Smolder (Wildwood 2)

“Five-acre fire out on the east side of the lake. Vegetation. Already mostly put out,” West answered. Lane could hear voices in the background, the relentless beep, beep, beep of a large vehicle backing up. “Figured you’d want to know about the arson possibilities.”

“Who says it’s arson?” The fire sounded fairly typical to him. These small vegetation fires near the lake rarely threatened homes and lives. Likely, they were set by some dumbasses who didn’t know what the hell they were doing.

“Tate does. And so does the prevention guy. Josh.” Lane’s lips curled into a snarl at first mention of the asshole’s name. “Mainly because they spoke to a witness who saw a car flee the scene just as the fire started.”

That piqued Lane’s interest. “How long are you guys going to be out there?”

“Josh showed up a few minutes ago. He’s investigating now.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.” Lane hung up, excitement pumping in his veins. A different type of excitement compared with what he’d been feeling with Delilah only moments ago.

Man, was she going to be pissed that he had to leave? Or would she understand? This was his life. His job kept him busy at all hours of the day. It never shut off. Would Delilah understand? Or would she resent his commitment to his job? His career would have to come first.

Always.

But he shouldn’t put this on her. What if she not only accepted his attitude, accepted him, but also encouraged him to be a better man? He always thought that sort of thing was a myth. That people weren’t really made for each other. That always sounded like a crock of shit, especially since his parents were his shining example of a relationship growing up.

For some strange reason though, he had a feeling Delilah might be the perfect girl for him.

Chapter Nine

LANE HAD LEFT her high and dry, and Delilah had no one to complain to.

She sat in her office at the studio, staring at her phone. She wanted to call someone to vent. Express all of her feelings and be reassured that everything was going to be all right. Really, she wanted to talk to Wren. But she couldn’t.

No way could she imagine going to Wren and saying, “Oh yeah, Lane and I were really going at it, and I was minutes away from coming all over his face when we were rudely interrupted—by a call from West. Then he had to leave. Sucks, right?”

Yeah. That wouldn’t go over too well. Wren would be shocked and horrified. Delilah was too mortified to even mention that she and Lane had kissed last night, let alone gotten naked with each other. Not that she was mortified because something had finally happened between her and Lane. She just didn’t want to discuss the specific details with one of her best friends—and Lane’s sister.

Her body hummed at the memory though. She was still strung tight and she’d had all night to sleep on it. Though she hadn’t slept much. She’d tossed and turned, her mind full of Lane. Naked Lane. Rude Lane. Dirty-mouthed, I’m-going-to-fuck-you-hard Lane who’d ultimately turned into tender, sweet I’m-going-to-make-you-come-so-hard-and-you’re-gonna-like-it Lane.

Until he’d had to leave.

Delilah had watched in disbelief from the middle of Lane’s giant bed as he’d roamed around his bedroom, sliding on a pair of jeans—sans underwear, which she found incredibly sexy—and a Wildwood County Sheriff’s Department T-shirt before he came over to where she sat and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

“I hate that I have to leave,” he’d said, regret burning bright in his blue eyes. He’d cupped her cheek, his gaze dipping down, lingering on her bare chest. “I’d rather finish what we started.”

She’d stared up at him, believing every word he said, trying her best to understand why he had to leave. He had a job to do. A town to protect. She might be disappointed that he had to leave but she sort of loved noble Lane and the dedication he showed toward the job.

“We can finish another time,” she’d reassured, earning a big smile from him in return.

“How’d I know you’d say that?” he’d murmured just before he leaned in and kissed her, his lips lingering. Within seconds, the kiss became hotter. Deeper. She’d finally pushed him away because they were bound to get out of control in a matter of minutes.

Once she’d slipped on her dress—somehow her panties had gone missing—Lane had escorted her out to her car, giving her another one of those spine-tingling kisses before he practically shoved her into the driver’s seat and told her to go home. He’d texted her later to make sure she made it there all right, but otherwise, she hadn’t heard a word from him. For all she knew, he was still out on the scene of the fire or maybe back at the sheriff’s office. She had no clue.

He was a total workaholic, much like her. That explained why she was at the studio before ten in the morning when she didn’t need to be there until around noon. She’d been anxious and antsy at home so she sat at her desk, going over some paperwork Wren had been nagging at her to review for the past month. Considering her attention span was shot to hell and she was exhausted from lack of sleep, Delilah would’ve much rather been dancing than staring at an endless stack of boring papers about quarterly taxes and profits and losses.

So she danced.

She turned on the music, cranked up the volume, and began to stretch, staring at her reflection in the wall of mirrors opposite her. Dancers had no problem continuously watching themselves in a mirror. They had to, to make sure their lines looked right, their toes were pointed, and their posture was straight. Some called them vain, and once upon a time, that had offended Delilah beyond reason, when she was younger and took everything as an insult.

But now, she shrugged it off. No one understood unless they were a dancer. She liked watching herself move, would laugh when she did something wrong or silently cheer when she nailed a difficult landing. The mirror was her freaking friend, damn it, and she owned that friendship.

If that meant she was vain, then so be it.

Once her muscles felt loose and warm, she grabbed her phone and scrolled through her list of songs until she found the one her advanced hip-hop class had been practicing to lately. Turning up the volume, she set her phone on a nearby bench and started to move, losing herself to the music, to the lyrics, until her headspace was clear and all she could do was dance. It felt good, to forget, just for a little while. No real-life intrusions, just her and the music all by herself. She started to sing along to the lyrics, her awful voice ringing loud, and she smiled at herself in the mirror . . . until she caught a glimpse of someone standing in the middle of the waiting room.

Watching her.