Forbidden Fling (Wildwood Book 1) (3 page)

But she’d been too late.

Her lousy reputation and even lousier choice in men had cost Ian his life.

“Hold on . . .” Brewmaster’s voice startled her. “Watch where you’re—”

Delaney turned toward him. The floor creaked and groaned, then gave with a loud crack. She gasped and dropped with the floor, then pitched sideways. She threw her hands out to break her fall, but hit a solid, warm body instead of the floor.

“Whoa, shit . . .” Brewmaster’s hold kept her from falling completely through, but she was already halfway there, one leg still dangling among splintered wood. “I should have known better.”

“Me, too. I’m obviously not as stable on these heels as I’d like to think.” Her hands curled into his shirt. And while she should have been worried about her leg and the decaying state of the century-old building, all her attention focused on the feel of his body—warm and hard, the smell of his skin—spicy and male. He was just what she needed to distract herself from the ugly guilt she’d been running from for years.

He shifted his grasp, wrapping one arm around her waist. “Are you hurt?”

Man, he felt so good pressed against her. The only thing that hurt was
not
going after what she wanted right here and now and living up to her previous reputation here in Wildwood. “I didn’t need that leg. I have another one.”

His huff of laughter warmed her temple. “Okay, hold still.”

“Says the human who’s never worn three-inch heels.”

“How would you know?”

“Oooh, you get more interesting by the minute.”

He eased into a crouch, and she balanced on one heel, bracing one hand on his shoulder, the other on his back—both were heavily muscled. Another zing of attraction bubbled through her blood.

“Hold on to me.” He wrapped those strong arms around her and pulled her off her feet. A squeak of surprise popped from her throat, and she braced herself on his shoulders as he took slow, measured steps back to the door. “We don’t need any more accidents.”

When he finally lowered her to the porch, they both sighed.

“Oh my God.” She released her hold on his shoulders and rested them against his chest, but she forced her mind out of the gutter as she gathered the will to step away from him. “I should never have tried this. I didn’t want to come, and I don’t want to stay. I just wanted to get this over with. I want this whole goddamned place gone.”

“Hold that thought, and everything else will fall into place.” Instead of letting her go, his hands moved gently up her back, sliding heat and silk across her skin and making her stomach float. “You’re good. I’ve got you.”

Suddenly she wasn’t quite sure where they stood. Somewhere past flirtation, yet still strangers. “I . . . um, really appreciate—”

One of his hands rose to her chin, lifting it until her eyes met his. Only he wasn’t looking her in the eye. His gaze was on her mouth. “You can thank me with a kiss.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He did what she would have expected from a man who exuded his level of charisma and simply lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Still, surprise fluttered beneath her ribs. Thoughts pinged around her skull. Then his lips moved over hers, and everything but the feel of his mouth vanished.

He pulled away just enough to break the kiss, but instantly came back for another, this one a sampling of her upper lip, placing his bottom lip between hers. She let her eyes slide closed, and a sound ebbed from his throat, one filled with need.

The hand at her chin moved to her jaw. The arm at her waist drew her into his body. His head tilted, his mouth opened, and when he kissed her again, the hunger in his hum transitioned to the kiss. A shock of pleasure sang down her spine, raising the sting of lust low in her belly. His hand slid into her hair, cupping her head as he took the kiss deeper, touching his tongue to hers.

The tang of his excellent beer lingered in his mouth, along with spice and fruit, heat and passion. He tested her acceptance of his lick, stroking her tongue tentatively, gently at first. By the tension stringing his body tight, by the ridged line of his erection indenting her lower belly, Delaney knew just how much he was holding back. And true to her old bad-girl Wildwood ways, she was already scheming how to get this man into bed after one kiss, because the way he licked her made her wet. The way he moaned into her mouth made her ache. And the way his hips pushed into hers nearly made her whimper.

She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and stretch her body along his, but he had her arms trapped low. All she could do was curl the fabric of his shirt into fists.

With a growl, he pulled out of the kiss and drew air. His hand combed through her hair. His other opened and closed on her waist, his arm still locked low on her back, holding her intimately against him.

“You have no idea how many times,” he said, breathing hard, “I’ve fantasized about kissing you.”

She looked up at him, way too tall without her shoes on. She’d have to climb him to reach his mouth again. Instead she slipped a hand between them and fisted the front of his shirt. “Look at me.” She waited for his dazed eyes to stop skimming her face and hold on her eyes. “Are you married?”

His brow pulled up in confusion. “No.”

She searched his eyes and found an open sincerity that quelled nerves lingering from the recent past. “Good.” She breathed the word in relief and pulled on his shirt. “Come down here, and I’ll do my best to exceed all your fantasies.”

Lust wiped away all confusion in his eyes, and she held his hot gaze right up until she pulled him into the kiss. Then she released his shirt, slid her hand around the back of his neck, and opened to him with a needy little sigh that made men crazy.

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.”

Phoebe gave her another hug and headed back to the cars to get something while Delaney’s mind turned from the lost job opportunities back to Ethan.

She really shouldn’t meet him later. At least that’s what her common sense was telling her. But her body and soul felt as dry as the cracked desert floor and needed what Ethan offered.

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and moaned softly at the hint of him there. She imagined his lips and tongue tasting other parts of her body the same way they’d sampled her mouth . . .

Delaney gave herself a mental slap. Sex and men in Wildwood should absolutely never come into the same thought bubble. Yet there they were, comingling again.

She was about to ask Phoebe more about Ethan when her aunt stepped onto the porch holding the wine and two plastic glasses in one hand and a Maglite in the other. “Let’s break this open. I think we both deserve it.”

She started toward the bar’s front door with the heavy-duty flashlight spreading halogen in a ten-foot radius, lighting up the cracked, worn wood.

“Be careful.” Delaney caught her aunt’s arm just as she stepped over the threshold. “It’s not safe—”

“That’s why I asked you to wait for me. I have the weak spots mapped out. Just step where I step.”

She pulled from Delaney’s grasp, wandered into the bar with carefully placed footsteps, then upended the Maglite on one of the bar stools. Light ricocheted off the ceiling, giving Delaney a better overall view of the space, where a smattering of fluorescent sticky notes dotted the floor.

“Stay away from the marked spots,” Phoebe said, “and you’ll be fine.”

Delaney took careful steps, testing each before she trusted the old wood with her full weight while Phoebe uncovered a corkscrew behind the bar. The pop of the wine’s cork echoed through the bar.

Delaney was still dodging sticky notes and contemplating the pros and cons of meeting up with Ethan when Phoebe said, “So, these notices the city’s been sending you for the last year. Have you read them, or did you just see Wildwood in the return address and drop them in the round file?”

She finally reached the bar. “What?”

Phoebe passed a cup of wine to Delaney, leaving a trail through the thick dust layer covering the old wood, then picked up her own. “The planning department said they’ve sent notices for a year, but that you never responded. Neither did your sisters.”

Irritation pushed Ethan a little further from her mind. “There were
two
notices over the last year, and only one of those related to the building code violations. And if Avery or Chloe had answered the city, I’d be pissed, because neither has responded to me in years.”

She exhaled heavily and leaned against a stool, suddenly exhausted. Propping her elbow on the bar, Delaney looked around again, and this time she saw all the historical details that had enchanted her once upon a time—the high coved ceilings, the wide window trim, the decorative glass, the thick baseboards. And a new sense of loss slid in, pulling her mood down several notches.

“I guess there’s no point in holding on to it anymore. It’s obvious neither Avery nor Chloe is interested in taking it over and starting their own business like I’d always hoped. Now we just have to let the clock run out and put all this ugliness behind us. Move on. Start fresh. A blessing, really.”

“Always so positive—that’s what I love about you.” Phoebe set her wine on the bar and met Delaney’s gaze with a furrow of curiosity between her brows. “I can’t think of anyone who’d consider a demolition bill a blessing. You must have a hell of a lot more cash stashed away than I thought.”