Read Forbidden Fling (Wildwood Book 1) Online
Authors: Skye Jordan
Forbidden Fling (Wildwood Book 1)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2016 Skye Jordan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503936775
ISBN-10: 1503936775
Cover design by Eileen Carey
For Jill
Thanks for your guidance in the rewrite of
Forbidden Fling
into a fabulous new story readers will love.
CONTENTS
ONE
Ethan Hayes turned into the driveway of his second home, aching to lose himself in his first love.
The warehouse complex housing Ethan’s brewing setup ran behind a row of shops on the edge of Wildwood’s touristy Main Street. While the other units were closed and dark now at almost 9:00 p.m., Ethan’s space glowed in the headlights of his buddy’s idling Ford F-250, where Caleb waited to pick up an order of beer for his market on Main Street.
Ethan pulled his work truck next to Caleb’s, calling, “Sorry I’m late” through the open passenger window before sliding out of the driver’s seat.
The perfect California Indian summer evening wrapped him in the soft chirp of crickets and the rich scent of dry live oak, and he tried to let his long workday of complaints and complications fall away as he wandered toward the door of his unit, searching for the key on his ring.
“Expected you to be a couple kegs into new brews by now,” Caleb said, his voice distracted.
“I wish.” Ethan found the key and worked the lock. “Had an inspection that couldn’t wait.”
“Let me guess. Another friend of the mayor?”
Ethan didn’t have the energy to bitch about his fucked-up family tonight, so he hoisted the metal rolling door toward the ceiling and let the clattering thunder cut off that conversation. Then he flipped on the lights, flooding the workbenches and shelving units with halogen.
When he glanced over his shoulder, he found Caleb still leaning against the bed of his truck, hands in the front pockets of his jeans. His T-shirt flew the colors of his local alma mater, Sonoma State University, and he was still staring into the distance instead of loading the beer stacked by the door.
“Your order’s right there.” Ethan cut a glance toward whatever held Caleb’s attention, but he couldn’t see past the other units. “What are you looking at?”
“The action over at the Hart place.”
A tingle of surprise burned straight up Ethan’s breastbone. “What?”
He took three steps into the parking lot and turned toward the adjacent property, a rambling five acres that anchored the south end of Main Street and housed the dive bar that had changed the trajectory of Ethan’s life. A property he hadn’t seen movement on in three years, and one he hadn’t expected to see movement on again until
he
ordered it.
But a vehicle was parked at the end of the long drive, its headlights illuminating the building once considered Wildwood’s roughest, rowdiest bar. Closed since the death of the owner, Joe Hart, the building had deteriorated from ravaged to ruin and been forgotten by everyone but those whose lives had been broken by the events there—the Hayeses, the Harts, the McClellans, and the Ryans. In large part because of a decision Ethan had made, one that had seemed so trivial at the time.
If he’d only known that decision would change the entire path of his life.
Hands on hips, he peered across the darkness to make out what was happening half a football field away. “What the hell?”
Caleb chuckled and glanced at Ethan for the first time, his grin easy and relaxed in a way Ethan wished his could be. “Good to know the elite Wildwood Planning Department is on top of everything that happens around here.”
“Shut—”
Ethan’s “up” evaporated on his lips as someone wandered into the scattered light. A woman. A sleek, well-dressed woman holding a cell phone to her ear.
The sight was so odd, so wrong, so completely unexpected that Ethan threw his arms out to the sides. “What the—”
“Hell,” Caleb finished for him, finally pushing off the truck and turning toward the warehouse. “I was going to ask you, but I can see you’ve been about as efficient at your day job as you’ve been at brewing lately.”
“Dude.” Ethan cut a knock-it-off look at his friend.
“Didn’t you post the demolition notice yesterday?”
“Yeah.”
“I saw Phoebe in the store earlier,” Caleb said, referencing Joe’s sister, who’d stepped in to help with Joe’s daughters a few years after their mother had run out on the family. “But she didn’t say anything about the property. And whoever that is can’t be one of the sisters. Shannon would have heard if any of the Hart girls were in town.”
Finley’s Market was situated in the center of downtown Wildwood. Caleb’s parents had gifted the store to Shannon and Caleb as a wedding present, then retired to travel. The all-in-one grocery, gas station, car wash, and deli had been the hub of Wildwood forever.
But mention of the Hart daughters immediately directed Ethan’s thoughts to the oldest sister of the family and memories of her deep-auburn hair worn in sleek, thick curls down the middle of her back.
Delaney Hart.
The timeworn tug of unfulfilled desire felt bittersweet tonight, and the sting of longing reminded him that not all his memories of the bar were negative.
She’d been on his mind a lot since the city council had passed his father’s visual nuisance ordinance. Ethan wondered what had become of the rebel Hart. The beauty with a devil-may-care attitude and a hidden heart of gold. He hoped she hadn’t fallen so deep into drugs and booze that she couldn’t drag herself out. Hoped she hadn’t ended up in jail like the tattooed biker criminals she’d favored all those years ago.
“She’s probably with a demolition contractor,” he said, referencing the unknown woman on the property as he rolled up his shirtsleeves to grab the first case of beer from the pile. “The family probably figured out how much they’d save if they took control of the demolition instead of letting the city do it.”
Ethan didn’t care. As long as the business was wiped off the face of the planet, his plans were solid.
“When was the last time you saw a woman like that on a construction site?” Caleb asked, all attitude.
“She’s not the one
doing
the demolition. She’s probably from a large firm. She comes out, does a walk-through, gives a bid.”
Caleb just lifted a brow. “You hope that’s who and what she is.” His gaze traveled back to the woman, Ethan’s followed, and the unspoken alternatives to Caleb’s theory thickened the air between them. “She sorta looks like a Realtor to me.”
Ethan slid another case of blackberry lager into Caleb’s truck. “Finish loading and get out of here before I deck you.”
Caleb grinned and continued to rib Ethan with worst-case scenarios until they slid the last of the five cases into the bed. Then he frowned when he turned to search for more and found the warehouse shelves empty. “Is that all you’ve got for me?”
“Work’s been running me into the ground.” Ethan shut the tailgate. “I haven’t had time to—”
“You mean
your dad’s
been running you into the ground.” The disapproving edge in Caleb’s voice cut through Ethan’s distraction over the woman wandering around the property next door. “You know this is going to be gone by noon tomorrow.”
“You’re a bitch tonight. What’s your problem?”
“
That
is my problem.” Caleb, more of a brother to Ethan than his own flesh-and-blood sibling, jerked a hand at the mostly empty bed. “That’s one hell of a lot of lost revenue right there. You
know
I could sell everything you put in this truck every week. That’s cash that would go a long way toward paying your architect, your construction loan, buying equipment, building supplies, brewing supplies, marketing—”
“Man, don’t start.” Ethan rubbed his eyes. “It’s been a day from hell.”
“I thought you wanted to get
out
of that hell.”
“I
do
.”
“Then you’d better up your game, bro. Because you don’t know what’s happening over there.” He gestured toward the old bar. “And you’re not pulling your weight here.” Caleb started past him, pausing to slap Ethan’s shoulder in a show of compassion. “Put yourself first for a change. God knows your father never will. Take care of yourself so you can take care of Pops. Let the rest go, for fuck’s sake.”
By the time Caleb’s engine had faded down the quiet country road, giving way to the night again, Ethan’s mind had returned to the Hart property.
He wasn’t in the mood to play the charming neighbor tonight, but Caleb was right, Trace had to know what was happening over there. And since a charming neighbor never showed up empty-handed, he returned to his warehouse, pulled two bottles of a good-but-funky IPA trial from the fridge, pocketed a bottle opener, and started toward the lights next door.
Ethan tried to focus on the here, the now, but as soon as he stepped over the curb separating the warehouse parking lot from the unimproved adjacent land, his mind veered from the beauty in his future to the ugliness of his past. To the night Ian had died at that bar. To all the strife that tragedy had caused his family. And to what his one mistake all those years ago had ultimately cost him. And Pops.
A chill spread through his body. That dark, ugly chill that came with the memory of the cops at the door, his brother sobbing, his mother screaming, his father yelling . . .
The walk was short, but the dark slowed Ethan’s steps over the uneven ground. His thoughts jumbled just as they had the day before when he’d traversed this very pathway to post the condemnation notice on the door of The Bad Seed.
Ethan stopped walking, closed his eyes, and shook the past from his head. He breathed deeply, pressed the cold beer bottles against his face. That was the past. This was his future—this beer, this plan.
This
would replace that trapdoor beneath his feet with concrete again and give him the stability he needed to offer Pops the security and happiness his grandfather deserved. The kind Ethan’s mistake had stolen from him eight years ago.
Straightening, Ethan found himself a couple hundred feet away from the woman and well outside the circle of light cast by her vehicle. She wandered in slow circles near the front driver’s-side fender of the SUV, wearing a straight, business-style skirt that rode just above the knee and a silky, off-white tank. She also treaded on relatively high heels. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but the smooth, sweet quality of her voice erased the hazy remnants of his nightmarish memories and helped him refocus on the present. On the graceful way she moved despite the uneven ground. She had a sort of lazy elegance that added a sexy little sway and made Ethan look closer.
Her hair was dark and coiled on the back of her head. Long legs, slim neck, nice shape to her face, but there were too many shadows to tell much more. Definitely a city dweller. No local would wear a skirt and heels to check out that heap. No local would come out at night either. In fact, when he managed to pry his gaze off her body and glanced at the portion of The Bad Seed’s dilapidated front porch lit up in the dark night, the realization of just how far out of her element this woman had drifted made a smile tip his mouth up.
She was probably reporting back to her boss right now, telling him it wouldn’t take more than a strong wind to blow the rattrap down.
Which was probably why he hadn’t considered the possibility of the Hart sisters trying to sell this place as is. After years of disinterest, he’d assumed—like everyone else in town—that Joe’s daughters would let the property remain in violation until the city took over cleanup, billed them, and ultimately foreclosed.
But the only part that Ethan cared about was the cleanup. Because once that piece of shit was demolished and the place of business ceased to exist, The Bad Seed’s liquor license would be up for grabs.
A license Ethan had coveted for years.
One he had plotted and planned to possess, because it was the key to a future outside his father’s reach and unfazed by his father’s influence. One that would secure Pops’s financial future and give his grandfather a community of friends and a makeshift family to replace the one that had abandoned him. All because of Ethan.
He edged forward another hundred feet, waiting for the woman to end her call before he approached.
“No, I’m
not
waiting another—” Frustration roughened her voice. “I didn’t drive all this way to stand out here . . . Dammit, I’ll
buy
you a bottle of wine if it’s that important—”
She strolled in front of her SUV, an older-model Jeep Laredo, and paused there, her free hand on the hood, giving Ethan a much better view of her body. And she wasn’t as skinny as she’d appeared from a distance. She had fabulous curves beneath that skirt, and, thanks to the dark night, bright lights, and translucent blouse, Ethan was treated to a perfect view of the
very
nice shape and fullness of her breasts.
This was definitely an unexpected and welcome surprise. Most definitely the best part of his day.
At least he thought so before he dragged his gaze from her figure, because her face was even better. The lighting wasn’t ideal, but she looked damn beautiful from where he stood. Oval face, little nose, wide eyes, flushed cheeks. That’s all he picked up before she turned to pace in the opposite direction.
As he watched her wander back and forth in front of the SUV arguing softly with whoever was on the other end of the line, he soaked in the way she moved, the tuck of her waist, the hollows at her collarbones, the way she kept twirling a loose strand of hair at her nape around her index finger. Heat collected low in his body. The kind of heat that made him smile. The kind that made all his problems fade into the background. The kind that made him restless. Made him think about the soft skin of a woman’s body, the sweet smell of a woman’s skin, the delicious lick of a woman’s tongue . . .
She disconnected her call and dropped her cell against the SUV’s hood with a clatter. “God, what a day. What a
shitty
day.”
She jerked open the driver’s door and rummaged in the center console, muttering things Ethan didn’t catch. He lowered his gaze to the license plate and found Burbank frames. So she was from Los Angeles. He was right; she was a city girl. Though he hadn’t expected someone from that far south. San Francisco would have been a more feasible option for a demolition contractor, just an hour and a half south of Wildwood.
“
Six
freaking interviews. Now this. Such bullshit
.
” She straightened from the car while looking at something in her hand with a shake of her head and a huff of disgust or disbelief; Ethan couldn’t tell which. She turned toward the building and squared her shoulders, studying it like an opponent. “They’ll be sorry when those kids overrun their budgets, miss their deadlines, and get defrauded by sleazy contractors. Their pretty little business degrees won’t look so shiny then. And I don’t need keys to get into this hellhole.”