“Is that a sixteen-penny nail, Miz Hart? You know the city of Wildwood only allows sixteen-penny nails to hang anything weighing less than twelve pounds.” When she gave him a yeah-right look, he narrowed his eyes. “And is that on center? Because that looks a little too far right to me. You most definitely have to be dead center in a stud, or it won’t be cleared by that asshole of an inspector in this town.”
He turned an openly direct gaze on her, lifted an elbow to the top of a cabinet nearby, and leaned in, lowering his voice. “Now, I know for a fact that you are exquisitely gifted at nailing a stud. But it is my sworn duty to the citizens of Wildwood to make sure you are nailing said stud adequately. And I’m afraid to tell you”—he sucked air between his teeth and gave a small shake of his head—“I believe we need to have a serious talk about arranging some more stud-nailing sessions to make sure you are an absolute expert at this crucial art.”
She was grinning, and when she grinned, her skin glowed and her eyes sparkled. And she was the most gorgeous thing on the planet.
“The art of nailing a stud.” Her laugh bubbled through the air and seemed to untie knots inside Ethan he hadn’t realized were gnarled. “You are a dirty little flirt.”
“It’s actually more of a suggestion, less of a flirtation.”
She gave him a what-in-the-hell-are-you-thinking look. Turning on the ladder, she faced him, crossed her arms, and propped one foot on the rung above. Her ease of movement five feet above the ground, in sandals, and without ever looking down told Ethan just how much time she’d spent on ladders. Something he still wanted to know all about.
“No,” she said, her voice lowered to match his. “Just a hookup—remember? The other night . . .” She looked away and lifted a shoulder. “We just got carried away. And what happened with Caleb should have given you a good enough scare to stay ten miles away from me.”
She was right. And the fact that he was standing here trying to convince her they needed to spend more time together created a weird buzz of panic in his gut. It was like a repressed side of him was suddenly emerging and fighting for control.
“Yeah, well, we might not be able to escape them all, but I’ve really tried to outgrow as many should-haves as humanly possible.” Damn, he was going to have to go out on another limb here, or he wasn’t going to get through that shell of hers. “And I’m definitely ignoring this one, because as much as I might agree with you logically, every other part of me flat-out refuses to jump on board. Emotionally, physically, mentally, I only want to be with you. The last week has been miserable without you in it.”
That softened her. Her whole face loosened, and for all of two seconds, Ethan got a quick glimpse of the woman underneath that hard surface. The woman he’d shared his bed with a week ago—her sweetness, her heart, her warmth. Then, in a flash, she caught herself and closed off again. She straightened her spine and tossed out an aloof, “Sorry. Not an option.”
Anger flashed. “Delaney—”
“For one,” she said, pulling her voice down to an almost whisper, “if your family found out, you’d be dead meat. For two, it could be misconstrued as a conflict of interest on a professional level.”
His frustration pushed to the front. “Granted, my family is a nuisance, but they don’t run my life. As for work, you would have to be doing something with the bar that required my involvement to make anything between us a conflict of interest. Which makes this a great time to ask why you had Trace Hutton at the bar. Because if you’re going to demolish, then there’s no conflict. And if there’s no conflict, and you’re still brushing me off, then it’s me, not the situation. So which is it, Delaney? Has your hunger been sated, or are you planning more problems?”
She frowned. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“And you answer almost none.”
She lowered her gaze to the floor and didn’t answer.
“Your aunt seems to think you can weather hurricanes with no damage. I’m beginning to see how you do that—with lots of shutters, all bolted down to make sure nothing gets in. But I don’t think she understands that the act of surviving those storms has damaged you in a whole different way.”
She lifted her eyes to his again, and something floated there that he couldn’t read. She was thinking, he knew that. Conflicted, he could see that, too. But there was more. Something soft. Something he wanted to draw out but didn’t know how.
She hopped off the ladder, landing smoothly and squarely, then folded the metal in one swift motion. “I’m sorry. I’m . . . struggling here. I’m trying to look at all sides of this. Trying to make the best decision for everyone when there isn’t one.”
He took one step toward her before he stopped himself still a foot away. He reached across the space between them and ran one finger down her forearm. God, her skin was so soft. And when she didn’t pull away, he linked his finger with her pinkie.
Her gaze lowered to where their hands barely connected.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“I can’t.” She pulled her hand from his and rubbed her face. “Conflict of interest, remember?”
“Okay, fine. Don’t talk to me about it, but at least talk to me. How about dinner? I’ll take you to Santa Rosa where the rumors won’t be an issue.”
She gave him that would-you-stop look. “No, Ethan.”
“Then why don’t you come by the warehouse tonight? We can talk while I work. I’d love to hear about your job at Pacific Coast. About Avery and Chloe. About what you plan to do next.”
&nbs
p; “You’re kidding yourself if you think we can pretend to be friends.”
“We’re already friends.”
“If you believe in friends with benefits maybe, which I don’t.”