Forbidden Fling (Wildwood 1)

It worked like a charm. The Brewmaster dove into the kiss with the passion of a deprived lover, and Delaney relished the desire building low in her body.

Oh, it had been too long since she’d felt this kind of want bubbling inside her. It was like a drug. A drug that gave the most exquisite high. And this man was an artist when it came to crafting desire—from the way he held her to the way he moved his tongue to the sounds he made. And based on the way he kissed, Delaney would bet her entire savings he would be a blockbuster between the sheets.

His mouth had grown aggressive, his tongue stronger, hungrier, needier. Their moans blended into a chorus of pleasure. She drank in the feel of his full lips and warm, skilled tongue. Loved the inventive way he explored her mouth, licking her lips, sucking them, sampling them like a dessert. Tingling heat radiated through her body.

She needed to get this guy horizontal and naked and alone for a few hours.

She drew out of the kiss just enough to say, “Let’s skip the drink and go back to your place.” When his eyes met hers, she finished her thought. “I’m way more interested in seeing everything I’m feeling under all these clothes.”

He searched her eyes for a long second before a smile broke out across his face, and a low, husky laugh sounded in his throat. But then he kissed her again with so much heat, so much hunger, he stole the air right out of her lungs.

>

Lights flashed across her closed lids, startling them both.

“Your aunt.” He released her and stepped back so quickly she swayed.

Her aunt’s Cadillac ATS turned in next to Delaney’s Jeep Laredo before she even caught her breath. Her sexy stud stuffed his hands into his front pockets and sidled toward the end of the porch like a guilty kid.

“Hey, relax.” She laughed the words quietly. “We’re adults, and Phoebe’s cool.”

“Delaney, honey,” her aunt called from the open window as she shut off the engine. “How long have you had your lights on like that? You’re going to drain your battery.”

Delaney wished her aunt had made her wait longer, giving her the chance to get the Brewmaster a little hotter, because by the look on his face, she was pretty sure her idea of getting lucky tonight was dead.

But she’d be in town a couple of days. Maybe . . .

“I didn’t get your—” she started.

“I live near Patterson’s,” he said, quickly, quietly. “If you haven’t changed your mind after you talk to Phoebe, I’ll be there for a while tonight.”

She pulled in a breath, not sure which question to ask first; so many rolled through her head. But her aunt’s joy-filled singsong voice reached them as she stood from the car and started toward the porch.

“Wait ’til you see what I won tonight. You’ll forget all about waiting when you’re a couple of glasses into this beauty.”

Phoebe’s gorgeous silver hair was down, just touching her shoulders, flowing much the way Delaney’s did. She wore cropped white pants, sandals adorned in crystals, and a peasant-style charcoal blouse. Carrying a bottle of wine, she glanced up as she reached the stairs, her pretty face alight with a grin. Phoebe had just visited Delaney on a job site in Portland six months before, yet she looked even younger and more vibrant tonight.

Her gaze skipped from Delaney to Brewmaster. “Well, hello, Ethan. You must be brewing tonight.”

“Hi, Phoebe.”

Delaney wasn’t surprised Phoebe knew him. She knew everyone—as in everyone—in town, old-timers, more recent residents, even frequent tourists. She scanned the old-timers section of names in her memory while searching his face for familiarity. Ethan. Ethan. Ethan. Nope. Still couldn’t place him. But she really loved his name.

Phoebe came toward Delaney and wrapped her in a one-armed hug, then leaned away to display her prize. “Francis Ford Coppola Syrah from his reserve collection. This will turn your day around, sweetheart.” She offered Ethan the same warm, beautiful smile. “I hope you’ll help us with this.”

So her aunt liked him. That was good, right?

“Thanks, but I’ve already tasted a little too much of my own brew, and I’ve still got some things to do tonight. I’ll let you two talk. Good to see you, Phoebe. Welcome home, Delaney.”

And he disappeared into the darkness.

“Sweetheart, you look gorgeous.” Phoebe climbed the rickety steps, took one of Delaney’s hands, and squeezed. “Are you sure you’re not going to get one of those jobs? You always shine in interviews.”

Her mind spun away from Ethan and tugged toward the ugly monster of a problem that had been clinging to her for weeks. “Evidently experience doesn’t sparkle the same way a college degree does these days. I’m up against candidates with business, construction, and architecture degrees.”

“I’m so sorry, honey.”

Delaney shrugged and crossed her arms tight. “Their loss. Nothing learned in a classroom prepares someone for the shit I deal with—correction, dealt with—on a daily basis. They’re going to lose a lot of money before they figure that out.”