Forbidden Fling (Wildwood 1)

Her gaze jumped left, and her expression shifted. Ethan caught sight of movement in that direction, but before he could look to see who or what had caught her attention, Trace spoke to Delaney.

“We should go over the plans before I fall asleep on my feet.” He pulled out Delaney’s chair, and she stood.

Ethan glanced toward the opening that fed the back room and found Austin strolling in. He was in street clothes, but his sharp eyes were on Delaney—and his expression exposed a very familiar internal fury that Ethan had seen too often in his father’s eyes. He shot Ethan a look of accusation and lifted his chin in a silent “What the hell?”

“I’m pretty beat after all that demolition,” Trace said, then tilted his head, his gaze on Delaney’s arm. “Hey, when did you get those?”

Ethan looked at her bicep and the fading bruises his father had imprinted on Delaney’s skin just before she rubbed her other hand over them. His gut squeezed with guilt, with sickness. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to get as far away from him and his family as possible. In fact, he should be pushing her away instead of trying to hold on.

Her dark-blue eyes touched on Ethan for the flicker of a second before sweeping past to rest on Trace. “Pulling down the ceiling yesterday. I took a few good hits. I’m tired, too. Let’s look at the plans and call it a day.”

“They’re in the truck.”

“That’s fine. There are way too many eyes in here.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Delaney,” Ethan said before she walked off. She turned, guarded, her body tense. It was the demeanor she’d used to face his father and brother, and that both hurt and angered Ethan. He swung Hunter off his shoulders and returned her to her drawing. “Can I have a minute?”

Before she could answer, Trace said, “Take your time. I’ve got to dig the plans out from beneath a pile of tools. It will take me a few.”

“I’ll be right there,” she told Trace. To Ethan, she said, “Outside.” Then she followed Trace out the front door.

When Trace turned left, Delaney stepped off to the right. Ethan curled her hand in his and pulled her farther from the entrance.

“Ethan . . .”

He stepped into an alley between buildings and held on to her hand as he faced her. All he wanted to do was pull her close and kiss her. Was dying to feel her pressed against him, her hands pulling at his clothes, her mouth open, her tongue hungry. He wanted to feel her wanting him, not pushing away like she was now.

“There’s too many people here,” she said, her gaze darting over her shoulder.

Ethan put a hand against her cheek and pulled her back to him. “Why did you quit your job?”

“What?” She frowned hard. Leaned back as if the question offended her. “Where did that come from?”

“Were you having an affair with your boss?”

A combination of anger and hurt washed out the confusion in her expression. “What difference does that make?”

“It makes a difference if you used the affair to get benefits in the job.”

Her lips parted. Surprise flashed in her eyes, but it almost instantly turned to anger. “Really? Is this a question you really need me to answer? Because I think I’ve already answered what you really want to know half a dozen times over the past two weeks.” She pulled her hand away, crossed her arms, and stepped back. “If you can’t see that, then you’re not looking. And the fact that you even asked tells me nothing I say would satisfy you.”

Delaney turned and strode out of the alley.

And Ethan found himself as trapped as he’d always been—by his family, by the town, but mostly by his own limitations, his own fears, and his own shortcomings.

He dropped back against the brick wall of Black Jack’s, squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed one fist to his forehead. He searched his mind for some resolution to this conflict, but what was he going to do? Put himself between Delaney and his family, ruin what lousy ties he had left with them and his chance at his dreams while knowing Delaney would breeze out of town the second her responsibilities here were satisfied, leaving him with nothing?

He pushed his hands into his hair and fisted them with a growl of frustration.

He’d never been so damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.

THIRTEEN

Delaney squinted against the glare of the floodlight illuminating the front of The Bad Seed—she really needed to think up another name for it to disassociate the bar’s past from the present—and secured the last piece of siding at the very top o

f the gable.