little hands gripped the sides of his face as she grinned down at him. “Uncle Ethan, Delaney’s gonna build me a princess bed. Look, look!”

Delaney smirked and lifted the crayon drawing showing crisp architectural strokes around crude five-year-old scribble. Ethan pushed the edge of his mouth into a smile, but shadows of doubt swam in his head.

Still, he told Hunter, “Wow. That’s pretty special.”

“And she’s gonna build my mommy a bathroom with Carrara marble.”

Delaney’s throaty laugh spilled desire through Ethan’s groin. “I don’t know about that.”

Ethan settled his gaze on Trace and released one of Hunter’s legs to offer his hand. “Hey, Trace.”

“Ethan.” His gaze was open and sincere. “You and I have had a good relationship in the past. I hope we’ll be able to work together on Delaney’s project without any problems.”

“As long as you build to code,” he said, turning his gaze on Delaney, “we’ll work together just fine.”

Her gaze jumped left, and her expression shifted. Ethan caught sight of movement in that direction, but before he could look to see who or what had caught her attention, Trace spoke to Delaney.

“We should go over the plans before I fall asleep on my feet.” He pulled out Delaney’s chair, and she stood.

Ethan glanced toward the opening that fed the back room and found Austin strolling in. He was in street clothes, but his sharp eyes were on Delaney—and his expression exposed a very familiar internal fury that Ethan had seen too often in his father’s eyes. He shot Ethan a look of accusation and lifted his chin in a silent “What the hell?”

“I’m pretty beat after all that demolition,” Trace said, then tilted his head, his gaze on Delaney’s arm. “Hey, when did you get those?”

Ethan looked at her bicep and the fading bruises his father had imprinted on Delaney’s skin just before she rubbed her other hand over them. His gut squeezed with guilt, with sickness. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to get as far away from him and his family as possible. In fact, he should be pushing her away instead of trying to hold on.

Her dark-blue eyes touched on Ethan for the flicker of a second before sweeping past to rest on Trace. “Pulling down the ceiling yesterday. I took a few good hits. I’m tired, too. Let’s look at the plans and call it a day.”

“They’re in the truck.”

“That’s fine. There are way too many eyes in here.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Delaney,” Ethan said before she walked off. She turned, guarded, her body tense. It was the demeanor she’d used to face his father and brother, and that both hurt and angered Ethan. He swung Hunter off his shoulders and returned her to her drawing. “Can I have a minute?”

Before she could answer, Trace said, “Take your time. I’ve got to dig the plans out from beneath a pile of tools. It will take me a few.”

“I’ll be right there,” she told Trace. To Ethan, she said, “Outside.” Then she followed Trace out the front door.

When Trace turned left, Delaney stepped off to the right. Ethan curled her hand in his and pulled her farther from the entrance.

“Ethan . . .”

He stepped into an alley between buildings and held on to her hand as he faced her. All he wanted to do was pull her close and kiss her. Was dying to feel her pressed against him, her hands pulling at his clothes, her mouth open, her tongue hungry. He wanted to feel her wanting him, not pushing away like she was now.

“There’s too many people here,” she said, her gaze darting over her shoulder.

Ethan put a hand against her cheek and pulled her back to him. “Why did you quit your job?”

“What?” She frowned hard. Leaned back as if the question offended her. “Where did that come from?”

“Were you having an affair with your boss?”

A combination of anger and hurt washed out the confusion in her expression. “What difference does that make?”

“It makes a difference if you used the affair to get benefits in the job.”

Her lips parted. Surprise flashed in her eyes, but it almost instantly turned to anger. “Really? Is this a question you
really
need
me to answer? Because I think I’ve already answered what you
really
want to know half a dozen times over the past two weeks.” She pulled her hand away, crossed her arms, and stepped back. “If you can’t see that, then you’re not looking. And the fact that you even asked tells me nothing I say would satisfy you.”

Delaney turned and strode out of the alley.

And Ethan found himself as trapped as he’d always been—by his family, by the town, but mostly by his own limitations, his own fears, and his own shortcomings.

He dropped back against the brick wall of Black Jack’s, squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed one fist to his forehead. He searched his mind for some resolution to this conflict, but what was he going to do? Put himself between Delaney and his family, ruin what lousy ties he had left with them
and
his chance at his dreams while knowing Delaney would breeze out of town the second her responsibilities here were satisfied, leaving him with nothing?

He pushed his hands into his hair and fisted them with a growl of frustration.

He’d never been so damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.

THIRTEEN

Delaney squinted against the glare of the floodlight illuminating the front of The Bad Seed—she really needed to think up another name for it to disassociate the bar’s past from the present—and secured the last piece of siding at the very top of the gable.

Pa-chunk. Pa-chunk. Pa-chunk.

She sighed with relief and muttered, “One down, three to go.”

Sliding her finger off the trigger of the nail gun, she rested her forearm on the top of the ladder and winced at the bone-deep burn in her shoulder while glancing over the last section of siding she’d installed.

Looked good, considering how long it had been since she’d done it. That thought brought her mind back to Ethan’s
“It makes a difference if you used the affair to get benefits in the job,”
and a familiar pain tore at her heart.

She glanced toward the row of warehouses on the adjoining property and found his truck parked at the door of his unit, the lights still on. She didn’t see Ethan, but it was pretty dark; unless he was standing near the headlights, she wouldn’t. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in four days. In some ways that was a blessing—it gave her time and room to still her insides from the spin he created, and it left her free from interference, allowing her to get a lot done in a short amount of time. But in another way his absence generated a new problem—it created an ache that left her feeling hollow and distracted.

She didn’t understand how she could miss him when they’d spent so little time together, and 80 percent of that in bed. But she did. She missed his humor, his intelligent conversation, his compassion. She missed his voice in the dark. The sweet way he treated her.

She closed her eyes at the bittersweet squeeze in her chest, her memory flooded with all those touching moments he’d spent tracing the lines on her palm, kissing trails over different parts of her body.

She’d been with enough men to know a special guy when she found one. And she’d become so jaded she’d begun to believe they didn’t exist for her anymore.

Ethan had changed that.

“This is a good thing,” she reminded herself softly. Ethan was nothing but a bundle of problems. And she already had too many problems.

She took a deep breath and forced the memories away and her mind back to her work.

The light, smoky-green color of the siding would pop against the white trim planned for the windows, doors, and gingerbread. The finished product would not only be beautiful; it would add to Main Street’s appeal while restoring the building’s authentic charm.

She envisioned the end product in her mind, and for the first time since Trace had informed her that Ethan had signed off on the site grading inspection, approving the land excavation and drainage changes she’d made, Delaney experienced a spark of relief. Of excitement. Of . . . pride?

She wasn’t sure, because this pride wasn’t the kind she’d experienced with any project in the past. This pride was far more personal, something that was completely illogical, and something she wasn’t ready or willing to acknowledge.

“Delaney,” Trace called.

She pushed her hard hat off her forehead and squinted down at him.

“It’s almost eight. The crew went home hours ago. And now it’s
dark
, not
dusk
,” he said, killing the argument she’d used earlier to keep working. “You’d never let me use a nail gun at night by floodlight. Which means you shouldn’t be using a nail gun at night by floodlight. Get your ass off that ladder.”

“Okay, okay. I’m coming down.”

“Told you she was stubborn.” Phoebe’s voice touched Delaney’s ear as she took one more look toward the warehouse and allowed one more pang of longing to pass, wishing things could be so very different, before climbing down the ladder.

Once she touched the ground, Trace recapped the day’s progress for her while Delaney put away her tools and supplies.

He finished by saying, “We’ve got the HVAC, electrical, and plumbing tied down. We’re set for the inspection tomorrow.”

She dropped the compressor hose into the toolbox and pressed her hands to her knees to help her straighten. She was stiff and sore everywhere. “Fantastic.” That would cut her exposure to Ethan way down. “What time?”

“Eleven a.m.”

“I’ll make sure I have something to do somewhere else. Just call me when he’s gone.”

Trace lifted a brow, puzzled by her evasion. She’d used the old family-feud excuse, but Delaney could tell Trace suspected some other underlying conflict. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

She flashed a grin. “I can try.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Do me a favor and stay off that ladder when no one else is around.”

“Since when am I nobody?” Phoebe asked, hands on hips.

He started toward the crumbling parking lot. “You know what I mean.”

The lights of his truck washed Phoebe in halogen, and Delaney surveyed her aunt’s dirty T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. “How’s the dumpster queen?”

“Fillin’ ’em quicker than they can bring ’em.”

Delaney laughed and rubbed a smudge of dirt off Phoebe’s cheek. She’d been pitching in when she had time and had been hauling debris to the dumpster most days. Yet she never complained.

“Well, it’s way past quittin’ time.” Delaney patted her back and walked her toward the bar’s entrance, where Phoebe had left her keys on a workbench.

“I can stay until you’re ready to go home.”

Delaney smiled, picked up her keys, and pressed them into her aunt’s hand. “Very sweet, but I know you’re dying to get home and primp for Avery’s arrival tomorrow. So go.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind—”

“Yes. I’m sure. Honestly, I’d appreciate some quiet time.” She glanced around and shook her head. “Man, can you believe this place? Trace is an amazing project coordinator. What I would have given to have a guy like him on my team when I was with Pacific Coast.”

Phoebe’s gaze scanned the space, now lit with work lights. The walls were still open studs, but walls had been removed and repositioned to open the space and engineered beams placed to secure the second floor. The drop ceiling had been ripped out, adding height and giving the whole place the illusion of being twice as big. The workmanship was clean, the materials new. It was fresh and vibrated with possibility.

“I knew you’d do something amazing,” Phoebe said, letting Delaney guide her out the door and toward her car. “I just didn’t know you’d do it so
fast
. I never dreamed this much work was possible in . . . what? Ten days?”

“Almost. We’ve got a great crew that signed on for long days and subcontractors booked in tight succession, a schedule that needs to be finessed with skill to keep us from running over budget. It’s really a finely tuned machine. If one thing falls out of place, like dominos, everything behind it goes down, too. And every mess-up costs money.

“Which reminds me . . .” She winced as she walked Phoebe to her car. Delaney had known she wouldn’t be able to finish this job with her own funds, but she hated asking Phoebe for the money her aunt had offered so early in the process. “Once I got into the second floor, it turns out the termite damage is worse than we first thought.”

“Just let me know what you need, and I’ll get you a cashier’s check.”

“God, you’re a saint.” Guilt and gratitude mixed and swamped Delaney’s chest. She slid her arm around Phoebe’s and cuddled close to her side. “I don’t know how you put up with all of us.”

“I love all of you.” She threaded their fingers and pulled their joined hands to her chest. “When you love someone, you do what you need to do to support them, give them what they need to see them happy.”

Delaney’s mind shot straight back to that afternoon in Ethan’s office when she’d asked for those variances in building code. He could have said no and been within his rights. He could have made this job miserable for her half a dozen different ways, but he hadn’t.

God, she hated the distance between them now. Hated the emptiness it left in her heart.

“Where’d you go?” Phoebe asked.

“Hmmm? Oh, I was thinking about all the ceilings and walls I’m going to be able to take down on the second floor, which will make that space huge and serve as a variety of different things. It could be an event space, or a wine-tasting space, or even a living space. Whatever the future owners decide to call it and do with it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that when I get done with it, it’s going to be a gorgeous, sun-soaked space that will pump the value of this place through the roof. But we’re still a long way from done. Finish work is tedious and time-consuming.”

“One day at a time, honey.” Phoebe paused at her door and turned into Delaney for a hug.

Delaney pulled back, finally voicing something that had been on her mind since Ethan mentioned it. “Hey, I found out that the liquor license to this place is worth some good money. Do you think I should try and sell it separately from the building? It would help with liquid funds for the renovation. But I don’t know if it would hurt the value of the property.”

“Every liquor license in this county is worth a mint—there aren’t any available. Not even any up for sale—of any kind. One of Henry Kilgor’s daughters has been trying to start a tasting room for local wines but can’t because she can’t get a license and can’t even find one to buy.”

“So, I guess I should hold on to it until this place sells in case the buyer wants to use it as a full bar.”

“That would be my suggestion. Consider it a bargaining chip in the sales negotiations.” She leaned and hugged Delaney. “Don’t stay here too late. You need your sleep. You can’t afford to get sick now.”

Delaney soaked in her aunt’s sweetness and thanked God for sending Phoebe into her and her sisters’ lives. “I won’t be far behind you. I just want to play with the wood on the staircase a little. See how it’s going to take a stain.”

She pulled back with another vision for the space in mind. This renovation idea had come to her in a dream. Actually, it had been a nightmare. Regardless, the image had stuck with her, and driven her to follow through on this renovation detail. One she hadn’t told anyone about. Not even Trace.

Delaney wrapped her arms around herself against the crisp evening breeze as she watched Phoebe’s taillights disappear on the main road. Now that she wasn’t working, the air felt cold, and she shivered.

Turning back toward the bar, the glow from the warehouse lights drew her gaze, and a familiar tug made her belly ache. She wished she could wander over and say hi. Wished they could talk about their days over a beer. Wished she could ask him to dinner.

Wished one or both of them were normal. With a normal family.

She took one more look at the soft glow against the sky, sighed, and stepped onto the porch to start her work on the hundred-year-old stairway banister.

An hour later, sitting on the bottom stair leading to the second floor, Delaney lifted the piece of salvaged maple she’d picked up at Reclaimed Wild Wood in town; held it beside the banister she’d stripped, sanded, and stained to match; and shone her work light on them, looking at the two from different angles.

And smiled. “Perfect.”

She set the light down, pulled out her phone, and dialed. While she waited for the answering machine to pick up, she imagined the bar floored in this light, bright, gorgeous, variegated maple. It would be unexpected. A shocker. Once she put in all the other finishes, this place was going to be a showstopper.

That strange sense of pride welled again. But this time she smiled. She deserved to smile. This was going to be incredibly special. She didn’t even care if anyone else thought it was special or not. It was special to her. Somehow, in some way, it quieted a very pained piece of her heart.

“Hello?”

Bruce’s voice startled Delaney out of her thoughts, and her smile fell. “Oh, hey, Bruce. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t expect you to pick up. I just wanted to leave a message.”

“No problem. I answer when I can. I’m in the workshop. Who’s this?”

“Delaney.”

“How’d that maple work out?”

“Perfect.” She smiled again, then grew suddenly worried and nervous and closed her eyes, hoping . . . “That’s why I’m calling. I know we talked about this, but before I buy five thousand square feet of this stuff, I just need you to verify its origination.”

“All done. I even have a signed statement of authentication, which is about as good as we can get in these situations.”

Delaney did a silent little cheer and dance. “That’s all I need. Hold that five thousand for me. I’ll be in tomorrow. And, Bruce? Can you keep this purchase between us for now?”

She hadn’t explained why she wanted the wood or what made it special for this renovation, so when he paused and gave her that confused, “Uh, sure,” she wasn’t surprised.

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

Delaney disconnected and held up the wood again, happy with the color match.

Tires on the gravel brought her gaze up, just as headlights swept across the front of the building. But the vehicle was out of sight, and her heart hitched with the hope of seeing Ethan. Then dropped at the thought of starting yet another argument.

She set down the wood and recapped her stain and mineral spirits. By the time she was putting away her rags and sandpaper, footsteps sounded on the porch. Heavy footsteps. Footsteps of a big man wearing big, hard-soled boots. Not the kind she’d seen Ethan wear.

The hair on the back of Delaney’s neck prickled and gooseflesh rose on her arms. Instinct had her reaching for a hammer and pushing to her feet as the door opened.

But when Austin filled the doorway, in a pristine navy uniform shoulders to toes, a thick gun belt hanging low on his hips, Delaney knew the hammer wouldn’t do any good. The only thing that would help her with a man like Austin was what she’d learned as a troubled teen.

So she dug up that cunning little street kid, who’d gotten a lot of polish over the years.

“Good evening, Deputy.” Twirling the hammer, she wandered to the nearest toolbox, set it inside, and closed the lid. “I expected your visit a few days ago.”