In Too Deep

by Tracey Alvarez

  Ben’s indifference hurt but West’s hurt on a whole new level. Caring about what he thought was another painful illustration of her vulnerability where he was concerned. Piper hated that weakness in herself—and that wasn’t dramatic, just truth.

  “We’ll see.” She scrambled to her feet, brushing the sand from her legs.

  West rose beside her in one fluid movement and touched her forearm. She started and he dropped his hand, shoving it into the pocket of his shorts.

  “I want to ask you something.” His gaze was steady and unblinking and as it lingered her stomach clenched in knots.

  “Ask away.”

  “I want you to be my safety diver while I train for Nationals.”

  The words were a body blow, a battering onslaught that spun her thoughts so fast lightheadedness made her sway. Digging her toes into the sand as an anchor, Piper checked herself and schooled her features into a mask of polite interest that promised nothing. The same expression she adopted when one of her cop buddies was after a quick cash loan. “Really? And is this the final installment on the reimbursement you think I still owe?”

  “It crossed my mind.” His eyebrows drew together. “But I’m asking you because other than Ben, there’s no one else I trust at my back.”

  “I’m flattered. But no thanks.” She turned to walk away, but he came up behind her, his hands wrapping around her upper arms.

  His chest brushed her shoulder blades and warm breath puffed against the curve of her ear. Goosebumps prickled across her skin as his fingers traced down her arms and linked their hands together. “Taking off again? You’re becoming predictable.”

  “Sometimes being predictable will keep you alive.” Her words came out choppy and Marilyn-Monroe-breathy. “You know what I think about the risks of free-diving.”

  “Without training, I’d agree. But I’ve been doing this for a long time and only a couple of years ago I did an intensive course in the Bahamas with world champions of the discipline. I know what I’m doing.”

  Yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing—murmuring in that seductive voice, which would normally have women whipping off their panties in two seconds flat. She was not one of those women. Yet she couldn’t explain why she hadn’t disentangled herself from his embrace. “It’s still too dangerous.”

  “That’s where your expertise comes in.” He gripped her hands and moved in even closer, the front of his thighs brushing the backs of hers, her bottom settling into the cradle of his hips.

  A flash of heat boiled through her at the contact. God, he was always a sly one at getting what he wanted. While other men would yell and demand, West was far craftier. He used his slick conversational skills and potent touch to talk a woman into thinking capitulation was her idea all along.

  He pulled back fractionally and his stubble scratched the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She shivered, cursed herself for the weakness of wanting him to do it again.

  “No. I can’t.”

  His body aligned to hers from back to thigh, the hard curve of his biceps pressing against her arms. He cocooned her in the powerful heat which pumped off him, warming her chilled skin. He lifted their linked hands up and wrapped them, and his arms, around her waist. “You could keep me safe.”

  Her heart tripped and plummeted, taking her back to the early morning when she was eighteen, woken before dawn by her father yanking the covers off her tear-stained face saying, “Looks like it’s you and me kid, because Ben didn’t come home last night. Not that it matters. You’ll keep me safe.”

  But she hadn’t, had she?

  “Don’t ask me that! Dad asked me to keep him safe and he died.” Her voice cracked on the last word and she threw herself forward, but strong arms pinned her.

  “Christ, Piper.”

  She struggled, a feeble struggle that embarrassed her because, really, the strength of his arms around her was the only thing keeping her on her feet. She went limp and allowed him to gather her into the cradle of his chest. He turned her to face him and wrapped her in his arms, fitting her body flush against his, tucking her head under his jaw, where it had always fitted perfectly and somehow still did.

  She breathed him in, the thud of his pulse a steady metronome. West’s chest vibrated against her cheek as he murmured soothing words. Her eyes fluttered shut. Just one moment. His shirt smelled of the wine husband number three accidently spilled on him—that and the ever-present salt and the fainter traces of soap. Just one more. The scruff of his unshaven chin scraped against her temple. She clung limpet-like to the solid bulk of him while his fingers rubbed her upper back in small circles.

  She wanted to suspend this moment forever.

  And that jerked her back to her senses. Power and one-upmanship dominated the kiss they’d shared back in West’s kitchen, but this hug was much more dangerous. This intimacy, these delicate tendrils of trust sprouting between them, they were the real threat.

  “Is this about your dad? You can’t still blame yourself for his death.”

  Yes, she could blame herself and did. But she also blamed him. The twenty-year-old Ryan Westlake who’d made her believe that he wanted her—loved her—and then took the love and trust she’d handed him and crushed it between calloused fingers. If she hadn’t been grieving over a relationship that existed mainly in her own head, her father might still be alive.

  She stiffened, and her fingers, which had curled into fists in the back of his tee shirt, creaked open.

  “You were only eighteen. He should’ve known better than to take you out alone.”

  He was offering her the comfort of someone who had lost Michael too. But she wouldn’t accept his comfort, because he didn’t know exactly what happened that day.

  “You’re a trained police diver,” he said. “You must be pretty good to make it on the squad. You’re not that eighteen-year-old girl anymore.”

  She was definitely not that girl anymore. The girl who was so caught up, so ass-over-heels in love with him, that she’d destroyed her family.

  Piper pulled back and met his gaze. Years of cop discipline prevented temper from spilling into her voice. “I’m more than pretty good.”

  “So, help me. Please.”

  Trained by the country’s best through harrowing conditions, she’d succeeded where many had failed. She knew a hell of a lot more now than she did at eighteen. And she had no sappy, lovesick emotions to deal with this time.

  Piper pried herself from the circle of West’s arms and backed away. “Will you still dive if I say no?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’ve no death wish. I won’t train in open water without a safety diver. But if I don’t train then there’s no way I’ll be fit to compete at the Nationals and no way to help Ben.”

  What was he talking about? “How does your competing help Ben?”

  “Stewart Island Dives is sponsoring me.”

  Her brother’s company inherited from their father after he died. “But Ben has no money for sponsorship.”

  “Nope, not a bean. But if I win, he gets free publicity and a loan from me with the prize money.”

  “Hah. So competing in the Nationals is completely altruistic? You just want to help my brother out?” She couldn’t stop her lip from curling and her stomach agitated queasily.

  “I don’t deny I want to win, but the publicity’ll be good for him.”

  Yeah. And there was the crux. The one thing that could change her mind. The publicity and cash loan would be good—could make a huge difference in saving her brother’s home, her father’s business.

  She slapped her hands on her hips. “Fine. But if I’m your safety diver, then I make the rules.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Fat, wet droplets splattered on her scalp, then targeted her bare arms, her shoulders, her legs—Jeez, couldn’t she ever cop a break? The clouds above Kahurangi Bay tore open. She squinched her eyes shut, the hands on her hips curling into fists.

  In the distance came catcalls and squeals of
laughter from the other couples. Rain hissed and pattered as it hit sea and sand, and the smell of brine grew stronger. A finger traced the curve of her cheek. Her eyes popped open. West closed the gap between them, his face wet, dark hair plastered against his head.

  “You’re pissed at me again.” He tucked a dripping strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know why I’m not surprised.”

  No way would she confess the thoughts playing through her head these last few minutes. “I’m not pissed at you. It’s the rain—kind of a predictable end to this disastrous day.”

  “You never used to like things being predictable.”

  Yep, once she’d been the wild one. The impulsive, crazy girl always up for a dare, taking any opportunity to prove she was fit to be part of her brother’s older, all male posse. And West? Well, West slipped easily into the role of an easy-going pal, patient and secretly protective of Ben’s little sister. The sensible, practical one.

  Her gaze dropped to the soft knit of his white tee shirt, soaked through now, transparent as it clung to the slight swell of his pecs and the jut of his small male nipples. Certain erogenous zones on her body started cranking out heat, unhampered by the cold rain.

  “Sometimes predictable is safer. And regarding the weather, which is what we’re talking about, predictable is preferable.”

  He ran a palm over his face and slicked back his dripping hair. “So if I kissed you now, would that make me predictable or unpredictable?”

  “You’re not kissing me at all. Not unless you want me to do some serious dental damage to your pretty-boy smile.”

  West stepped closer, she stepped back, but another flash of that pretty-boy smile stopped her from retreating any further. He was teasing, toying with her emotions again. Their inexplicable attraction to each other was just a big joke. Well, har-de-har-har. She didn’t feel like playing, but she wasn’t going to run either.

  “You want me to kiss you again. I know you do.” His gaze purposely dropped and his grin expanded exponentially. “The evidence is right there, front and center, Officer Harland.”

  Goddamn misbehaving body parts. But she wouldn’t draw more attention to them by folding her arms.

  “In case it’s escaped your amazing powers of observation,” she raised her voice above the roar of the rain, “it’s pissing down and about fifty-five degrees. I’m cold.”

  “Cold and a little turned on?” Once again he evaporated the distance between them, this time standing so close those wayward nipples of hers threatened to poke holes in his chest. “I bet you watched The Notebook and sighed dreamily when Ryan Gosling sucked face with Rachel McAdams in the rain.”

  “At least I didn’t cry at the end of The Lion King.” She shoved at West’s large hand which sneakily landed on her hip. “You big baby.”

  “Hey! We were kids.”

  His other hand grazed her arm and she slapped it away. “Well, we’re not kids now, West, so stop it.”

  The playful grin dropped off his face. His eyes went flinty, even as her breath hitched in her chest, like breathing air from a tank about to run dry.

  “Go on, boy, plant one on her while you’ve got the chance!” husband number three’s voice fog-horned from behind.

  They jerked apart and looked at the three dripping wet couples splashing toward them. All three couples wore identical amused expressions.

  Before she could react, West grabbed her, tipping her backward into a dramatic dip. Cool, firm lips pressed to hers for a count of two, but his eyes were the grey of gathering storm clouds, devoid of warmth. He levered her back to her feet, with the applause of their audience echoing around.

  “Smile for the guests, darling,” he gritted out.

  After performing a mocking bow, he walked away.

  ***

  West linked his hands behind his neck and wondered if counting back from a thousand in sevens would make his erection disappear. The mattress beneath him was as flexible as a wooden plank and the bunk itself certainly wasn’t designed for a six-foot horny-as-hell male.

  Please don’t let her come out of the bathroom in those minuscule cartoon pajamas or I might embarrass myself here.

  West groaned and shut his eyes against the blaze of moonlight shining through the cabin window. Piper could come out in sackcloth and ashes and he’d still want to strip her naked.

  After their impromptu entertainment in front of their six guests earlier, all sorts of unwanted advice and innuendos bombarded them since their return to The Mollymawk. Unfortunately, the couples hadn’t wanted to stay up late but instead retired to their separate cabins. Bugger for him and Piper once they ran out of chores—it meant they either had to make conversation or hit the sack. The oblivion of sleep sounded perfect, but he found himself offering Piper the use of the bathroom first.

  The door clicked open and he couldn’t resist a peek. Piper scurried through the doorway in long, loose pajama pants and a baggy, black tee shirt. The outfit, he assumed, her idea of non-sexy sleep attire. But he was a guy with a photographic memory of what curves hid under the loose fabric of her sleepwear.

  “It’s all yours.” She slithered into her sleeping bag with a rustle—followed seconds later by the fzzzzt of the zipper being hauled up, all the way up.

  Not taking any chances that I’ll slide into it with you, are you, babe?

  And the thought of trying to, really, really didn’t help ease the ache of his cock pressed insistently against his jeans. Pathetic. Panting after her like Donny after one of the island’s few unneutered bitches. He all but fell off the bunk bed in his haste to get into the bathroom.

  Shoving his toothbrush into his mouth, West scrubbed at his teeth with enough force to scrape off enamel. This whole situation got crazier by the day. Bad enough to want Piper like he did, but the weird sense of intimacy, the jolt of rightness, that sucker punched him when he’d wrapped her in a bear hug—that was plain wrong. Crazy wrong.

  He spat and rinsed. Not going there again. Not going there ever again. But, damn if he didn’t want to storm back in the cabin all Neanderthal-like, peel that sleeping bag off her, and do her till she screamed his name.

  West unbuttoned his jeans and prepared to wait until his hard-on went down enough to pee.

  “C’mon, c’mon. You’re not getting any action tonight,” he muttered.

  But unable to help himself, with thoughts of Piper’s nipples jutting against the soft fabric of her tee shirt, he wrapped his fist around his throbbing cock.

  Chapter 10

  West’s head dropped back as his fist moved along himself in slow, achingly slow strokes.

  “I want you to be my first,” Piper said, meeting his gaze with fierce hazel eyes.

  I want to be your only. The words he wanted to say but couldn’t. She’d sprawled on his bed, her breasts bare, the nipples reddened like tiny strawberries from his suckling. Losing all imagined sophistication, he helped her out of her shorts and removed his jeans, nearly tripping over his own feet in the hurry to bury himself in her warm, tight depths. God, he wanted her and even the threat of Ben coming home to their flat early couldn’t deter him from finally, finally making her his.

  Thrusting into her, her slick wetness wrapped around him like a velvet-lined fist. She dug her nails into his ass and dragged him closer, even as he tried to pull away, terrified that he’d hurt her. Her teeth nipped his earlobe, her hissed-out breath brushing his cheek.

  “Don’t you dare stop now,” she said.

  His mouth found hers in the dark, claiming her, but cursing him to remember the taste of her forever.

  He groaned through clenched teeth, his thumb spreading the moisture from the tip lengthwise, the pressure inside him building to volcanic levels as his palm moved faster and faster.

  “West?” A soft knock on the bathroom door behind him. “Are you okay?”

  Shit! His hand braced against the wall slipped and he stumbled toward the toilet bowl, gasping for breath.

  “Are you sick?�
� Concern pitched Piper’s voice higher than normal. “I heard you groaning.”

  Sick. That was it!

  “Uh, yeah.” He exhaled in a whoosh, his heart a kettle drum pounding in time with the throb of his cock. “Think I ate too many paua fritters—feel like I’m gonna hurl.”

  “Oh.”

  He caught her doubt in that one short syllable. How long had he been groaning? And what other sounds had she heard?

  “You need anything?”

  Just you baby, just you. Christ. He struggled to jam himself back into his boxers.

  “No, I’m good.” West splashed a handful of cold water on his face. Contemplated dumping a cup of it down his shorts to see if it would cool his aching balls off.

  “Well. Okay. There’s a roll of Quick-Eze in my bath bag if you need it.”

  Indigestion pills? Yeah, they wouldn’t help—how about a hand-job instead, babe? Like that would happen.

  “Thanks, I’ll be fine. Go back to bed.”

  He waited, hands clamped either side of the sink to anchor himself in place, listening to Piper’s soft footsteps and the final fzzzzt of the sleeping bag zipper sealing her away. Giving her a few more moments to settle, West cracked open the bathroom door and slunk into his bed.

  ***

  Piper clutched her pillow like a life preserver, like she was floundering on the surface of a turbulent ocean. She remained in that stunned position for almost an hour.

  Oh. My. God. West had been jerking off in the bathroom.

  At first she hadn’t been sure, had reacted out of genuine concern thinking he was sick. But after hearing the rawness of his voice—lightbulb moment! Did he honestly think the “I ate too many paua” excuse would cut it? What? Was she a complete innocent who didn’t know the difference between a guy’s hanging over the porcelain throne about to puke groan, and a guy’s this feels so good I’m about to come groan?

  Puh-lease.

  And the worst of it? She’d stood outside that bathroom door for a moment with jellified knees and a growing damp patch in her pajama bottoms, wishing she could kick the door down and have her wicked way with him. She silenced a groan of her own by biting down on the fleshy web between her thumb and index finger. Crazy, sexually-frustrated tart.