“Well, they’ve been best friends since your mum first came out to New Zealand.”
“Men don’t do that sort of friendship. You walk away, cut your ties, and you’re off their Christmas card list.”
He would’ve scratched her name out of his address book back on the day he dumped her, then.
West carried their mugs over and sat in the opposite chair. “No sugar, right?” He handed her the plain blue mug, and took the turkey one for himself.
Impressed he remembered how she preferred her tea, she blinked. “No.”
“Still sweet enough, huh?”
“I was never sweet.”
“No, you weren’t.” He tempered the comment with a crooked grin which emphasized the fine lines around his eyes. He looked tired—dog tired—so she’d better get to the point. “I made Bill an appointment with the doctor tomorrow.”
West’s mug stopped halfway to his mouth. “He let you make a doctor’s appointment?”
“I can be very persuasive. Plus, I threatened to sic the church ladies onto him if he refused to cooperate.”
“Now why didn’t I ever think of that?” West sipped his tea.
“I threatened him with you first, but it had no effect. He’ll be pissed I’m even telling you about this.” Piper wrapped her fingers around the mug’s warmth and squeezed to keep her voice steady. “Your father’s not a well man.”
West’s nose crinkled. “It’s just the flu. Man flu as Shaye calls it. Take dose of harden the hell up and don’t whine about it in the morning.”
“Maybe it’s the flu, but maybe it’s something else. He’s not eating properly and it looks like he’s lost weight. Not to mention he’s worse than a woman ducking into the bathroom every half an hour or so.”
He studied her like a specimen in a petri dish. “You’re really worried?”
Yes, she was—and he needn’t look so insultingly surprised. Bill was a grouch and a slave driver, but she had a soft spot for the man who used to sneak her home-baked afghan cookies after a rough day at school.
“I just wanted you know what’s going on, so you can keep a check on him. It’d tick me off if your dad keeled over and I had to take on more prep stuff than I’m already doing. I hate cooking more than I hate dishes, so I know it’d give you great pleasure to make that part of your reimbursement.”
“Shaye’s capable of running the kitchen solo for the next few days while Dad’s not well.” He tipped his chair back on two legs and sent her a smile hot enough to cause sunburn. “And I have other ideas of how you can repay me.” His gaze zipped down to the v-neck of her robe which, judging by the cool air caressing her skin, gaped open.
Tugging the garment edges shut would only draw more attention to the hammering pulse at the base of her throat, so she kept her fingers clamped around the mug. “Oh? Since I’m already Bill’s all-purpose drudge, how could you demean me more?”
“As I said, I’ve other ideas, but I’ll save them for another time. Right now, explain why you pushed me off the dock.”
Her stomach churned the tea she’d sipped into choppy waves. West. Free-diving for the Nationals. God. “Because you’re a cocky asshole—and with dick for brains to boot.” Piper stood and walked to the sink, pouring the steaming remains of her tea down the drain.
“And you’ve formed this opinion because I choose to free-dive.”
She kept her back to him. “Actually I’ve known you’re an asshole for a number of years.”
The chair creaked as West rocked it back and forth. She wished it’d tip and drop him on his self-satisfied butt. She fussed at the sink, running hot water to flush the tea and rinse out her mug.
“I know what I’m doing. I’m not some amateur who’s bought a mask and fins and decided to see how far he can dive. I’ve trained for years.”
Piper twisted the water off so tightly it was a wonder the tap handle didn’t crack off in her hand. “So did Dad.”
“I’m not Michael.”
She turned back. “The risks of free-diving, especially free immersion, are high. Dangerously high if you’re pushing yourself.”
“I know my limit. And the biggest risks in free-diving are caused by inexperience and the lack of a good buddy to make sure you don’t suffer a shallow water blackout.”
“Hello?—talking to a police diver. I know the risks. So you don’t feel any urge to push the boundaries, to win the Nationals?”
“I have my own reasons for competing, and I know I can win.”
His own reasons? To prove his balls were bigger than any of the other men at Lake Taupo? She snorted, crossing her arms with a slight shake of her head. “As I said, you’re a cocky asshole. Which’ll probably get you killed.”
“Aw, baby. I didn’t know you cared.”
“I don’t, other than in a professional capacity. I’m sick of pulling dead idiots from the water. Guys who think they’re so invincible they don’t need a lifejacket in an ill-equipped boat—the worst are those who bring innocent kiddies on board and don’t bother fitting them with lifejackets either. Or fishermen who are so gung-ho trying to catch the big one they forget how unforgiving the ocean is.” She clicked her teeth shut. Crap. She’d revealed much more than she intended.
“Sick of it, huh? So why do you continue to do it?”
“It’s my job. I have to.”
West lowered the chair onto four legs. “Have to?”
Blood pounded through her head, buzzed in her eardrums. “I told you the other day, I’m not discussing my career with you.”
He crossed his ankles, his steady gaze pinning her in place against the counter. “Fair enough. Let’s return to the subject of you worrying about my welfare. Was your overreaction at the wharf a desperate ploy for attention, like how you used to scare the bejesus out of Johnny Martin, hoping he’d chase you around the playground and try to kiss you?”
She stiffened, dumbstruck at the small crease of a smirk ghosting his lips. He thought she wanted his attention? Wanted him? Well, shamefully she’d started to, but damned if she’d let him know. “I was ten years old and I did not hope he’d kiss me! And FYI, I don’t need to push you off the dock to get your attention. You’ve been all but panting after me since I arrived back.”
West rocked back on his chair again, tilted his face to the ceiling and laughed. “Really? Who was eyeballing who in the pool the other morning?”
“I think your fancy swimming trunks showed the truth of that situation. You were the one sporting a hard-on then, and you were the one sporting a hard-on only minutes ago.”
“I’m a guy, these things happen. It’s nothing personal.” He folded his arms, the thin cotton of his shirt pulling against the contoured outline of his chest, the muscles in his forearms standing out in stark relief. Not that she noticed or anything.
“You weren’t my type then, and you sure aren’t now,” he said.
Nothing personal? Not his type? Well, no shit, Sherlock. But not being his “type” didn’t stop his penis finding her attractive.
So, screw it—she’d call his bluff.
Piper strode to the table, fisted a handful of West’s shirt, and tugged him forward so the feet of his balanced chair banged down on the floor. Bracing her free hand on the table behind her, she leaned in, keeping her eyes open to savor the flash of shock in his. She hesitated a breath away, drawing in the male smell of him. The remains of his cologne, a whisper of salt spray. Her fingers gripped his shirt, and the warmth of his chest pressed against her knuckles tingled like she’d grazed the side of a furnace. Always so hot, his fast metabolism used to drive her nuts.
Hot in more ways than one.
Piper dipped closer and pressed against warm and inflexible lips. Lips unwilling to part even a fraction to accommodate or welcome her.
Tough guy, huh? She nipped the slight swell of his bottom lip, and sucked gently— a trick which hadn’t been in her armory of feminine wiles at an innocent eighteen. No response. Her face flamed again.
>
Suddenly it was waaay too hot in the kitchen.
Congrats, Pipe. You’ve just made a complete fool of yourself once again, pawing at the man who, let’s be fair, warned you he wasn’t interested.
With any luck New Zealand’s propensity for earthquakes would kick in at this precise moment, cracking open a chasm beneath her feet which she could quietly slither into. She jerked her head back, but a large hand on her nape prevented her complete escape. West’s other hand landed on her hip and squeezed, freezing her in an awkwardly bent position.
“Let me go.” She tried to duck away, but his fingers snatched the soft toweling of her robe and held her still, like a kitten plucked up by the scruff of its neck.
“You grabbed me first, so you let go.”
She unclenched her fingers from his shirt. “Now take your hands off me.”
“But baby, you started this.” The hand on her hip tugged her closer, her inner thighs brushing against the smooth fabric pulled taut over his long legs.
She tugged at the fingers on her hip, wriggling at the same time, desperate to escape. “And now I’m ending it.”
“I’ll decide where it ends,” he said.
Her reflexes were wicked fast. As a police officer they needed to be. Moving fast could mean the difference between an arrest and a broken nose. Or a stint in hospital. So when West released her neck and yanked her robe open, plunged his hands inside and pulled on her hips until she tumbled onto his lap, she had plenty of time to react. Plenty of options to teach him to keep his hands to himself. She could’ve shoved him backwards. Kneed him in the nuts. Punched the Cheshire cat grin off his face. But instead her stony resistance melted, and she flowed onto him like lava.
His hands tugged the robe off her shoulders in quick, sure movements. She rested her weight on his rigid chest muscles, and shivered when his lips skimmed her collar bone. Hot, but not feathery light kisses blazed over her skin, and his teeth at the sensitive spot at the base of her throat nipped hard enough to blast any illusions of tenderness she might’ve had aside. This was lust, not desire. He wanted her, being pressed against his arousal left little doubt on that count. But the frost in his eyes as their gazes locked told her he didn’t want to want her.
Even so, she couldn’t stop from swaying forward until their lips were only inches apart. Her heartbeat soared, and her traitorous mouth parted in anticipation, yet she wouldn’t close the remaining distance. “I’m not kissing you again.”
“You’re not?”
“No. You’re not my type, either.”
He angled his head and his breath, warm and tinged with the faint scent of the bergamot oil in his Earl Grey tea, caressed her cheek. “Our radical deviation from type established, it still doesn’t change this—” He bridged the gap, and his mouth settled on hers.
Resist! Resist him! The order welled up in Piper’s brain in a fiery mantra. He resisted her kiss, she’d show him he didn’t affect her in the slightest either. She resisted, and by resistance she meant keeping her lips together—until his tongue flickered along the seam of her mouth.
On her soft gasp he wielded his advantage and urged her to open further, distracting her with his fingers sliding into her hair, positioning her exactly where he wanted. He played with her. Teased with kisses which retreated as soon as she capitulated and gave his questing tongue access. He caused her breath to hitch, her fingers to bunch into fists over his thudding heart. Bastard. But two could play this savage little game.
Piper linked her ankles around the chair back to keep their lower bodies aligned, one fluffy slipper falling off while she writhed on the hard ridge of his erection. Desperate craving swelled the tender flesh between her thighs as sensual heat scorched up from her core. She wanted him. Right now, right here, pride be damned.
Dropping her forearms from West’s chest, Piper’s breasts took their place. She took a second to luxuriate in his body shifting against her sensitized nipples. She shoved her fingers into West’s hair either side of his ears and grabbed hold, dragging his lips back on hers. Bright lights exploded behind her eyelids as she shut them against the kaleidoscope of emotions fighting for dominance. Need. Lust. Anger.
This time the kiss West returned lacked teasing and playfulness. Harsh, demanding, his tongue dueled with hers. His hands left her hair, slid down her body and dived under the robe to grab her butt, shifting her impossibly closer as he angled his hips up. She wrenched away on a muffled groan, sucked his earlobe between her lips and bit down.
West surged out of the chair, her legs automatically clinging to his hips. He set her on the table edge and kissed her again, fitting himself between her thighs. Breaths backing up in her lungs, Piper couldn’t get enough oxygen into her system. Every gasp she managed to suck in was all West. His scent filled her nose, the taste of him silky and hot. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find a trace of herself left in this woman who moaned and writhed against him.
Wrong, this was all so wrong.
She ripped her fingers from West’s shoulders and flung her hands down, hoping to use the leverage of the table to push him away. Her left hand connected with a still warm object, toppled it. Hot tea splashed across her fingers, followed by a sharp crack as the mug hit the floor and shattered.
“Shit.” West jerked back. His heel connected with his chair and sent it skidding. “Are you okay? Did it burn you?”
Piper glanced at the liquid splashed across the back of her hand, the slight sting seeping into her knuckles, the bee-stung heat radiating from her lips and the deeper sting prickling the inside her chest.
Yeah, it burned all right. Her emotional control had turned to ashes.
“I’m fine.” Nowhere near the realm of fine. Blood stampeded through her body, and every vein carrying it seemed to be on a direct route to her girly-bits. If he touched her again now, wrong or not, she might spontaneously combust. “I’m not burned.”
Damp heat soaked into her thigh as the tea pooled over the table and pattered onto the floor. The turkey mug lay in half a dozen jagged pieces. She tipped herself forward to slide off the table—
“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 i
n 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 8
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.”
In Too Deep Page 10
