Smolder: The Wildwood Series (9 page)

Chapter Nine

L
ANE HAD LEFT
her high and dry, and Delilah had no one to complain to.

She sat in her office at the studio, staring at her phone. She wanted to call someone to vent. Express all of her feelings and be reassured that everything was going to be all right. Really, she wanted to talk to Wren. But she couldn’t.

No way could she imagine going to Wren and saying,
“Oh yeah, Lane and I were really going at it, and I was minutes away from coming all over his face when we were rudely interrupted—by a call from West. Then he had to leave. Sucks, right?”

Yeah. That wouldn’t go over too well. Wren would be shocked and horrified. Delilah was too mortified to even mention that she and Lane had kissed last night, let alone gotten naked with each other. Not that she was mortified because something had finally happened between her and Lane. She just didn’t want to discuss the specific details with one of her best friends—and Lane’s sister.

Her body hummed at the memory though. She was still strung tight and she’d had all night to sleep on it. Though she hadn’t slept much. She’d tossed and turned, her mind full of Lane. Naked Lane. Rude Lane. Dirty-mouthed, I’m-going-to-fuck-you-hard Lane who’d ultimately turned into tender, sweet I’m-going-to-make-you-come-so-hard-and-you’re-gonna-like-it Lane.

Until he’d had to leave.

Delilah had watched in disbelief from the middle of Lane’s giant bed as he’d roamed around his bedroom, sliding on a pair of jeans—sans underwear, which she found incredibly sexy—and a Wildwood County Sheriff’s Department T-shirt before he came over to where she sat and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

“I hate that I have to leave,” he’d said, regret burning bright in his blue eyes. He’d cupped her cheek, his gaze dipping down, lingering on her bare chest. “I’d rather finish what we started.”

She’d stared up at him, believing every word he said, trying her best to understand why he had to leave. He had a job to do. A town to protect. She might be disappointed that he had to leave but she sort of loved noble Lane and the dedication he showed toward the job.

“We can finish another time,” she’d reassured, earning a big smile from him in return.

“How’d I know you’d say that?” he’d murmured just before he leaned in and kissed her, his lips lingering. Within seconds, the kiss became hotter. Deeper. She’d finally pushed him away because they were bound to get out of control in a matter of minutes.

Once she’d slipped on her dress—somehow her panties had gone missing—Lane had escorted her out to her car, giving her another one of those spine-tingling kisses before he practically shoved her into the driver’s seat and told her to go home. He’d texted her later to make sure she made it there all right, but otherwise, she hadn’t heard a word from him. For all she knew, he was still out on the scene of the fire or maybe back at the sheriff’s office. She had no clue.

He was a total workaholic, much like her. That explained why she was at the studio before ten in the morning when she didn’t need to be there until around noon. She’d been anxious and antsy at home so she sat at her desk, going over some paperwork Wren had been nagging at her to review for the past month. Considering her attention span was shot to hell and she was exhausted from lack of sleep, Delilah would’ve much rather been dancing than staring at an endless stack of boring papers about quarterly taxes and profits and losses.

So she danced.

She turned on the music, cranked up the volume, and began to stretch, staring at her reflection in the wall of mirrors opposite her. Dancers had no problem continuously watching themselves in a mirror. They had to, to make sure their lines looked right, their toes were pointed, and their posture was straight. Some called them vain, and once upon a time, that had offended Delilah beyond reason, when she was younger and took everything as an insult.

But now, she shrugged it off. No one understood unless they were a dancer. She liked watching herself move, would laugh when she did something wrong or silently cheer when she nailed a difficult landing. The mirror was her freaking friend, damn it, and she owned that friendship.

If that meant she was vain, then so be it.

Once her muscles felt loose and warm, she grabbed her phone and scrolled through her list of songs until she found the one her advanced hip-hop class had been practicing to lately. Turning up the volume, she set her phone on a nearby bench and started to move, losing herself to the music, to the lyrics, until her headspace was clear and all she could do was dance. It felt good, to forget, just for a little while. No real-life intrusions, just her and the music all by herself. She started to sing along to the lyrics, her awful voice ringing loud, and she smiled at herself in the mirror . . . until she caught a glimpse of someone standing in the middle of the waiting room.

Watching her.

Delilah whirled around to find Lane standing there, his arms crossed, biceps bulging, an amused yet exhausted expression on his handsome face. She ran over to grab her phone and paused the music before she turned to face him once more.

“What are you doing here?”

He entered the enclosed studio, his heavy footsteps echoing in the otherwise empty room. “Watching you.”

She wiped at her sweaty forehead. God, she must look a mess. “How long?”

“Long enough to confirm you can’t sing for crap.” He grinned and she reached out to shove him. He caught her wrist before she could make contact with his chest, which was probably for the best since she would have just grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. “Seriously, Dee. That was bad.”

“I thought I was alone.” She disentangled herself from his grip, uneasy with the way her skin tingled where he touched her. Now that she knew how he kissed, had experienced his mouth on her body, in the most intimate of places, she felt . . . weird. Not weird in a bad way. More like weird in a how-fast-can-I-get-Lane-naked way.

“I really only just walked in. Saw your car parked out front and wanted to make sure you were okay.” He sent her one of those stern sexy looks that both irritated and melted her every time. “You left the door unlocked. Again.”

She shrugged. “I forgot. Besides, it’s no big deal.” The town was small. She always left the door unlocked. Wildwood was safe.

“In the summer it always gets worse around here.” His gaze met hers. “There was a break-in at Hillside a few nights ago.”

“Shut up.” She gaped at him. The Hillside Market sat opposite the studio, on the other side of the parking lot. “Did you catch them?”

“Nah. Figured it was just kids, but still. I don’t like you keeping the door unlocked when you don’t have classes going on. I mean it, Dee. I don’t want anything to happen to you or your place of business.”

“Aw, I’m touched that you’re so concerned.” She really was but she also liked giving him a hard time. And he knew it too. “Did you get any sleep?”

“I’m headed home now to crash out.” He made a face. “Then I need to stop by my parents’ house.”

“Do you want me to go with you when you see your mom? Just for moral support?” She didn’t want to seem too forward but he might need someone to lean on. Not that it was any of her business, but still. She’d known the Gallaghers for what felt like her entire life. His mom had been nothing but kind to her since she was a little girl. She didn’t like the idea of her suffering or sick.

Delilah didn’t like the idea of Lane suffering either.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I need to go this alone. Or maybe I’ll ask Wren.” He rested his hand on her bare shoulder and gave it a squeeze. His fingers teased the thick strap of her sports bra. “You understand, right? It’s nothing against you, Dee. I promise. It’s just—”

“I understand,” she interrupted, offering him a brief smile. She did. This was a family matter. He squeezed her shoulder again, and her skin went hot. Her nipples pebbled beneath the tight sports bra she wore—and that was all she wore besides her cropped black leggings.

And of course, Lane noticed, his gaze dropping to her chest and lingering there yet again. He tugged on her shoulder, not saying a word, and she took a step toward him. Then another, until she bumped up against him and his other hand snuck beneath her chin, tilting her face up . . .

“Yoo-hoo! What are you doing here so early?” Wren called, the heavy front door slamming behind her.

Lane and Delilah sprang away from each other, and she hoped like crazy she didn’t look as guilty as she felt. “I should ask you the same question,” she said as Wren entered the studio.

Wren stopped short when she saw the two of them standing in the middle of the studio, and she shot Lane a questioning glance. “What’s up?”

“Just checking on Dee.” He nodded in Delilah’s direction as he turned toward Wren. “Making sure everything’s okay.”

“And everything’s fine,” Delilah said, flashing Wren a bright smile. “Really.”

Wren remained quiet, her expression full of suspicion. Not that Delilah could blame her. They were acting fairly obvious what with the way Lane wouldn’t even look at her. And she wouldn’t look at him.

And her nipples were probably still telling a story too, because it definitely wasn’t cold in the studio. Not by a long shot.

Funny thing was, they didn’t need to hide anything from Wren. Well, Delilah didn’t. Wren knew how she felt. But Lane wasn’t telling anyone how he felt.

Not even Delilah. And it drove her crazy.

“I’ll talk to you later?” Lane sent her a pointed look.

Shivery tingles swept over her skin as she nodded and smiled softly. “Bye, Lane.”

“Bye, Delilah.” He started to leave but stopped, turning to look at Wren. “I’m going over to Mom and Dad’s later. You want to come with me?”

“Um . . . ” Wren’s voice drifted, and Delilah wanted to kick her. She needed to be there for her brother and their mom. “Do you really want me to?”

“I don’t know if I want to do this alone. Mom will probably respond better if we’re there together,” he answered, breaking Delilah’s heart. He’d always had a soft spot for his mom, even though their relationship had suffered the past few years.

“Okay.” Wren blew out a harsh breath, her expression pained. “I’ll go.”

The relief on Lane’s face was evident. “I’ll text you. I need to get a few hours of sleep in first.” He nodded toward both of them. “See you both later.”

He said those last words like a promise directed right at Delilah, and her heart pounded furiously as he left the building. Luckily, Wren went to her desk without a word.

Leaving Delilah to stare dreamily off into space for far too long, over a man who, up until a few hours ago, had been seemingly unattainable.

For once in her life, she finally felt like she had a shot at having something real with Lane.

“I
WISH YOU
’
D
talked to Mom yesterday,” Wren said when she climbed into Lane’s car a few hours later.

Well, hello to you too.
“Something came up.” He didn’t bother telling her exactly what—his dick when it first caught sight of Delilah cooking dinner in his kitchen. Or his heartbeat as it kicked into high gear watching her hips sway beneath that pretty little dress. Of course all that had happened only after he’d drawn his freaking gun on her, which he still couldn’t believe. The girl had nerve, he’d give her that.

And a pretty little body. Sweet lips. His cock had ached for hours after he’d left her. He’d wandered around the fire scene in a daze, half listening to what Josh, the asshole prevention officer, had to say about the accelerant that was used to start the fire. Some sort of modified half-ass version of a Molotov cocktail, and didn’t that scare the hell out of all of them?

Their town was under siege by an unknown arsonist, and Lane wanted to get to the bottom of it. He had his own theories and more than a few local suspects he wanted to talk to. And he’d told everyone that too, much to the prevention guy’s disgust.

When Josh had told him that it wasn’t Lane’s call, that it wasn’t even under his jurisdiction to question anyone, and that he needed to let the professionals handle it—direct quote—Lane had been quietly furious. West had immediately sent him packing.

“Go to bed, man. It’s your day off. You don’t need to be here listening to this guy. He’s only making you mad and that’s the last thing you need.”

He’d tried to take his brother’s advice but he’d been too keyed up, too pissed off. He’d gone back to the deputy station for a while, going through paperwork, checking emails, listening to voice mails. The building was quiet, and he’d actually caught up on his workload, which always suffered. Feeling somewhat satisfied, he’d left the office a few hours later, ready to crash out.

But when he’d driven by the tiny strip mall where Delilah’s dance studio was located and saw her car sitting out front, he’d automatically turned into the parking lot, parking next to her Civic and growling with frustration when he pulled the studio door handle and found it unlocked.

Wren snapped her fingers in front of his face, startling him. “Hello, anybody in there?”

Lane sent her an irritated look and threw the car into Drive, pulling out into the street. He’d stopped by to pick her up before they went to their parents’ house, and clearly she was irritated. Wren probably didn’t want to have this little meeting with Mom.

Welcome to the club. Neither did he.

“Seriously, Lane. What happened that you couldn’t talk to her yesterday? Why are you dragging me into this?” Wren asked.

He didn’t want to tell her about Delilah’s surprise visit. “I got called out on something last night. And aren’t you the one who originally dragged me into this? I’m doing you a favor,” he pointed out as he turned down the main drag that ran through the center of town. Their parents lived on the opposite side of the lake, so they were in for a fifteen-minute drive as long as traffic wasn’t heavy, which it might be. And if their hostile conversation continued like this, he was going to be good and mad by the time they made it to Mom and Dad’s.

Wren sighed and stared out the passenger side window. “I’d wanted to avoid it.”