Page 22 of Forbidden Fling (Wildwood 1)
“Before you meet the inspector,” Phoebe said, her expression sobering as she watched the truck approach. “I need a few things from you this morning, Delaney.”
Dread joined the nerves tingling in her belly. “Like?”
Phoebe met her gaze deliberately. “I need you to keep an open mind, and I need you to remember this is a small town.”
The truck parked next to Phoebe’s Cadillac, and Delaney checked out the driver through the open window. With the sunlight glinting off the glass, she couldn’t see the person inside.
“I’m a professional,” she said without taking her eyes off the truck, “and I’ve worked in all kinds of towns—big, small, and everything in between.”
But she’d never worked in Wildwood. And she’d never renovated a building with a harrowing history that affected the people still living in the community. Or with her own money.
“Good,” Phoebe said. “Focus on the long-term benefit, not the short-term discomfort.”
Delaney’s gut squeezed. “What does that . . .”
She lost track of her question as the man pushed open the truck door and stood—and looked right at Delaney.
Ethan.
Her heart kicked into a flutter that stung her breastbone. But in the next instant, her brain connected dots as quickly as a computer circuit, and Delaney felt her world tipping on end. “Phoebe?”
Ethan approached in a slow swagger. She certainly couldn’t claim to be able to read the man after only one night with him, but she was pretty damn sure the tight jaw and grim frown meant he wasn’t very happy right now.
He wore a black tee that stretched across his muscular chest with white block print across the front that read THIS IS NO TIME TO BE SOBER. His jeans clung to thick thighs and cupped his generous sex, and his running shoes had holes worn in the toes. By the looks of his tousled wet hair, he’d showered but hadn’t done much else.
Damn. The man looked edible.
He came to a stop eight feet away and crossed his arms. She wished he’d take off those sunglasses so she could see his eyes.
“Good morning, Delaney,” he said, his tone overly solicitous in a fancy-meeting-you-here sort of way without any change in his expression.
Yep, he was pissed.
What the hell?
Ethan turned to her aunt. “Phoebe.”
“Thank you for coming, Ethan. I wouldn’t have bothered you if this situation weren’t so time sensitive.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t,” Delaney cut in, making it clear no one was going to walk over her. She looked to Phoebe for answers. “What’s going on?”
She gestured to Ethan, as if it should be obvious. “Ethan’s going to do the courtesy walk-through. It couldn’t hurt to have a second pair of eyes and another opinion on the project.”
“His opinion?” The intangible undercurrents rolling between the three of them made Delaney feel as if there were a piano hung over her head on a fraying rope. She settled her gaze on Ethan. “You didn’t think to mention you were the building inspector while we were talking on the porch last night?”
If he could read between the lines, he would have also heard, “Or any other time in the last ten hours we were fucking?”
“I was going to tell you, but—” Ethan started.
She put up a hand before he said too much. “Never mind.”
“Delaney,” Phoebe said with her mediator voice ramped up, “this doesn’t have to be an issue if you just—”
“What doesn’t have to be an issue?”
Phoebe glanced from Delaney to Ethan and back. “Working with Ethan.”
