Forbidden Fling (Wildwood 1)

“Sorry. It’s been a long time.”

He nodded but didn’t offer his name. “So what are you doing here? I heard this place was condemned.”

“I’m waiting for my aunt to discuss that very thing. So . . . are you going to tell me who you are?”

He zinged that grin at her again. “Tell me what you think of my beer first.”

Delaney considered his request while scanning his dress shirt, a casual pattern of thin plaid stripes on a white background. The sleeves were rolled up, showing nicely tanned and rugged forearms. His khakis were light, simple, and clean and fit him well. His shoes were some kind of casual work boot.

All in all, he should strike her as a cute, blue-collar guy. Maybe a couple of notches better-looking than average, but nothing that would normally hold her interest. She’d met hundreds, maybe a thousand or more, men like him over the years. But the way his clothes fit hinted at a strong body beneath. And his golden-blond hair was a little too long, his jaw darkened with a day or two worth of golden stubble—creating a sexy combination of symmetry and scruff.

He also owned an unusual kind of confidence. One that marked him as savvy. One that gave him charisma and implied he knew how to handle himself around a woman. One that pulled all Delaney’s nerves to the surface and created the sizzle of attraction along her skin.

And wasn’t that just the last thing she needed? A man in her life? After what she’d been through, she should be giving him a very clear, very cold brush-off. But it had been a really long time since she’d met a guy this relaxed and self-assured, so she sighed and brought the bottle to her nose for a sniff test. The complex, hoppy aroma filled her head. Her first tentative sip coated her tongue with a light floral taste, quickly followed by a bitter hit that mellowed faster than most IPAs. “Mmm.”

He rested his elbows on his knees, his own b

ottle dangling from his fingers.

She took a deeper drink, let it slide down her throat slower. Then hummed again.

“So?” he asked with the impatience of an eager four-year-old. “What do you think?”

She thought he was damned adorable. She thought she wanted to ask him out for a drink at Patterson’s after she’d walked through the bar with Phoebe. She thought she’d really enjoy a healthy night of sex with a fine male specimen like this one before she faced the task of planning the rest of her life—all over again.

“I’m surprised you’re asking a stranger.” She met his eyes and watched for telltale signs of deceit. “Hasn’t your wife tasted all your beer? Doesn’t she give you feedback?”

Without a millisecond’s pause he shook his head. “No wife.”

“Surely your girlfriend loves—”

“No girlfriend.”

He was just too attractive and too sexy to be single. Of course, there was one other possibility. Slim, but . . . She grinned and lifted her brows in silent question.

“No.” He chuckled. “I’m not gay either.”

She definitely believed that. He threw sexual energy her way like a carnal powerhouse. “Take my opinion with a grain of salt. I stopped for a shot of Sierra Silver before I came.”

“Where in the hell did you get that quality of tequila around here?”

“Patterson’s. I needed a little help finding the nerve to walk onto this property.”

“They’re getting a lot of business since this place shut down.”

“I’m sure the residents of Wildwood are thrilled about that.”

“Most, yes.”

She sipped again, considering. “It’s really different. I can’t compare it to anything exactly. I mean, maybe a little like Sam Adams but, wow, so different. It sort of, okay this is going to sound weird, but it reminds me of the inside of a floral shop. Soft and sweet to begin with, but turning bitter and funky as you near the workroom. Overall, it’s really special, but not something mainstream beer drinkers would eat up.” She cut a look his way, hoping she hadn’t offended him. “You know what I mean?”

Those pretty eyes of his were dancing with pleasure. “Exactly what you mean. You really know your beer.”

“If you know who I am, you know how I grew up. In which case you know that I should know my beer. And my vodka, and my rum, and my whiskey . . .”

Rich laughter rolled from his chest, making Delaney smile. “Which is exactly why I’m asking you for your opinion.”

She hadn’t had this kind of easy comfort with a man in a very long time, and after what she’d been through, this felt better than good. It felt amazing. If it weren’t for that damned shadow lurking like a stain on her soul, she would ask him out right now.