Smolder (Wildwood 2)

What had she done? Where had it all gone wrong? She didn’t know. Their last night together had been mind-blowing. When he’d made her come with his mouth, oh God. She still got shivers just thinking about it. Then she’d come again when they’d had sex the first time. And the second time. He’d even made her come with only his fingers—her fourth orgasm of the evening. And then they’d done it one more time, right before dawn, before she could sneak out of his bed and tiptoe out of his house like a thief in the night. He’d fucked her hard, pushing her into the mattress, using her completely, his focus only on himself. She’d let him be selfish, relishing the wild expression on his face, the way he’d handled her so roughly. Not so rough that he caused her pain but he definitely hadn’t behaved like a gentle, sweet lover.

She’d enjoyed every freaking minute of it too. Lane could unleash on her anytime he wanted. She’d left his house on wobbly legs, her entire body aching deliciously, and thought of him every time she crossed her legs or stretched her thighs throughout the day. She hurt in the best possible way and she wanted him to bring back that ache again.

And again.

But of course, he had to go and ruin everything. Disappearing off the face of the earth—and come on, the town wasn’t that big. She hadn’t seen him in seven long days. If she were ever tempted to murder someone, it would be right about now. She’d curl her hands around his thick neck and choke the life out of him. And just before he gasped his last breath, she’d let go and offer him comfort because damn it, even at her maddest, she couldn’t stand the thought of him not being a part of her life.

Stupid, big, dumb manly jerk.

Well, he couldn’t avoid her forever. She knew for a fact he was working. That he was the only deputy on patrol this afternoon. Should she call him?

No. Not directly at least.

Hmm.

An idea popped in her head. A bad one. Well, more like bad in the sense that she was doing something she shouldn’t. She found a mess behind the studio when she first came in, and she figured kids did it. She really did want to report it so maybe they could catch the little vandals. But calling 911 to get Lane here would be a huge no-no.

So she put in a call through the nonemergency line, saying that she suspected vandalism behind her place of business and could they please send a deputy over when they got a chance so she could make a report?

The dispatcher said a car would be over within the next hour, and Delilah waited patiently, searching the web yet again for competition locations. The plan was already in place and they had a tentative competitive dance team of eight girls put together so far. Two of them wanted to do solo routines. Wren said money-wise they were set to go. Now they were working on routines, costume choices, and exactly how many competitions they wanted to participate in. She was excited. Her business was thriving, she was doing new things, and she should’ve felt on top of the world.

But she wasn’t. The man she was in love with—yes, in love with, she could fully admit to herself now—was being ridiculous. That she had to practically call 911 to get him to see her was the lowest of the low. But she figured a woman in love would do whatever it took to garner her man’s attention.

She was still at the computer in the studio office when the hairs on the back of her neck started to prickle and stand on end. The front door swung open and she heard a muttered oath once it slammed shut.

It was Lane.

Smoothing a shaky hand over her hair, she stood and went out to confront him though he was the one to speak first.

“Really, Dee? You’re making false calls to get me to see you? And you still leave the door unlocked?”

Oh, he had a lot of nerve to nag when he was the one running scared.

Lifting her chin, she glared at him. “I did not make a false call.”

He lifted his brows but didn’t say a word. Damn it, that was a sexy look on him. In fact, he was infuriatingly sexy right now. She was such a sucker for Lane in his uniform, and an irritated, uniformed Lane was still sexy. No other man did it for her. Only Lane could make her heart race wearing that black deputy s

heriff’s uniform and a very dark, very somber frown on his too-handsome face.

Glaring at him, she clenched her hands into fists and swore she wouldn’t say or do something stupid.

“Come out back. I’ll show you the vandalism.” She turned and started toward the back of the building, glancing over her shoulder to find him frozen in front of the door. “Come on,” she urged with a wave of her hand.

He fell into step behind her, following her through the studio, the office, until they reached the back door. Turning the lock, she pushed the heavy door open so that they both emerged outside. She pointed to a small, nearby Dumpster that had been tipped over, falling into an old table she kept out there and crushing it completely.

“See? Vandalism. Who knocks over a Dumpster?” Probably kids. She wasn’t sure. Neither the door nor the lock had been messed with and that made her feel better. She figured whoever had been out here was mostly harmless.

He stood there silently, surveying the damage with his hands resting on his hips. His nearness sent a crackling energy through her veins and made her want to reach out and grab him. Shake him. Kiss him. Tell him she loved him and he needed to stop acting so silly . . .

“What was on the table?” His quiet, stern voice broke through her muddled thoughts.

“Huh?”

“What did you use the table for?”

“Oh. Well, there are a few stray cats who hang out around here so sometimes I put out a bowl of cat food.” She felt sorry for the strays that were too wild to really pick up but could always appreciate a free bowl of food. They’d wind their bodies around her legs and brush up against her, meowing their requests, but the moment she reached for them, they’d run off.

Hmm. They reminded her of a particular someone. The man standing in front of her was like one of those elusive-jerk cats. Teasing her but never quite able to make the commitment.