Forbidden Fling (Wildwood 1)

FIVE

Delaney crossed her arms over the discomfort expanding like a balloon in her gut.

“Fine.” Ethan’s terse agreement to get through this unofficial inspection clearly cut any tenuous threads still hanging between them.

He strode past her, along the side of the building toward the main power box, and started in, firing off every problem within sight and every potential problem. And, Delaney quickly realized, problems that weren’t problems at all.

He opened the main electrical panel and shone his flashlight on the dirty circuit panel. “This is way too small to support an industrial kitchen and the square footage your father added without a permit.” Without looking at her over his shoulder, he said, “Anything added to the original structure without a permit has to be taken down and permitted before it’s rebuilt.”

When Ethan stepped back to close up the box, Delaney stole a look at his face, searching his expression for some sign of what was going on in his head, but he turned away and moved on before she could judge whether he was outright lying, ridiculously ignorant, or simply testing her.

And while Ethan babbled about problems with the grading and drainage pathways, about the missing flashings and gutters and moldings, and pointed out problems with the roof ventilation, support for the second-story overhang, and lack of egress windows on the upper floor, Delaney’s mind traveled back in time.

She scraped together everything she could remember about the Hayes family and Ethan specifically, and was deep in thought when he stopped short at the sight of a crumbling portion of the stem wall foundation.

Crouching, he shone his flashlight through the vent space to peer beneath the house. “The piers holding up the beams down here are crumbling.”

Delaney lifted a brow. He had to be exaggerating. “Really? All of them?”

“Yes, really.” He pushed to his feet. “You’re going to have to rebuild the foundation of this place. Do you realize what that involves?” He put his hands on his hips and scowled at her. “Delaney, do you realize how much money you’re looking at putting into this place?”

“Ethan, do you realize how much money I’m going to throw away by tearing it down?”

“A third of what you’ll spend just getting it back to code. And what about the effort it would involve and the headaches it would create for you? Isn’t your time better spent doing something else?”

She shook her head and looked down at the ground, unsure what to say or how to say it. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was very possible he simply didn’t have as much experience in renovation as she did. He may not know all the ways to cut costs while maintaining efficiency and quality. But the reality that he may very well simply be trying to scare her off the project was just too obvious to ignore.

If he’d been anyone else, in any other town, Delaney would have stuck with her characteristic bold confrontation. But he was a Hayes and she was a Hart, and they were in Wildwood, talking about a building that harbored a very ugly, very painful scar for a lot of people. So she skipped what the situation called for, which would have been, “Could you pull your head out of your ass and stop treating me like a bored housewife looking for a hobby?” and followed him toward the front of the building with a mumbled, “I guess that’s one perspective.”

Inside, while he was prowling around the kitchen, she watched him from the doorway, admiring the way his muscles rolled beneath the soft cotton tee, the way his ass looked in those jeans. And, yes, wishing all this shit wasn’t between them because, man, what she’d give for another night with that body, that mouth, those hands . . .

She gave herself a shake and drew a deep breath; her brain needed oxygen. “How long have you been an inspector?”

He cut a look at her, his gaze guarded. “Eight years. Why?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Because you were the valedictorian of your class and went off to UC Berkeley as a chemistry major on scholarship.” She kept her voice casual, neutral, like they had no connection, no conflict, and she was simply a curious client. “Shouldn’t you be getting a master’s in nuclear physics or something equally geeky at some snobbish Ivy League?”

He straightened, frowning. “I was the salutatorian.”

“Whatever, you still spoke at graduation.”

That got a quirk of a smile out of him. But only for a second. “You said I wasn’t on your radar.”

“You weren’t. Not until I got your whole name and fit a few puzzle pieces together. Like you said last night, we didn’t know each other, but we knew of each other. I was at graduation because a few of my friends graduated with you. Steve Parsons, Randy and Wendy Daniels.”

He just kept staring, as if he were trying to see through her skull into her brain.

“How’d you end up here, doin

g this?” she asked. “Did you decide you hated science or get someone pregnant or something?”

His gaze darkened. His jaw tightened.

“Or something.” He came toward the door, his eyes never leaving hers, and didn’t stop until they faced each other in the doorway, which was way too close. Like barely-two-inches-apart too close. His clean, spicy scent filled her head, his warmth wrapped around her, and her body seemed to reach for him.

Delaney kept her gaze straight ahead, on his chest, but couldn’t keep her eyes from closing.

Then his rough chin scraped her temple, and his voice murmured in her ear, “You still smell like me.”