“Wait.” West’s large hand spanned her knee. “You’ll cut yourself.”
“I’m not the one with bare feet,” she said.
West turned and scooped her slipper off the floor. “Here, Cinderella.” He shoved it on her foot, his eyes sparking blue fire. “Now you can flee the ball.”
He stepped over the worst of the broken china to the row of cupboards under the sink, yanking one open and removing a roll of paper towels.
Piper hopped off the table and caught the roll he tossed. “I’m not running from you.”
As she tore off a length of sheets she could’ve sworn she heard him mumble under his breath, “You will.”
She picked up china shards and placed them on the table. West left the kitchen and reappeared at her side a few moments later wearing ancient flip-flops and carrying a dustpan and brush. “Here, hop out the way. I’ve got it.”
She backed up a few steps and re-belted her robe. A delayed blush crept up her throat. Her breasts ached and she could still feel his hands molding and squeezing her butt. Good God, what had she been thinking? She hadn’t been thinking—that was the problem.
West brushed tiny mug shards into the dustpan and sent her a sidelong glance that seemed to say What? You still here? reducing her to his mate’s annoying little sister who
didn’t know when her company wasn’t welcome any longer.
“I’m sorry about your mug.” She twisted the robe’s belt around and around her index finger.
“It’s nothing.” Like you, his tone implied. “Look, I can finish up in here. It’s late, go back to bed.” He carried the dustpan to the pantry and removed an old newspaper from a shelf inside.
“West—” The words to defend her actions, to lighten the moment and pretend the aftermath of their encounter didn’t hurt because that kiss was wrong even if it’d felt so damn right—those words just snagged in a lump in her throat, and she fell silent.
“Just go to bed.” He blinked slowly with a grimace. “Please.”
She should’ve held her ground. Or prayed divine inspiration would supply a flippant parting shot to cover the discovery that the kiss meant far more to her than to him. But instead she fled.
Like Cinderella.
Only minus the stylish ball gown, and a Prince who thought she was worth chasing.
Chapter Eight
There was something downright disturbing about finding your mate with his ass stuck up in the air at six in the morning.
Ben crutch-hopped past West and his down-doggy-something-or-other pose on the living room floor.
“Point it in some other direction, will ya,” he called over his shoulder as he entered the kitchen, moving to the coffee machine. “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”
Jesus, his head hurt. Concentrating for hours hunched over his laptop last night, he’d tried to sort out more of his financial stuff. He’d heard West stomp up the stairs and then he must’ve flaked out cold—waking sometime after two, still at his desk. Made him wistful for the good old days when only a hangover caused him to feel like death in the morning. Not to mention his ankle throbbed like a bitch.
A whisper of bare feet on the yoga mat behind him as West shifted position. “You should join me. Maybe you’d end up with a tight ass like mine and actually get laid in the near future.”
Ben snagged a container and dumped a few scoops of ground coffee into the belly of the beast. “Are you saying my butt’s fat?”
“I’m saying you need a woman. A decent session of bumping uglies will improve the bitchy mood you’ve been in for weeks.”
Ben turned, scoop in hand. West lunged into another ridiculous pose, like he was about to hurl an invisible javelin. “I’m not in a bitchy mood. Bitchy moods are a female thing.” Ben glared at the grin on West’s face. “Oh, don’t go there, yoga-boy. Besides, I’ve had sex—didn’t improve anything.”
“Then you did it wrong. And sleeping with that scatty cow, Jules, four months ago doesn’t count.”
Jules must’ve agreed with that assessment, since she and Curt had not only taken off and left him in the lurch, but taken off as a cutesy couple. “I’m sick of holding one way conversations,” she’d moaned at him that last day. “Curt talks to me, and he listens to my feelings.”
Served that weasely little prick Curt right. Now he could put up with her two-hour monologues.
“Whatever. Not like there are many options around here.” Ben hit the switch and the coffee machine kicked in with its soft hisses and pops.
“You’re kidding. It’s high summer—there are women all over the place.”
West eased to the floor and did his cross-legged thing, resting his hands palm up on his knees and closing his eyes. The guys would’ve given him grief about doing yoga back when they all used to hang out as teenagers. But other than Ford and that prick Gav, all their other mates had left for greener pastures. And West swore yoga helped with his free-diving.
“Not my style.” He grabbed two cups, hesitated, then reached for a third.
“Bro, you don’t have a style. You’re styleless and verbally handicapped when it comes to women.”
“Yeah? Well your style got you pushed off the wharf yesterday.”
West grunted, but kept his eyes shut, inhaling until the outline of his ribs became prominent.
“Did you ream her out when you got home last night?”
West blew out a long, slow breath. “Nope. It was just a misunderstanding.”
“So you kissed and made up then?”
An eye popped open for a split second and then snapped shut while West sucked down another lungful of air. He huffed that one out, angling his head down to contemplate his navel, or whatever he did while doing that weird breathing stuff.
“I called her out on her overreaction and she told me I had dick for brains for free-diving. Kind of a mutual agreement to drop the subject after that.”
“Women never know when to drop the subject—that goes double for Piper.”
“She doesn’t have much to say to you. Now, shut up, I’m breathing here.”
Piper’s grim-lipped stance around him hadn’t eased. His memories of his sister’s nonstop chattering didn’t mesh with the woman who’d shown up last week. Probably because every moment spent here with her family was a moment too many. Couldn’t wait to get away; too bloody stubborn to leave. Or maybe her silence came about because she remembered the accusations he threw at her after their dad’s death.
The coffee finished trickling into the pot and filled the kitchen with the unmistakable smell of decent java juice, one of the bonuses of hanging out at West’s for the next few weeks until the summer season was over and he moved back into his house.
“Morning.” Piper stood in the kitchen doorway, fully dressed, boots and all.
“Didn’t take you long to smell the coffee.”
She shrugged, ambled into the kitchen and grabbed the mug he offered. “I need it. West’s bringing The Mollymawk to the wharf later so Mum and I can make sure it’s outfitted properly for the weekend.” Her gaze darted left to West, still cross-legged on his mat.
“Ahhh. A day spent with Mum fussing with bed sheets and folding facecloths into funny shapes, I can see why you—”
“What is he doing?”
Ben twisted his neck to follow her gaze. “Sitting like a preschooler and huffing like a steam engine.”
“In his underwear?” Piper’s voice rose half an octave on the last word, a flush of high color appearing on her cheekbones.
“Be thankful,” he said the driest tone he could muster. “Usually it’s clothing optional.”
“Up,” West said after inhaling. “Yours,” he completed on exhaling. “It’s my house, my shorts—not underwear—and it’s Pranayama, or yoga breathing for an ignoramus such as yourself.”
Ben pulled the coffee carafe from the machine and poured a cup. “You just missed him doing his doggy-style pose. Quite fetching, really.”
Piper darte
d a glance in West’s direction and then a suspicious look at him, as if she couldn’t quite believe he’d include her in their good-natured ragging. She shoved her mug out for Ben to fill. “I’m lucky I slept in then.”
Ben waited until she raised the coffee to her lips and sipped. “Kissing up to West last night tired you out, hmm?”
Droplets flew in an arc as Piper choked and spluttered. Ben rescued the mug from her hand and leaned against the counter, his gaze skipping between his sister and West. Without sparing a glance at Piper who coughed up a lung over the sink, West rose, rolled up his mat, and said, “I’m hitting the pool for an hour.”
Ben filled a glass with water and gave it to his gasping sister. Ah, bollocks, something was going on with West and Piper. Again.
Piper. Kiss-flushed, thighs spread, and moaning on his dining table. That was all he’d be thinking about on this romance cruise. He’d tasted her and now it made him want to pound the hell outta something.
West stepped from The Mollymawk’s wheelhouse and gave a mock salute to Ben below on the wharf. Ben cast off the last rope and aimed his crutch, pretending to pull an invisible trigger. Mate, if only you knew the images in my head you’d be reaching for the real McCoy.
With a shake of his head, West retreated into the wheelhouse and navigated The Mollymawk away from the wharf, out into the choppy waves of Halfmoon Bay.
A short time later, footsteps tapped into the wheelhouse behind him. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other gripped on the throttle arm. That he could sense Piper’s proximity now just smeared another layer of annoyance across his skin. He was far too aware of her. The mango scent of her skin and the throaty laugh she let loose whenever she thought he wasn’t around. The whiplash along his nerves when their eyes met. Frickin’ killed his concentration and kept him on edge.
And that smoking-hot kiss? He sucked in a breath and blew out his cheeks. Yeah. That murdered his concentration even more.
“They all settled in?” he asked.
“Yep.” A glance at the window in front of him reflected Piper’s tousle-haired image leaning against the doorway. “Couples one and two are keen to snorkel for a few hours before lunch. The husband of couple three wants to fish, while his wife plans to catch some rays and sneak admiring glances at your butt.”
“What? She said that?”
Piper sauntered over and flopped onto the other helm seat, exposing a mile long length of leg that tempted him to lean over and run his hand along the silky skin.
“Not in so many words, but wife number three definitely checked you out.”
Wife number three was attractive in a barracuda-ish type way, but Piper wouldn’t mean the comment to be a compliment about his charming way with women. He sure didn’t take it as one. “The woman’s pushing fifty.”
“Yeah, well, don’t let her trap you in a dark corner is all I’m saying.” She gazed out the window at the froth and spray kicked up by the boat’s bow. The Mollymawk surged over another crest and Piper’s hand gripped the seat under her leg.
“Ah, do you think the weather will hold?” she asked.
He braced himself at the wheel as the boat rocked down into a trough. “Once we’re in the inlet it’ll settle down, and the forecast was okay. Not great, but okay.”
“Great would be better,” Piper muttered, barely audible above the engine and rhythmic smack of waves on the hull.
West sneaked a sidelong glance. She had one arm wrapped around her middle, molding her shirt’s soft fabric to her breasts, and the other hand cupped by her mouth, her teeth worrying the edge of a fingernail. What hid under her top—a plain sports bra, or something wickedly skimpy and trimmed in lace?
Jeez, West, stop thinking with your dick. He cleared his throat. “But no pressure or anything.”
She looked at him then, hazel eyes darkening to cool green chips, like sea glass buffed to a matt surface. “It’s not you my family’s watching—they’re waiting for me to stuff up in another epic fail.”
“Nobody wants you to fail.”
“They don’t want me to fail. They just expect me to quit.”
Funny that people might arrive at that conclusion. But not so funny when his heart jerked out of rhythm for a couple of beats. Like he cared if she left the island again. “People’s expectations, huh? That sucks.”
Her casual slouch on the seat unfolded until she sat bolt upright. “I’m not a quitter. I don’t give up.” She read the cynicism on his face and added, “Extreme circumstances nine years ago, West, and you know it. I didn’t quit.”
“Yeah, you did. You used Mike’s death as an excuse to quit your family and leave Oban.”
She winced, but her flat, cop eyes didn’t shift away. “My father dying was not an excuse. I was leaving anyway. I had no reason to stay.”
“There was every reason to stay. Your mother needed you. Your little sister needed you. Even Ben needed you, though he would’ve denied it.” I needed you. Not that she could ever torture it out of him, not even with red-hot needles threatening his balls.
“Did you need me?” The bitterness in her tone hauled him up sharp. “No, dumb question. You didn’t. You were glad to see me go.”
Not glad—guilty. He’d tried to talk to her, to apologize for being such a wanker before her father died, but Piper refused to speak to him. So he’d done nothing, gave up, and let her go. And the night she left he drank himself into oblivion and woke the next morning on the bathroom floor covered in regurgitated whiskey. Yeah, he handled her departure real well.
He made a conscious effort to keep his brow smooth and his jaw relaxed. “Regardless of what happened between us—our teenage fumbling or whatever you want to call it—your family needed you here.”
Piper lurched to her feet, her eyes wide and shiny. “Teenage fumbling? You think our teenage fumbling was the reason I left everything I loved, everyone I cared about, behind?”
Now he’d done it. Had he actually made her cry? “Piper—”
Her pale face looked like she was suffering a mixed-spirits hangover.
Shit. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh, because he just didn’t do harsh with women. Women made him laugh, made him lust, and sometimes made him crazy—but no one, other than Piper, rattled him enough to lose control of his tongue. She’d abandoned them all, but yeah, ancient history. And nothing that should bug him enough to dredge it all up again.
“Listen, I shouldn’t have—”
“You, you—” she jabbed a finger at him, clapped a hand over her mouth, and bolted from the wheelhouse.
Not even the growl of The Mollymawk’s engines could drown out the sound of Piper retching over the starboard side.
West shoved a hand through his hair and swore, easing back on the throttle.
Yep. He had a hell of a way with women.
Piper sprawled on her bunk bed with the crook of her elbow covering her face and her fingertips resting on an empty just-in-case bucket by her side. A soft knock at the door made her moan. Wife number three, who turned out to be a nurse, no doubt returning to check she hadn’t choked to death on her own vomit. Though as West pointed out, no one died of seasickness.
There was always a first time, and the only consolation in this humiliating experience was she hadn’t puked on his shoes.
The door creaked open. “You alive?”
Okay, now she wished she had, in fact, puked on his shoes.
“Go away, West. I’ll be out in five minutes.”
He ignored her and walked over to her bunk, draping something cool and moist across her brow. Another moan oozed between her lips. God that felt good!
“I take it back. You can stay and keep bringing me cold washcloths.”
The mattress dipped as he sat by her knees. “So. A seasickness prone police diver, hmm?”
“Uh-huh. The squad thinks it’s a hoot.”
“Bet you don’t throw up in front of them, though.”
She waggled her head from side to side t
o indicate that no, she definitely didn’t toss her cookies in front of the guys—when her stomach lurched again.
Oh, crap. She rolled onto her side fumbling for the bucket, but West already had it in position. Maybe she imagined it, hard to tell with her guts wringing the last of her breakfast out, but she could’ve sworn he rubbed her back as she heaved.
A small towel appeared under her nose.
“Here,” his voice was oddly gentle. “Wipe your mouth.”
“Thanks.” She dabbed at her lips, blinked back tears, and squeezed the towel so hard the little cotton loops were sure to leave indentations on her palms. “You’ve done this before.”
His low chuckle had her gripping the towel for entirely different reasons. “Your first drinking binge. Both our dads would’ve tanned your hide if they’d caught you that night.”
Sinking back down into the mattress, Piper covered her face with her elbow again. “Luckily you found me.”
A skinny sixteen-year-old girl hunched up at the outskirts of the beach bonfire because she’d decided to show West she wasn’t a little girl anymore by drinking three bottles of beer in quick succession. That time she really did barf on his shoes.
“The first and only time you let me take care of you.”
“I didn’t want you to take care of me.”
She’d wanted him to notice her as someone other than Ben’s tomboy sister and one of the guys. She wanted him to kiss her under the star studded sky with the flickering flames shooting sparks high into the night. She wanted him to kiss her, instead of Brittany the petite blonde staying with her grandparents for the Christmas holidays.
“Because you can take care of yourself, right?” He laid the damp washcloth across her forehead again.
“Right.”
“And you’re not going to make a pass at me like you did back then?”
Oh Lord. Kill her now and spare the humiliation. He remembered that too? “I deny making a pass at you, Ryan Westlake. You’d had a few beers yourself, so your recall must be flawed.”
“Nope. I remember the aftermath of your barf-fest well. You made drunken goo-goo eyes at me and tried dragging me in for a kiss.”
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