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Prologue
Fletch
Three Days Earlier
Delilah Taylor is a temptation a man like me doesn’t want or need. I’m not the settling-down type, or I wasn’t. I’ve left that to a few of my brothers. I’d much rather stay single and continue going after the next thrill. Whether it be in the form of working undercover, bungee jumping off a bridge, sky diving—and I’ve done it enough not to need a tandem partner—or swimming with sharks. Still, the light-blonde-haired beauty with blue eyes, lush lips, and a smattering of freckles along her nose and cheeks is hard to deny.
I had one taste of her lips, felt her body pressed against mine as her soft pomegranate fragrance permeated the small area surrounding us. Fuck, I can still remember her scent days later. Delilah went to my head faster than my next adrenaline rush; never mind the preferred liquor I like to drink. Only the noises of the police station put a stop to our time together. My hands were fisted in her hair, she had her legs wrapped around my waist, and my cock was rock fucking hard pressed up against her center.
Delilah Taylor is meant for fantasies, my fantasies. I’m talking in the shower with my hand wrapped around my length or in my bed when no one is around, and I can remember exactly how she feels. The woman who has my guts wrapped in knots is off fucking limits in the worst way possible. She’s my boss’ daughter. A boss who just so happens to be the police chief. I knew he had a daughter. Fuck, the whole town did. She’s younger, wasn’t on my radar until he updated the picture he has on full display on his desk. Still, she hadn’t come to the station since she left for college, and I wasn’t prepared for the up close and personal welcome I received. Our heated moment was interrupted by Delilah’s dad calling her name and mentioning to the other police officers he wanted to introduce her to the newer deputies.
The small oops that escaped her mouth made my dick instantly deflate. We’d barely exchanged glances before I was going after her. Never in my life did I act like a dog in heat with so much as a look and a lingering touch. I also didn’t think I’d be helping the damsel in distress when Delilah was attempting to open the supply closet. The attraction hit me like a ton of fucking bricks; it also had me shaking my head in disbelief. She scurried around me, acting like she wasn’t rubbing herself along my body only moments ago. She was so close to coming, another minute or so and I’d have had another memory to jack my cock to.
I did what any smart man would do: I kept my hands to myself and got out of town the very next day. I fucking ran. Luckily for me, I had a lot of hours banked over the course of the year. The chief of police’s daughter—only I would have that kind of luck in our too small town of Peach Springs, Georgia. There isn’t another police station within a decent amount of time from our family homestead, let alone my own house.
Now that I’ve been gone a few days, maybe coming home won’t be so bad. And yeah, I ran away like a fucking coward with his tail tucked between his legs. I couldn’t trust myself to be around Delilah. The attraction is too fucking strong, and wanting to keep my job is too fucking valuable. I hopped on a plane and flew to Wyoming, where my buddy Lawson Johnson and his family live. A perfect opportunity for clearing my head, to help them out with an issue his younger brother had with a rogue fucking veterinarian. It’s always something with that clan. Hell, the same could be said for my own brothers. Luckily, none of them have come calling asking to get out of a speeding ticket or anything else lately.
What I wasn’t prepared for was stepping off the plane in our small rural airport and my phone ringing the minute I turn the thing back on. I look down at the screen and see it’s my boss.
“Hello, Chief,” I answer, holding my breath.
“Hey, Wild, are you back in town?” he asks, cutting to the chase. Chief Taylor calls all his deputies by our last name. What I’m wondering is why he’s calling to ask me if I’m here.
“Just got off the plane. Everything okay at the station?” I figure it’s work even though I’m not on the clock until tomorrow.
“Yeah. Delilah is stuck on the side of the road with a flat tire. I’m two hours away, and she can’t get the damn lug nuts loose.” Fuck me, fuck this, fuck everything.
“Send me her number and where she’s broken down. I’m walking toward my truck now.” I can’t necessarily say no. Even if Taylor weren’t my boss, I’d never leave a woman stranded on the side of the road, especially with the sun setting over the horizon.
“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’d ask one of the others, but I’ll be damned if I trust them.” Yeah, that doesn’t make me feel any better because clearly I can’t be trusted where Delilah Taylor is concerned either.
“No problem. I’ll have her call you when she’s up and running.” We get off the phone rather quickly, and the time away I’ve had to get my head on straight was all for nothing. I know myself better than anyone—a few minutes in Delilah’s presence, and I’m going to be doing a whole lot more than changing her tire. I’m fucked, well and truly. At least I’ll die with the taste of Delilah on my tongue. The minute Chief Taylor gets wind of one of his employees fooling around with his one and only daughter, shit is going to hit the fan, and I’ll be lucky to come out alive.
Chapter 1
Delilah
Present Day
“Ugh.” The last person I should be thinking about is Fletcher Wild. So what if his touch is permanently seared to my memory? Not to mention his scent. I swear the slightest combination of lemon, cedarwood, and mint, well, my knees are trembling as I’m tossed back into a memory I’ve been trying to avoid.
Maybe if I bury my head in the sand, it’ll keep my mind off the man who pretty much wined, dined, and sixty-nined me on the side of the road after saving me from my flat tire. Fletch did me a solid. He helped me out when no one was around, coming to my rescue like the poor damsel in distress from a princess movie. Only his parting gift was an orgasm of all orgasms. He literally ruined me for every other person, including myself. Yep, even my own fingers and toys are no longer doing the trick. I am absolutely one hundred percent pitiful.
“What did your car ever do to you, sweet pea?” I’ve only just slammed my door shut, looking down at the tire. The tire that got me into all this trouble in the first place. It’s the fault of a massive piece of metal I happened to run over. As much as I tried to avoid the culprit, it was impossible. Oncoming traffic on one side and a ditch on the other meant there was no other choice. Thankfully, there was an intersection coming up once the thump, thump, thump of my tire had me slowing down and driving as carefully as possible.
“It’s more like what it didn’t do to me,” I respond, looking up at my dad. He’s in his standard uniform shirt, badge around his neck, hat on his head, gun at his waist, black denim jeans, boots that have seen better days, and his hands on his hips. The dad pose of all poses. He hasn’t changed much over the years. Dad is a creature of habit and despises all things change. Mom and I make fun of him every chance we get, a man of routine through and through. Even now he’s standing the exact same way as all those funny video clips talking about their dads, only he has a bit of his police chief title thrown into the mix.
“Yeah, your mother mentioned you were stuck having to buy two new tires. How much that set you back?” I grumble. I really don’t want to hear what he has to say, even if he’s right. This is dad’s same old song and dance. ‘You should have bought this car instead of what you’re tooling around in.’ Well, I wanted to be impractical. There was no need for a big, massive, armored vehicle that Dad would prefer his only daughter drive. My two-door Lexus RC 300 about gave Dad a heart attack when I pulled up in the driveway after I finagled one hell of a deal.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” This is the first time in a year I question myself about my fire-engine red car. Tires, oil changes, and routine maintenance on vehicles are absurd, no matter what the make and model of your car is. The up sale they tried to pull on me was of little to no use. I can change my own air filter, windshield wipers, and even put air in my tires. Needless to say, I replaced two tires because of the wear pattern, paid a mint, and saw myself out of the dealership the second I could.
Dad lets out a whistle. “Should have stuck with something easier to maintain, Delilah.”
“How long have you been holding that in?” I’m really not aggravated at the cost of my car. I work hard to afford what I want in life, even if it does set me back more than I’d care to admit at times.
“Quite a damn while.” I’m sure the reason for his salt and pepper hair turning grayer by the day has a lot to do with the two females in his life. Mom and I are a force to be reckoned with. We look alike, we talk alike, and we act a lot alike, too. We also march to the beat of our own drum. You can’t tell us what we’re doing is wrong even if it’s true. What can I say, we’re the type of people who have to learn from our mistakes, much to his chagrin.
“I figured. Hey, Dad, I have a question for you.” I’m probably showing my hand when I shouldn’t, but it’s been a few days. A few days that I’ve driven by the station on my way to run an errand, going a bit out of my way to look for his truck like a freaking stalker. I’m not this person, not usually, but when I tell you his dick has me hooked, I am hooked. Fletcher Wild also has a personality women dream of, dark brown hair mixed with shots of blond from the sun, warm green eyes that can change in intensity depending on what is going on around him, taut muscles, and the man has no problem holding you after knocking your socks off.
