Forbidden Fling (Wildwood 1)

So does Delaney.

“Shit.” He dropped his hand and looked her way again, suddenly as exhausted as if all last year’s work had hit him all at once.

And he found Trace Hutton standing behind her, his hands braced on the back of her chair in what looked to Ethan like a possessive stance as he talked with the group.

A completely foreign and maddening jealousy erupted inside him like flash fire. His chest constricted, hands fisted. A protective instinct piggybacked onto that jealousy. Trace’s problems had the potential to sink Delaney. So many things could go wrong by taking on Trace as her contractor—from him screwing up the job and costing her money to him doing or selling drugs on-site and implicating Delaney in criminal activity.

And he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it.

But even if he could, he wouldn’t know what to do, because he didn’t understand jealousy. Didn’t know how to handle it or what to do with it. Maybe this wasn’t as much jealousy as it was suspicion. Caleb’s comments burned in Ethan’s head. Tales of Delaney’s affair, of her manipulation of power, led him to wonder if that was exactly why she’d jumped into bed with him, and why she might hook up with Trace now.

And in the next second, he couldn’t believe he was thinking such ridiculous, immature, weak thoughts. Yet he had to admit, all the information considered together pried his mind open to a possibility he didn’t want to believe, one that pointed to his relationship with Delaney as just one piece in her big manipulative game. A game that could net her somewhere around $1 million.

And cost Ethan his dreams.

But that was insane. His heart kept insisting it couldn’t be true. That she didn’t have it in her. Yet how well did he really know her?

He should just let it go. He should just turn around and walk out. Let Delaney make her own mistakes. Bide his time and be ready to swoop when Trace screwed up Delaney’s renovation and she found herself in dire straits. By then he could probably scrape together enough to buy the liquor license. By then she’d probably be desperate to sell it.

Business sense told him to get his feet moving toward the door. But his heart told him to stay. And just like it always did where Delaney was concerned, his heart won out.

He started toward her, glad he’d stuck with water tonight instead of drinking his own brew, leaving him clearheaded enough to tuck under all his ragged corners. To remember that she didn’t belong to him. To remember that she didn’t owe him anything. And that he wanted it that way.

As he neared, he heard Shiloh say, “I’m thinking of going with laminate floors so I can afford a Carrara marble vanity.”

“Carrara,” Trace said with a lift of his brows. “You have always had champagne taste.”

“True,” Shiloh said, then leaned close and whispered something in Delaney’s ear that made her laugh in that low, sexy way she had just before she’d done something naughty to Ethan in bed. The memory shot sparks along his spine and jealousy through his gut, sure Shiloh had just made a comment about Trace.

“What’s Carrara marble?” Hunter’s voice dragged Ethan from the dark, jagged thoughts.

“It’s a very beautiful, very expensive type of stone,” Delaney told her.

Ethan pushed himself forward as Hunter turned to her mother. “Princesses have expensive things, Mommy. Can Delaney use Carrara marble for my princess bed?”

“Look at that.” Trace barked a laugh. “She’s a mini version of you.”

Shiloh smoothed her thumb over Hunter’s round cheek. “Sweetie, there are certain things queens always get before princesses, like platinum, diamonds, Carrara marble . . .”

Ethan stepped up to the table. “That doesn’t sound very fair.”

Everyone at the table looked up, but Ethan held Delaney’s gaze for a long moment before returning greetings from others and satisfying Hunter’s demand to be picked up. He lifted her from Delaney’s lap and swung the little girl to his shoulders.

She squealed with glee, and her little hands gripped the sides of his face as she grinned down at him. “Uncle Ethan, Delaney’s gonna build me a princess bed. Look, look!”

Delaney smirked and lifted the crayon drawing showing crisp architectural strokes around crude five-year-old scribble. Ethan pushed the edge of his mouth into a smile, but shadows of doubt swam in his head.

Still, he told Hunter, “Wow. That’s pretty special.”

“And she’s gonna build my mommy a bathroom with Carrara marble.”

Delaney’s throaty laugh spilled desire through Ethan’s groin. “I don’t know about that.”

Ethan settled his gaze on Trace and released one of Hunter’s legs to offer his hand. “Hey, Trace.”

“Ethan.” His gaze was open and sincere. “You and I have had a good relationship in the past. I hope we’ll be able to work together on Delaney’s project without any problems.”

“As long as you build to code,” he said, turning his gaze on Delaney, “we’ll work together just fine.”