how tight the Hayes and Ryan families can be when things go bad. And this time, I’m not leaving until I decide I’m leaving.”
She stabbed her index finger toward the floor. “This is more than a building renovation. This is my entire life savings. This is money I’ve worked the last decade of my life to put away. This is my future, Avery’s future, Chloe’s future. This, Ethan, is business. And in business I play straight, clean, right up the middle. I’m good at what I do, so I don’t need to play dirty. But even better, I know how to beat dirty with good business. So I’m more than happy to take dirty and meet it head-on, and I can guarantee those on the dirty side won’t like the outcome.”
When she stopped and took a breath, Ethan looked both shocked and awed. For a long moment, Delaney didn’t think he was going to say anything, but he finally said, “All this arguing is useless. You’ve only got twelve days to start renovations. There’s no way any architect is going to be able to get all the required documents together for the building permit by then, let alone begin working on this place.”
She smirked. “Keep telling yourself that, Hayes. Tell your dad, too, while you’re at it. Maybe it will keep him off your back while I’m weighing all my options. Thanks for your time. Sorry we called you in on a Saturday.”
She slid her hands into her back pockets again, turned on her heel, and sauntered toward the door, avoiding the divots in the floor that Phoebe had marked with fluorescent sticky notes. But she didn’t feel vindicated or triumphant for standing up to Ethan. Nor did she feel hopeful or excited the way she always did when she was on the brink of a new project.
She felt mean and thoughtless and bitchy. When she’d left Ethan’s bed this morning, she’d hoped they could be friends while she was in town. Maybe even have an occasional hookup and keep it quiet.
Now they were enemies. On opposite sides. The very last place she wanted her building inspector or her lover.
She’d only gotten halfway to the door when Ethan’s hand closed on her bicep. He swung her around so hard she hit his body, and his arm closed at her waist, keeping her there. His eyes burned a deep, smoky green, his mouth firm with frustration.
Delaney saw a little of that wild side he’d shown her last night. Intensely passionate, demanding, edgy. Lust rolled through her body in waves. God, she wanted that again.
“This,” he said, breathing hard, his voice rough, “is going to be a fight every step of the way. You know that.”
It wasn’t a threat. Wasn’t even a warning. Not exactly. It was more like the voice of reality. Making sure she realized just how dicey it could get. But she’d lived here. Part of her had died here. She knew how wild Wildwood could get with the Hayeses and the Ryans at the helm.
She curled one hand into the tee at his shoulder. The other into the cotton at his side. “Are you talking about you and me? Or this project? Mr. Hayes. ”
His gaze lowered to her mouth, and the sight kicked up an urgent need to taste him, to have him taste her . . . “Both.”
She let the tension slide from her body and softened against him. He was as hard and warm as she remembered. Lifting her hand from his shoulder, she ran her thumb along his lower lip. “Then I think you have a few problems on your hands.”
His gaze went distant, and a hint of pain glimmered deep inside there somewhere. Pain she recognized as a reflection of feeling trapped. The realization that struggle was futile. It hurt to see it. Hurt to watch him battle the intangible ties of unhealthy relationships, because she still remembered what it felt like.
Delaney pressed both hands against his chest and leaned away, breaking his hold. “As much as I would love to get another taste of what we had last night, it’s better for you if we step back”—she moved away, and he let her go—“to a professional
She stabbed her index finger toward the floor. “This is more than a building renovation. This is my entire life savings. This is money I’ve worked the last decade of my life to put away. This is my future, Avery’s future, Chloe’s future. This, Ethan, is business. And in business I play straight, clean, right up the middle. I’m good at what I do, so I don’t need to play dirty. But even better, I know how to beat dirty with good business. So I’m more than happy to take dirty and meet it head-on, and I can guarantee those on the dirty side won’t like the outcome.”
When she stopped and took a breath, Ethan looked both shocked and awed. For a long moment, Delaney didn’t think he was going to say anything, but he finally said, “All this arguing is useless. You’ve only got twelve days to start renovations. There’s no way any architect is going to be able to get all the required documents together for the building permit by then, let alone begin working on this place.”
She smirked. “Keep telling yourself that, Hayes. Tell your dad, too, while you’re at it. Maybe it will keep him off your back while I’m weighing all my options. Thanks for your time. Sorry we called you in on a Saturday.”
She slid her hands into her back pockets again, turned on her heel, and sauntered toward the door, avoiding the divots in the floor that Phoebe had marked with fluorescent sticky notes. But she didn’t feel vindicated or triumphant for standing up to Ethan. Nor did she feel hopeful or excited the way she always did when she was on the brink of a new project.
She felt mean and thoughtless and bitchy. When she’d left Ethan’s bed this morning, she’d hoped they could be friends while she was in town. Maybe even have an occasional hookup and keep it quiet.
Now they were enemies. On opposite sides. The very last place she wanted her building inspector or her lover.
She’d only gotten halfway to the door when Ethan’s hand closed on her bicep. He swung her around so hard she hit his body, and his arm closed at her waist, keeping her there. His eyes burned a deep, smoky green, his mouth firm with frustration.
Delaney saw a little of that wild side he’d shown her last night. Intensely passionate, demanding, edgy. Lust rolled through her body in waves. God, she wanted that again.
“This,” he said, breathing hard, his voice rough, “is going to be a fight every step of the way. You know that.”
It wasn’t a threat. Wasn’t even a warning. Not exactly. It was more like the voice of reality. Making sure she realized just how dicey it could get. But she’d lived here. Part of her had died here. She knew how wild Wildwood could get with the Hayeses and the Ryans at the helm.
She curled one hand into the tee at his shoulder. The other into the cotton at his side. “Are you talking about you and me? Or this project? Mr. Hayes. ”
His gaze lowered to her mouth, and the sight kicked up an urgent need to taste him, to have him taste her . . . “Both.”
She let the tension slide from her body and softened against him. He was as hard and warm as she remembered. Lifting her hand from his shoulder, she ran her thumb along his lower lip. “Then I think you have a few problems on your hands.”
His gaze went distant, and a hint of pain glimmered deep inside there somewhere. Pain she recognized as a reflection of feeling trapped. The realization that struggle was futile. It hurt to see it. Hurt to watch him battle the intangible ties of unhealthy relationships, because she still remembered what it felt like.
Delaney pressed both hands against his chest and leaned away, breaking his hold. “As much as I would love to get another taste of what we had last night, it’s better for you if we step back”—she moved away, and he let her go—“to a professional
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