At least she had the common sense to turn around and come back.
He pulled off his helmet as she drew alongside, and held it out to her. She froze beside him and kept her hands on the backpack straps, her mouth a pale, straight gash on her face.
Cold rain trickled down his neck and oozed inside his collar. The fingers on his left hand felt frozen to the handlebars with icy rivets. “For once in your bloody life don’t argue—just get on.”
Her face jerked toward his, but her eyes were hidden under the brim of her cap. The bike’s engine rumbled in neutral and a peal of thunder cracked across the sky. Piper’s lips opened but nothing came out. She took the helmet and moved out of his line of sight. Pretty certain she muttered a word ending with “hole” as she jammed the helmet on, West turned the bike toward home and waited. He forced his muscles to relax when she lightly touched his shoulder and swung on behind him.
The pretense didn’t last once she settled into position, her wet denim-covered legs pressed against the outside of his thighs, her upper body forced close to his as the bulk of her backpack shifted her center of gravity forward. One hand clutched her cap in a death grip, the other snaked around his waist and settled lightly on his abs. His groin tightened and the crotch of his uncomfortably damp jeans squeezed like the denim had shrunk a size.
“Ready?” he gritted out.
The chin guard of the helmet clipped his shoulder blades as she nodded. He toed the bike into gear and released the clutch. The spread of her fingers across his stomach nearly caused the lever to slip from his grasp. Stalling like a kid with a learner’s permit was not the impression he wanted to give.
West steadied his hand and let the clutch out slowly. Grit and small stones crunched under the tires as they gathered speed and headed back toward town. Thankfully the rain tapered off to a wet drizzle so he could see where he was going.
When he turned into his lane and gunned it up the hill to his driveway, Piper’s second hand joined the first as she clung to his torso, the firm mounds of her breasts mashing against his back.
He came to a complete stop in front of his garage. Piper leaped off the back like the seat of her pants was on fire. Fine by him. He hit the automatic roller door button in his pocket and walked the bike inside. Donny, the mad mutt, padded out of the shadows, panting and wet. By the time he’d nudged the kickstand down, Piper had the helmet off and was staring bug-eyed at his dog.
“Is that yours?” She let out a girlish squeak when Donny whipped his body around, sending water and slobber flying.
“Yep.”
“What kind of dog is he? A miniature, balding Yeti?”
He studied her expression. Donny was a deal breaker, and if she he didn’t care for him, tough. She could sleep in here. “Staffy boxer cross.”
Donny strolled over to Piper and delicately sniffed her knee. Maybe he resembled a miniature bald Yeti, what with his missing ear, droopy jowls and mangy fur, but West’s pal had manners. Piper slowly lowered her hand and let the dog transfer his snuffling to her knuckles. “He looks like he’s been through the wars.”
“He has.”
“What’s his name?” After receiving Donny’s tongue swipe of approval, she stroked his head.
“Donny.”
She crooked an eyebrow at him. “As in Donnie Wahlberg from New Kids on the Block?”
“You’re kidding, right? Think I’d name my dog after someone in a boy band? No—it’s short for Don Juan.”
“Don Juan? You named this poor ugly creature—and no offence buddy,” she crooned, scratching the dog’s back while he shivered in delight, “—after Don Juan, the greatest fictional lover of all time?”
“Donny doesn’t think he’s ugly and the ladies appreciate him just fine.”
“I suppose they see past his flaws.” Piper shot him a pointed glance and strolled further into his garage as if she owned the place. “This is quite the man cave.” She placed the helmet on an empty spot on his workbench.
Tools and grease-smeared bike parts covered almost every available surface and he squashed an irrational urge to tell her to get the hell out of his garage. “You expected something else? A craft nook complete with scrapbooking supplies and knitting needles?”
Her nostrils flared and her hands returned to the straps of her backpack, gripping them until the skin across her knuckles turned a bloodless white. “I wasn’t expecting anything.” She huffed out a sigh. “I know you don’t want me here any more than I want to be here, but surely we can be civil?”
Civil? They’d never been civil to each other in all the years they’d known each other, which was pretty much always. A memory flash of her with her ball dress rucked up above her waist, her long legs, lean and muscled from years of diving and playing sports wrapped around his hips. The hint of cheap champagne on her breath, the soft velvet of her skin, her bare breasts in his hands. He shoved the image ruthlessly aside—he wasn’t touching a lit match to that powder keg. “Sure. I can do civil.”
They walked out of the garage, and when he opened the front door and moved aside so she could enter first she said, “Thank you.”
All very civil-like and it creeped him out. What kind of demonic game was she playing?
The door closed with a click and West rustled somewhere behind her.
What a nightmare this day had turned into.
A light blazed on and she blinked. They stood in a small entranceway with shoes and boots neatly aligned on the tiled floor, and jackets and other gear hanging on wall hooks beside another door.
West gestured with a thumb. “Ben’s through there. If your brother wasn’t so damn big he could’ve had the office while you slept down here.”
“His feet stick off the end of the futon, huh?”
“Way off. The sofa is not made for guys. You should be okay.”
Piper shucked off the backpack and dropped it to the floor, pressing her lips together to stop a groan of relief from escaping. She unlaced her boots and tugged them and her wet socks off. Looking up, she was level with a superbly taut butt as he bent to remove his boots. West’s shirt rode up to reveal a strip of tanned back and the waistband of some Calvin Klein logoed underwear. Her tongue dried out. Her nerves fizzed, like someone had shot a caffeine bullet into her exhausted body.
Get your head in the game, Pipe. She thrust her gaze down to her pale toes and stood before he spotted her appreciative examination of his rear end.
“Hey—your bag’s leaking,” he said.
She glanced down at the water seeping out of the bottom of her backpack. Ah, crap.
“Here.” He tossed her an old towel and snagged a strap, lifting her backpack as if it weighed nothing. “I’ll take this upstairs.”
“I can—”
“Civil, remember?”
“Right.” She crouched down to wipe the tiled floor and was rewarded with another view of West’s sublime rear as he disappeared up the stairs at the end of the entranceway. Fisher-the-Shrink hadn’t done a thorough enough job picking around in her brain, because she was clearly certifiable.
Piper padded up the stairs into an open-plan family and dining room. Plain but comfortable-looking navy sofas and matching armchairs were positioned in front of accordion glass doors, which opened on to a full-length deck. Framed photographs of native birds hung on the pale walls and only a couple of coasters were stacked on the coffee table. The style was understated and functional, from the airy space of the lounge to the clean modern lines of the small kitchen and wooden dining table.
Where were the Harley Davidson posters, the stack of tatty bike magazines, and the piles of dirty sports gear? When she’d been the annoying little sister desperate to hang out with her brother and his cool friends, West lived in the cottage behind Due South with his parents. Later, he and Ben shared a tiny four-room house. But this wasn’t a teenager’s sloppy hangout; this was a man’s home. West was no longer the carefree buddy from her childhood—and she’d best remember that when nosta
lgia and reality didn’t mesh.
Her shoulders sagged under the weight of memories. Nostalgia sucked.
“I’ve put your bag in the bathroom, first door on your right.” West appeared at her side with a stack of linen. “My office is the next room down. I’ll find you some an extra blankets in a sec.”
Piper blinked the dreamy rose-colored lens from her eyes. “Thanks.”
He offered her a thick white towel. A faded tee shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts were folded on top. “Thought you might want a shower and something dry to change into.”
“Oh—I don’t need those.”
“Did you use a plastic liner in your backpack?”
Know-it-all. “I forgot.”
“Then everything will be soaked. You can throw your wet stuff in the dryer.”
Her eyes widened. Wear West’s clothes?
He hooked the tee shirt up with one finger and dangled it in front of her. “If it makes you uncomfortable…”
“No, not at all.” Oh, she was way beyond uncomfortable. “Uh, I’ll hit the shower now. I’m making a damp patch on your carpet.”
Piper snatched the clothes and towel and marched into the bathroom.
Wrapped in the towel and finally warm after a decadently long time spent using up West’s hot water supply, Piper peeled open her backpack. Yup. Everything was drenched.
With a sigh she pulled on his shorts and picked up the tee shirt. The worn cotton slipped over her head, a shiver skating along her skin as she inhaled his scent. Sure, the tee shirt smelled of whatever laundry powder he preferred, but traces of something uniquely male, uniquely West, clung to the fabric. She slid her arms through the sleeves, letting the shirt caress her nakedness. Her skin, where the shirt touched, felt covered in prickly heat, and her nipples hardened into tiny exclamation points.
Total overreaction girl, you’re losing it.
She’d worn West’s clothes before. At fifteen she kept his Red Hot Chili Peppers tee shirt because he’d never asked for it back. And so what if she still had the shirt stuffed in a bottom drawer back in Wellington? Or if sometimes she’d wear it to bed—but only because it was so comfortable, and hey, she still loved the Chilies.
Piper threw her wet clothes into the dryer and cracked open the bathroom door. The house was silent, except for a faint murmur of a TV or radio from the opposite end of the hallway. With any luck West would’ve gone to bed, since she’d hogged the bathroom for a good half hour. She tiptoed to the room West had indicated and rushed inside. A meticulously organized computer desk sat opposite the futon sofa—the futon which he’d made up with sheets and blankets while she’d been in the shower.
Propped against the pillows lay a hot water bottle.
She sat on the bed and picked it up. West gave her dry clothes, fixed her bed, and filled a hot water bottle, somehow remembering how her feet froze on cooler nights. But, she thought, he didn’t want her anywhere near him.
Piper hugged the warmth of the rubber bottle and hoped the heat would nullify the tiny twinge in her chest.
West was woken by the now-familiar sound of thumps and snarled four-letter words as Ben crutch-hopped up his stairs.
Three fast raps on his door and a “Get your lazy ass out of bed,” had West rolling onto his back with a pillow jammed over his head, questioning why he hadn’t killed Ben when he moved downstairs a couple of months ago. It’d been a long time since they’d shared a house. Now he knew why.
He lifted a pillow corner and squinted at the blurry hands on his watch. Six a.m. Jesus. Normally he was up at the butt-crack of dawn, but how many hours sleep had he got last night? Two? Three at the most. Torturous hours spent listening to the hum of the dryer and imagining Piper naked under his old shirt, then kicking himself for allowing his mind to roam down that dead end street again.
Yeah, he was a guy and all, and therefore his dick often controlled the direction of his thoughts. What he should’ve been doing was figuring out who he could unload his unwanted houseguest onto. But with only four hundred locals living full time on the island, and a lot of those locals running B&Bs or renting their investment properties in the high tourist season, no one had a spare room.
“Coffee’s ready. Move or I’ll drink it all,” came Ben’s muffled yell from the kitchen.
West groaned, slid out of bed and walked to the French doors, which opened out onto the deck. Filaments of sunlight speared through the native bush surrounding his house and spilled like oiled silk over the flat surface of the bay below. Sunrise on another day in paradise. He tugged on some clothes and left his room, spotting the tousle-haired woman at the end of the hallway.
Piper. The metaphorical swarm of mosquitoes in his paradise.
She’d raided the dryer, dressed in her own clothes of cargo pants and a loose plaid shirt that skimmed over a breast-hugging tank top. And he tried, really tried, to ignore those breasts. It was far too early and he was far past his juvenile years of ogling a woman’s rack at any opportunity. He nodded curtly and strolled into the living room.
Besides, he’d been there, done that. Done her.
Ben turned from the kitchen counter, his free hand clenched around the handles of two coffee mugs. With a graceless balletic spin on his good foot he placed them on the dining table. “Coffee’s up—” His smile slipped as his glance slid from West to something a short distance behind. Ben straightened to his full height. “What’s she doing here?”
Ben’s suspicions as to where exactly Piper spent the night were etched on his wrinkled brow and stick-up-the-ass stiffness. West faked a yawn and slumped into a dining chair, his mind kicking into action. Did Ben honestly think he’d make a move on his sister on her first night back on the island? Because the idea of Ben figuring out he had a sexual history with Piper made him shudder.
Unwritten guy rule: You didn’t screw your best mate’s sister soon after her eighteenth birthday and then dump her like yesterday’s leftovers.
West took a sip of his coffee, keeping his gaze on the steaming mug. “Sod off, Ben. Go bitch to your mother if you’ve a problem with Piper staying in my office—it was her idea.”
Ben relaxed as he retrieved his crutches from their position against the kitchen counter and swung himself over to a chair. He picked up his cup and blew on it. “Touchy this morning, aren’t you?”
“Now, now, boys.” Piper swept into the kitchen heading straight for the coffee pot. “Let’s get some caffeine in us before we have to face the Inquisitioner, aka Mum.”
“What?” Ben said.
Piper scanned the row of cabinets above the counter and randomly opened one after another until she spotted the mugs. “You’d scurried away by the time Mum ordered us up to her place this morning.” She snagged a cup and filled it.
Ben groaned. “All of us?”
“Yep.”
“A family reunion at seven o’clock in the morning. Just great.” Ben swirled the contents of his coffee cup as if the grounds might reveal a plausible excuse his mother would buy.
West flexed his fingers and bit back a groan. Sounded like a fun meal. Not.
Bad enough having his house invaded by Harlands, screw being trapped with four of them in a room at the same time. Not even Glenna’s legendary cooked breakfast could tempt him. “Think I’ll give it a miss. Family dramas are not my scene.”
Piper leaned against the counter and slowly crossed one ankle over the other. Her steady, flat scrutiny made him wonder if this was the woman that apprehended criminals saw.
Cool. Centered. In control.
She snatched up the phone handset beside her and slid it across the table. It bumped against his coffee cup with a soft rattle. “Mum included you in that order disguised as an invitation. It’s your call.” Her voice was deceptively calm but beneath her even tone, flashes of temper sharpened the words. “You can ring to explain why you’re not coming because I’m not making excuses for you.”
Bugger. He could never say no to Glenna Harland. Fo
r that matter, he could never say no to Piper.
“Call it a miracle, but for once I agree with Piper.”
West dragged his gaze from her and refocused on Ben.
“Since you’re now part of the Save-Poor-Ben team, you should be there.” Ben shoved his cup away and stood. “Just keep you head down, eat your breakfast, and agree with everything Mum says.”
A dry chuckle escaped West. “You can tell you’ve been raised in a household of women. Jeez.”
“Well, you and your bro hung around us long enough to know what it’s like when you’re outnumbered. You smile and wave to keep the women happy and then do whatever you need to do.”
Piper threw up her hands. “Uh, hello? Female person right here.”
Ben tucked the crutches under his arms. “Though in Piper’s case you may want to cover your nuts if she catches you. I’ll wait downstairs.”
The clock ticked off monotonous seconds after Ben left the room.
“So. Are you coming…or not?” Piper crossed her arms, cleavage appearing at the motion.
Awareness clawed through his empty belly at the peaked outline of two nipples pressing against her top in the cool morning air. Coming or not. There would be no coming with Piper any time in his future. His dick twitched once in rebellion and he resisted the urge to adjust himself.
West shook his head and drained the remains of his coffee with a grimace. “I’ll go. Give me twenty minutes to shower and shave.”
“Better make it thirty—what, with you needing to fix your hair and all.” A dimple winked in her cheek as she sashayed past.
West scraped a hand over his chin to mask the curl of his lips. That was the Piper he remembered. He blew out his cheeks in a harsh puff of air. Problem was, he remembered too much.
So it’d better be a cold shower.
Chapter Four
A typical Harland family get-together, the peace lasted ten minutes after they arrived in her mother’s kitchen.
Piper sat beside Shaye, who gave their brother the stink-eye across the kitchen table. Ben refused to contribute to the stilted conversation and continued to mainline his breakfast. West, seated next to him, hadn’t glanced up since Glenna placed his plate in front of him.
Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book Page 4
