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And he’d stayed away from her like a chickenshit. Just like last time, after the restaurant fire, when he’d found her safe and had been so overcome with relief and . . . something else, something he couldn’t put his finger on. Her hair had been a snarled mess, her dirty cheeks streaked with tears, but he’d held her close, buried his face in her smoke-scented hair, and held on tight. Like he never wanted to let her go.
In that moment, he hadn’t wanted to. Ever.
Just like at West and Harper’s condo five long nights ago. Those foreign emotions had tumbled around inside him like damp clothes in a dryer. Banging around vital organs—his bruised heart, in particular—reminding him that yes indeed, he did have one. And it seemed to beat for one woman in particular. Why, he wasn’t sure.
Okay fine, he knew why. She was beautiful, sweet, kind, smart, thoughtful, sexy as all fuck, hot-headed, impulsive, and had he mentioned sexy? Christ, he had it so damn bad. But they weren’t meant for each other. That was plain as day to him so why couldn’t she see it?
Staying away from her hadn’t been his original plan. That night, after he’d gotten home, he’d jerked off to thoughts of Delilah. Remembering those dark eyes of hers, full of promise as she studied him. Her seductive voice. When she’d touched his lips, the tips of her fingers making his mouth tingle. He’d almost kissed her and could admit he was almost glad he hadn’t.
Anticipation made his blood sing, his cock swell. It would be good between them. So damn good he wasn’t sure he’d survive it. That was half the problem. What if it was too good? What if once he had a taste, once he knew what it felt like to slip inside her warm, welcoming body, he’d never want anyone else? She’d have him completely under her spell and he’d probably never protest.
The mere thought alone sent his heart plummeting to his toes. Being with Delilah would never just be a casual thing. There was too much between them. She would turn what they had into more and he’d let her. He’d want it. But what if she didn’t want him? What if once she discovered what sort of man he really was, she jumped ship and ran? He wouldn’t blame her.
Hell, he was fairly certain that would happen no matter what. So he tried his best to keep her at arm’s length. He wasn’t going anywhere. Wildwood was his home and he wouldn’t leave, not like West had so long ago. But Lane wasn’t going to end up with Delilah either. They were stuck in the same small town. They’d just have to learn how to deal with each other and ignore all that tension.
His shift had ended over an hour ago and he was only just now pulling into the driveway of his house. Work had been extra busy since he last saw Delilah, and while yes, he could admit to himself that he was a chickenshit, he’d also been working twelve-plus-hour days. Summer was in full swing. Tourists had swarmed the area and they managed to do idiot things all hours of the day, keeping him and his fellow deputies constantly going.
The past weekend had been especially hard, what with the excessive drinking out on the lake that had ended in a slew of DUIs and belligerent behavior. As in fistfights. One deputy got coldcocked square in the nose, knocking him unconscious. He’d gone to the hospital that afternoon, and Lane had had to cover his shift.
Blowing out a heavy breath, Lane climbed out of his car and shuffled up to his front steps, bone weary and ready to collapse into bed. He had the next two days off and planned on sleeping for most of them, considering he needed to gear up for his next shift. The Fourth of July was almost upon them and that was Wildwood’s busiest weekend of the year.
He wasn’t looking forward to it.
The moment he slipped his key into the deadbolt, he heard a car stop in front of his house. Glancing over his shoulder, he groaned, half tempted to thunk his head against the doorframe.
It was freaking Wren.
Unlocking his door, he didn’t bother greeting her. Just left the door open as he walked inside, knowing full well she’d come in after him. He could hear her grumbling about his boorish behavior but he ignored her and made his way into the kitchen. He went straight for the fridge, where he pulled out the milk before going for a bowl from the cupboard and grabbing his favorite cereal from the pantry.
He was fucking starving. Had to get food into his belly before he took a shower and collapsed into bed.
“I swear as you get older, you get ruder,” Wren said when she entered the kitchen.
His answer was a noncommittal grunt as he poured cereal into the bowl. Maybe she was right. But at the moment, he sort of didn’t give a shit.
“Have you been in hiding or what?”
Lane poured the milk and grabbed a spoon, sinking it into the almost too-full bowl before he turned to face his annoying little sister. “I’ve been working my ass off,” he said and shoveled a giant spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
She rested her hands on her hips, tilting her head to the side. “You look tired.”
“So observant,” he muttered, his mouth still full.
An irritated huff escaped from her pursed lips. “What’s your deal?”
“The last few days have been rough.” It was more than that, not that he could tell his sister. He was sexually frustrated. Irritated that he hadn’t grabbed hold of the opportunity Delilah gave him and gotten naked with her that night. Lots of regret over that missed opportunity.
He’d had plenty of time to think about her though, in between the numerous calls he went on and when he couldn’t sleep after getting off work. He realized quickly that he’d let her slip right through his fingers. What the hell was wrong with messing around with her anyway? If he told her up front what he expected, then they should be golden. Honesty was the best policy. He’d always believed that. Even when his dad proved again and again that he didn’t, what with the way he’d lied to their mom—to all of them really—time and again.
“Extra busy?” Wren asked, breaking through his murky thoughts.
“Yeah.” He shoveled more cereal into his mouth, more than ready to shut off his brain. He was wiped out. Didn’t want to worry about Delilah or work or anything else. He just wanted sleep.
“Oh. Well, I’ll leave you alone, but I wanted to talk to you about something first.” Wren moved toward his tiny kitchen table and sat down. “It’s . . . Mom.”
He paused in his chewing, swallowing hard. “What about Mom?”
Wren lifted her gaze to his, her eyes full of worry. “I think she’s sick. Sleeping all the time, loss of appetite, and losing weight without even trying.”
