Forbidden Fling (Wildwood 1)

ELEVEN

Delaney braced herself before she returned her gaze to Ethan, but she already knew this was going to be worse than she’d expected, and the stress over this decision that had been eating away at her for two weeks ratcheted up.

I don’t have anything to feel bad about.

I don’t have anything to feel bad about.

I don’t have anything to feel bad about.

But when she finally worked up the nerve to face Ethan after Jodi left, she knew, without a doubt, she had a lot to feel bad about.

The bizarre thing was she still wasn’t sure what that was.

But whatever it was had affected Ethan deeply. That was clear in the sober expression on his face, and the very real, very raw hurt in his eyes.

His gaze skimmed down her body slowly, as if he were seeing her the way he’d seen her the last time they’d been together. The vivid memories of his passion made her throat tighten. And the realization that had been their last night together made her gut ache with loss.

He cleared his throat, turned toward his desk, and slid into his chair. With his elbows propped on the arms, he threaded his fingers over his lap. His eyes were guarded now, almost vacant in the nearly complete coverage of any unique sign of the man she’d known, making her realize just how well she’d known him. Which in turn made her feel the loss that much deeper.

She pressed her hands to the pain at the center of her body under the guise of smoothing her tank top, letting her gaze blur over the abstract pattern of colorful poppies there. But her heart was lodged in her throat, and none of the practiced speeches she’d planned out ahead of time would come to her now. In fact, her brain had gone eerily blank, and she rubbed her palm down her thigh, distinctly aware of the contrast between her pale hand and the ink-blue shade of her jeans.

“You’ve had this appointment for two weeks.”

His voice was soft, but it jarred her out of her hazy state. When she looked up, he had one hand pressed against his jaw, his index finger rubbing an absent pattern over his lower lip. And a new shadow had filled his eyes. One she couldn’t read.

“I didn’t know what I wanted to do with the bar when I came.” She hated her apologetic tone. Would have never shown this kind of weakness to an industry professional in the field. “Didn’t know how I’d be received in town. Didn’t know where the Ryan or the Hayes family had ties to pull.”

She crossed her arms, taking a moment to look away and find some strength. Studying his beige Berber carpet she added, “But I do know how political a planning position can be, and I wanted to secure a place on your calendar without bias.”

Another long, thick silence filled the room, and Delaney frantically searched for at least one version of all those speeches she’d been practicing this afternoon.

“That’s . . . savvy.” His tone sharpened her mind. The skin along her shoulders prickled, and she cut her gaze back to his to gauge his meaning. But again, the Ethan she knew, the Ethan she could read was so well hidden inside the man sitting in front of her now, she couldn’t tell if the accusatory slant to that comment was real or imagined.

“All right then.” He sat forward, rolling his chair to his desk, his manner suddenly brisk and businesslike. “Your deadline is five p.m. tomorrow, so you’re either here to put in your application for a building permit so you can bring the building up to code and into line with the new ordinance or you’re here to discuss demolition. And since you’re consulting Trace, I assume he’ll be handling that for you. Good decision. He’s had his share of problems over the last few years, and I wouldn’t recommend him for actual construction work, but for demolition he’d be great.”

She crossed her arms, pushed from the sill, and wandered toward the guest chairs in front of his desk. One held her bag, and she sat on the edge of the other.

She could see this wasn’t going to end well. That had obviously been too much to hope for. She couldn’t blame him. But it still hurt. She certainly wouldn’t ask him to choose between her and his family or his duty to his job. And when she thought about it like that, she didn’t even know what, exactly, she’d hoped for when she’d come.

A flash of how absurd this professional, distant conversation felt derailed her civility for a moment. “So, in your book people who aren’t perfectly straight arrows can’t do quality work?”

“What? No. That’s not what I . . .” He stopped himself from sliding into the real Ethan and collected his professional veneer. “Honestly, I don’t know if Trace even has his contractor’s license anymore. I’m sure you know he went to prison for a few years

on drug charges. But you don’t need a licensed contractor to take the bar down, and I think he’d give you the best deal you could find on demolition.”

His cool attitude created a ball of anger in her gut. But she had no right. He was acting like an adult, handling business like business, whereas she’d ducked him for a full day because she didn’t know what to say or how to act.

He had every right to be angry.

She. Did. Not.

But apparently, her psyche had been hanging out with some gangbanging druggie in purgatory the day God handed out adult behavior.

Delaney clenched her teeth and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, chanting, Stop, stop, stop, in her head to disrupt the negative thought pattern, while Ethan opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out several forms.

“Read these over, fill them out, and drop them back off tomorrow.” He laid the papers in front of her, and Delaney blew out a slow breath as she returned her gaze to the desk. The anger had dissipated into pain, and now her eyes stung.

This is so damn stupid. Get over it.