Forbidden Fling (Wildwood Book 1) (7 page)

Damn
, she was beautiful.

And, he was beginning to fear, the one woman who might be able to break his no-ties rule.

Which meant it was a good thing she wouldn’t be in town long. Because her leaving ASAP would eliminate two potential problems before they became problems—him wanting a relationship that wouldn’t work, and her discovering who she’d really slept with.

FOUR

Delaney leaned her butt against the hood of her Jeep and turned her face up to the morning sky. At 9:00 a.m. the sun was gentle and warm. The crisp early fall air created a fresh contrast, helping her wake up after a night of barely any sleep and way too much fun.

That man hit the top of her best everything list—best body, best cock, best mouth, absolutely, hands-down best moves.

Talk about an epic fuck . . .

Remembering the moment he’d said that made her laugh, and even to her own ears she sounded like a damn schoolgirl.

“Man, what a night.” One she was sure she’d remember the rest of her life. She closed her eyes, and a tingle of excitement tripped through her.

Ethan had still been sleeping when she’d stolen out of his house at 6:00 a.m. and snuck into Phoebe’s before she woke and found Delaney had been gone all night. She smiled, remembering Ethan sprawled facedown on the bed, passed out, nothing but a sheet partially covering his great ass.

Apart from being a phenomenal lover—as in borderline prodigious—he was also funny. And pretty damned sweet. When she’d gone to the bathroom during the night, she could see he’d been renovating the cottage, and doing a fine job of it, too. Which meant they even had interests in common.

But none of that mattered. Ethan lived in Wildwood, and Delaney couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Besides, she
didn’t
do relationships.

And she shouldn’t have to remind herself of that.

The hum of an engine drew her gaze to the drive, where her aunt’s burgundy Cadillac sedan turned in, forcing Delaney to put the delectable Ethan out of her mind.

She crossed her arms as Phoebe pulled into a spot beside her Jeep. Her aunt lifted her sunglasses and narrowed her eyes on Delaney’s face, then spoke through the open window. “You look awfully chipper for having such a late night.”

Delaney cringed internally. She’d expected Phoebe to be in a deep sleep when she snuck back into the house that morning, and getting caught put a damper on the fresh outlook on life Ethan had given her last night.

“What happened to sleeping in?” Delaney asked. “It used to take a crowbar to get you out of bed before ten.”

“I have a business to run.” She stood from the car with a crate of coffees in one hand and a pink pastry box in the other and closed the door with a bump of her hip. “One of my girls called in sick. I had to get the store ready to open and her shift covered.”

“Don’t you look like a spring angel in the midst of fall?” Delaney took in her aunt’s gauzy white blouse and her silver hair waving softly to her shoulders. Her still-smooth skin glowed, the apples of her cheeks were still high, and her clear blue eyes still sparkled. Her dark-blue jeans hugged slim curves, and she’d slipped on those sparkly sandals again. “God, I hope I look as good as you do when I’m your age.”

She reached for one of the coffee cups tucked into the cardboard carrier, greedy for caffeine.

“You make me sound ancient.” Phoebe set the small pink box of pastries on the hood of Delaney’s Jeep. “Eat something. Don’t down that coffee on an empty stomach.”

Delaney sighed as the coffee warmed a trail down the center of her body. “Oh, Auntie, coffee is a food group all its own.”

That made Phoebe laugh, and any shadow of frustration with Delaney’s habits vanished in a bright smile. The woman positively radiated goodness, energy, and joy, even at the most troubled times. If there weren’t so many bad memories in this town, Delaney would really enjoy living close to Phoebe again.

Maybe closer to the red-hot, epic Ethan, too.

“Have a peek,” Phoebe said, nodding to the box. “Got your favorite.”

Her brows shot up. “Scones?” She leaned over to peer in the box. “Oh, please, please,
please
tell me you got—”

“Orange cranberry. What else?”

Delaney squealed and picked up the scone, immediately licking off a drop of icing ready to fall from the side. “Mmm. I
so
needed this.”

“I know. It’s been a rough few weeks for you.”

Delaney took a bite of the dense pastry, and flavor burst in her mouth—sweet sugar, tangy orange, tart cranberry. “Mmm, my God,” she mumbled around the bite. “Heaven. Was everything okay at the store?”

Phoebe owned a large building at the center of town, called Wildly Artesian, where local artists rented space to sell their handmade arts and crafts. Her aunt was a master artist in more medias than Delaney knew existed and filled her own large space in the store with watercolors, stained glass, ceramics, jewelry, and more. So much more. The woman had more talent in her pinkie than Delaney had in her entire body. But Delaney had picked up her aunt’s keen attention to detail, something that had served her well over the years.

“Yes, I found someone to cover Tori’s shift.” Phoebe’s gaze turned to the building. “Is it as bad as it looks?”

Delaney was about to take another bite, but mention of the bar killed her appetite. She took a sip of coffee instead and looked over the building again. “Unfortunately.”

Delaney set her unfinished scone back in the box, her coffee on the hood of her Jeep, and dusted crumbs off her hands. Combing her fingers through her hair, she collected the strands into a tail and used the elastic band around her wrist to secure the mass into a messy bun. Kind of like the way she was trying to wrangle a massive amount of information about the bar and all it needed into a condensed package for Phoebe.

“It needs a new roof, new walls, reinforced foundation,” she said. “New floors, new plumbing, new windows, new doors.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I’m not done yet. New appliances, new fixtures, new cabinets. New stairs, new hardware, new insulation, new HVAC.”

“You learned all that in the short time you were here?” Phoebe asked with awe in her voice.

Delaney nodded. “What I can’t see yet are structural issues that are hiding behind the walls and ceilings. In a building a hundred years old, I’m sure we’ll come across at least a handful.

“There are so many code violations in there, even if something was still good, we’d likely have to rebuild it to meet current codes.” She turned her gaze back to Phoebe with the enormity of the project sitting in the pit of her stomach like a boulder. “There are very few things that are still solid. Everything else has to be replaced, rebuilt, rewired, replumbed . . .”

“If it’s so bad, why didn’t the city come down on Joe sooner? Why’d they let the place stay open so long?”

Delaney lifted a shoulder. “Buildings don’t need to meet updated codes unless they undergo renovations or additions, or unless the city passes new ordinances or laws, like the visual nuisance ordinance that this place violates in spades.”

“I knew there would be a lot involved,” Phoebe said, worry creasing her brow, “but not to that degree. Maybe the inspector can shed some light on things.”

Frustration whipped through her chest—a knee-jerk reaction. Delaney took a breath and waited for the coil to release. “I’m not doing the walk-through with the inspector so he can tell me what I need to fix. I’m doing this so I can meet him, get a read on him, see how we’ll get along. Aside from a good crew, there is no relationship more important than the one a builder has with their planner and inspector. Those men can make the length of a renovation a living hell or a dream.”

She caught sight of a white truck turning onto the drive, and her tension flared again.

“Before you meet the inspector,” Phoebe said, her expression sobering as she watched the truck approach. “I need a few things from you this morning, Delaney.”

Dread joined the nerves tingling in her belly. “Like?”

Phoebe met her gaze deliberately. “I need you to keep an open mind, and I need you to remember this is a small town.”

The truck parked next to Phoebe’s Cadillac, and Delaney checked out the driver through the open window. With the sunlight glinting off the glass, she couldn’t see the person inside.

“I’m a professional,” she said without taking her eyes off the truck, “and I’ve worked in all kinds of towns—big, small, and everything in between.”

But she’d never worked in Wildwood. And she’d never renovated a building with a harrowing history that affected the people still living in the community. Or with her own money.

“Good,” Phoebe said. “Focus on the long-term benefit, not the short-term discomfort.”

Delaney’s gut squeezed. “What does that . . .”

She lost track of her question as the man pushed open the truck door and stood—and looked right at Delaney.

Ethan.

Her heart kicked into a flutter that stung her breastbone. But in the next instant, her brain connected dots as quickly as a computer circuit, and Delaney felt her world tipping on end. “Phoebe?”

Ethan approached in a slow swagger. She certainly couldn’t claim to be able to read the man after only one night with him, but she was pretty damn sure the tight jaw and grim frown meant he wasn’t very happy right now.

He wore a black tee that stretched across his muscular chest with white block print across the front that read
T
HIS IS NO TIME TO BE SOBER
. His jeans clung to thick thighs and cupped his generous sex, and his running shoes had holes worn in the toes. By the looks of his tousled wet hair, he’d showered but hadn’t done much else.

Damn.
The man looked
edible
.

He came to a stop eight feet away and crossed his arms. She wished he’d take off those sunglasses so she could see his eyes.

“Good morning, Delaney,” he said, his tone overly solicitous in a fancy-meeting-you-here sort of way without any change in his expression.

Yep, he was pissed.

What the hell?

Ethan turned to her aunt. “Phoebe.”

“Thank you for coming, Ethan. I wouldn’t have bothered you if this situation weren’t so time sensitive.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t,” Delaney cut in, making it clear no one was going to walk over her. She looked to Phoebe for answers. “What’s going on?”

She gestured to Ethan, as if it should be obvious. “Ethan’s going to do the courtesy walk-through. It couldn’t hurt to have a second pair of eyes and another opinion on the project.”

“His opinion?” The intangible undercurrents rolling between the three of them made Delaney feel as if there were a piano hung over her head on a fraying rope. She settled her gaze on Ethan. “You didn’t think to mention you were the building inspector while we were talking on the porch last night?”

If he could read between the lines, he would have also heard, “Or any other time in the last ten hours we were fucking?”

“I was going to tell you, but—” Ethan started.

She put up a hand before he said too much. “Never mind.”

“Delaney,” Phoebe said with her mediator voice ramped up, “this doesn’t have to be an issue if you just—”

“
What
doesn’t have to be an issue?”

Phoebe glanced from Delaney to Ethan and back. “Working with Ethan.”

Delaney was definitely missing a piece of this puzzle. A very troubling piece if her instincts were right. “
Why
would I have a problem working with Ethan?”

“Because,” Ethan cut in before Phoebe could speak, “my last name is Hayes.”

Delaney drew a sharp breath of shock.

Ethan Hayes?
Ethan Hayes?
Her mind searched for the names of the boys in the Ryan and Hayes families.
Ian, Adam, Austin, and . . . shit. Ethan.

Her stomach went cold.

“Ethan
Hayes
?” she repeated in disbelief. She’d spent the most glorious night of her life with
Ian’s
cousin? Ethan had
slept
with her—the woman his family blamed for Ian’s
death
? “What in the . . . ?”

Her mind spiraled and spiraled and came to a sudden stop in the present—where they stood in front of The Bad Seed.

This was wrong.

So wrong.

All wrong.

“No.” A weird sort of horror crept over her shoulders. “Wow, this is . . . no, no, no.” She held up her hands. “You can’t work on this project.”

He leaned back, and his brows shot up. “Excuse me?” He chuckled, but it sounded more like
No way in hell
than like humor. “No one tells me what projects I can or can’t work on except my boss.”

This was completely absurd. And the fact that he thought he could get this past her—whether because he’d slept with her or because she was a woman or because of their families’ feud, the reason didn’t matter—pissed her off.

“That wouldn’t happen to be
the mayor
, would it?” she asked. “The mayor who is also
your father
? You’ve got to be
fucking kidding
me.”

“My boss is the city manager.”

“Whose boss is the mayor.”

“Not exactly. The city manager answers to both the mayor and the city council.”

Smug bastard.
Who the hell was this guy? Certainly not the man she’d spent the night with. “In the end all roads lead to the mayor. The mayor who is heavily funded by your uncle, Ian’s father.
That
is a problem.
That
is called a conflict of interest.”

“Delaney,” Phoebe scolded. “Ethan is here because I asked him to do
me
a favor. And watch your tone and your attitude. It’s not professional.”

“Professional?” she scoffed, gesturing to his chest. “You mean like his shirt?”

His mouth kicked up in a lopsided smile, and Delaney’s mind skidded into a sharp turn, racing back to their night, to the feel of that mouth all over her body. Heat flashed everywhere, stealing her breath for a long second.

Phoebe took hold of Delaney’s arm, gesturing to the box of pastries with her free hand. “Ethan, help yourself to coffee and scones while I have a word with Delaney.”

She let her aunt drag her twenty feet toward the bar before she planted her feet and pulled from Phoebe’s grasp. She turned her back on Ethan and faced her aunt with barely enough patience left to hold her voice down. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night when he was standing right here?”