“I’ll remember that.” His voice came out gruff and clipped with an unintentional edge of annoyance.
Small white teeth flashed under gloss-slicked lips before she turned away, moving with an easy grace down the stairs, the silky red dress clinging to the lush curves of her very fine ass. An ass he couldn’t pull his gaze from as she sashayed around the corner.
Nope. Not taking his hands out of his pants pockets any time soon, since they hid one mother of a hard-on.
A couple of minutes ticked by while he got his dick under control, kicking himself the whole time for being such a jerk when Kezia had only tried to…well, he didn’t understand what the sultry smile and soft, suggestive words were about.
Ben glanced around. The street alongside the community hall remained deserted. He didn’t want to ruin the start of Kezia’s evening by sounding like the world’s grumpiest jackass, so he’d go mutter an apology.
Limping down the stairs, he set off along the sidewalk, a couple of different apology scenarios scrolling through his brain. Apologizing to women wasn’t his strong suit. Talking to a woman like Kezia, who for some unknown reason made him feel like one of the eight-year-olds in her class, wasn’t his strong suit.
Ben strode into the parking lot, his gaze tracking across the concrete until he spotted the bulky outline of Due South’s courtesy van in the far corner. He didn’t spot Kezia at first, but zeroed in on the dark-haired man on the opposite side of the van. The man leaned on the van’s panel with his hands spread apart, his head dipped down, a snarl twisting his mouth.
Reynolds.
Then a glimpse of a woman’s pale fist thumping Gav’s shoulder, before his hand snatched her wrist away and shoved. The back of the woman’s head hit the van with a dull thunk, followed by a familiar husky voice cursing in Italian—Kezia’s voice.
That sonofabitch.
Broken ankle notwithstanding, Ben ran, hurtling around the van and hauling Gav backward by his shirt. Gav choked and sputtered as the collar tightened around his neck and buttons pinged off, but he managed to swing a sloppy left hook. Ben dodged easily and Gav staggered, tripping over his feet.
“The fuck’s your problem, Harland?” Gav righted himself, puffing out his chest and glowering.
Gav was drunk. Stinking drunk and mean with it. Terrific.
Measuring Gav’s agitation, Ben said to Kezia, who looked more murderous than teary-eyed, “You okay? Did he hurt you?”
“No, he didn’t hurt me.”
While he could hear the fury in Kezia’s voice she kept her distance, backing up a few steps. Smart cookie.
“But the bastard ambushed and pawed me when I climbed out of the van.”
Ben stilled, even as his blood pressure rocketed into the danger zone, blood pulsing through his skull like his head was about to explode off his shoulders. “He put his hands on you?”
“Yes.” The single word, almost a whisper, slipped from her glossy lips.
“We were just talking, you stuck-up, frigid bitch.”
“Don’t speak to the lady like that.” Considering his internal temperature, he had no clue where the ice coating his words came from.
Gav lurched toward him, his eyes dark chips of built-up resentment. “Piss off, cripple. This is none of your business.”
Cripple or not, the prick had touched her and now a messy conclusion was unavoidable.
Gav aimed a kick at Ben’s broken ankle, broadcasting his intention by wobbling onto his left leg. His balance sucked, thanks to the Jack Daniel’s fumes wafting off him.
Ben swiveled to avoid the ill-timed kick and grabbed Gav’s wrist to pull him further off balance. Stepping slightly behind him, he delivered a blow with his elbow to the side of Gav’s jaw. His annoyance spiked at the hiss of his hundred-dollar hired suit tearing at the seams, so he added a knee to the gut.
Gav folded like a bad poker hand. But even scrabbling on the concrete, he had to have the last word.
“Not. Lady…Whores,” Gav wheezed, blood trickling down his chin from where Ben’s elbow had split the corner of his lip. “Her and…your sisters.”
Righteous anger detonated into rage. Ben pulled back a fist to teach the bastard a life lesson when a small but strong hand gripped his forearm. He glanced down—Kezia at his side again, with that unfathomable gaze trained on his.
“Don’t, Ben. The pathetic worm’s not worth it.”
“No one calls you, or my sisters, whores.” Like his father, his temper proved hard to ignite, but once provoked beyond tolerance and the fuse caught fire, it was a hell of a thing to put out before an explosion.
“He can call us anything he likes.” Kezia tugged on his arm with both hands. “And then he can repeat it to Noah Daniels when I press sexual assault charges.”
Ben sucked in a breath. The scent of her perfume broke through the urge to add more bloody splotches to Gav’s white dress shirt. He took a step back and looked at his hand, forcing his fingers to relax. He breathed some more. God, she smelled amazing. “Well. That’s something.”
Gav rolled over onto his hands and knees and vomited. Ben considered planting his cast on Gav’s ass and toppling him into it. Later. Maybe later he’d pay him another visit; the last time he “visited” him after the Waitangi Day game he’d told Gav he’d end up with both arms in casts if he touched one of his sisters again. Gav didn’t comprehend the threat extended to other women in Ben’s orbit.
“Escort me back to the ball?” Kezia slid her fingers up his forearm to tuck into the crook of his elbow. “And you may want to take the jacket off, it’s almost in shreds. You look like The Incredible Hulk after a night on the town.”
“Not Dr. Bruce Banner?”
“Definitely The Hulk,” she said. “You’ve got some muscles there.” She patted his bicep and gazed up at him.
The last of his temper fizzled, the hairs on his arm standing to attention.
“But he’s the green one.” Kezia dipped her chin at Gav who slumped like a beached starfish on the parking lot, groaning.
Aware of the warmth of her at his side, Ben guided her around Gav’s prone form. Kezia paused and trod on Gav’s hand. He let out a tea-kettle whistle and yanked at his hand trapped under her dainty stiletto.
“Whoops. My bad.” Without another glance, she stepped off again. “Ready?”
“Remind me never to cross you, Ms. Murphy,” Ben said as they strolled out of the parking lot.
She laughed, and temper had nothing to do with the heat that abruptly roared through him.
When they reached the verandah, Kezia slipped her hand from his elbow and straightened the lapel of his ruined jacket. Her fingers wrapped around his tie and pulled, his head dipping closer to magnetic dark eyes a man could lose his mind in.
She rose on tip-toe, brushing a whisper-soft kiss across his cheek. “Thank you for being all big-brotherly on my behalf.”
For once, Ben wished he had West’s skill for easy conversation. A witty remark, a casual comment to smooth this awkwardness over. Something. Because he couldn’t blurt out that he now wasn’t thinking of her in a brotherly way at all.
He hooked a finger inside his too-tight collar and cleared his throat. “Ah. You’re welcome.”
Christ. What a jackass.
Releasing his tie, Kezia smiled, and disappeared into the crowded hall.
***
As part of free-diving training, West learned that on a deep dive his lungs compacted to the size of two oranges. That was nothing compared to the pressure compressing every oxygen molecule in his lungs at the sight of Piper across the crowded hall.
Her dress floated around her, the pale green fabric contrasting with her tanned skin and glossy hair. But it wasn’t the way her eyes sparkled, or the heels which made her legs look a mile long, or even the seductive slick of her painted lips.
Piper glowed, from the inside out. She lit up the hall with enough energy to power Oban through many cold, winter nights. While she’d always been beautiful, t
onight—tonight Piper looked incredible.
West dodged through the crowd to claim her before anyone else could and the tingles racing out from his heart meant one of two things. Either he was about to suffer a heart attack, or the barricades he’d erected to prevent himself from falling in love with her had yielded without a whimper.
Refracted light from the disco ball sparkled over Piper’s face as she angled her chin toward his father, laughing up at him when he touched her arm.
Oh, yeah, one small step away from catastrophe, one not-so-giant leap from hitting that one-way, slippery slope.
The band started with a catchy number and couples flowed out onto the dance floor. Piper patted his father’s arm and gestured to Claire, who stood on her other side talking to Shaye. Piper mouthed something and with an aw-shucks shrug Bill tapped Claire’s shoulder.
West ignored the soft smile his mother returned as she took Bill’s elbow and allowed him to guide her onto the floor.
He had other issues. Like Kip, his about-to-be-fired barman, honing in on Piper with the determination of a Great White after a seal.
Not that Piper was a seal, but dammit, she was his.
West caught Kip’s eye and threatened disembowelment with a single glance. Kip grinned, not at all perturbed, and changed direction to swoop toward Shaye instead.
West slipped behind Piper and set his hands on her waist. “Hey, there.”
She stiffened, then melted into him as he planted a kiss on the crescent of skin behind her ear. With her little ass snugged into his crotch, and her skin sprayed with something delicious and citrusy, dancing with Piper would be less scandalous to the group of octogenarians clustered in the seating areas than dragging her off to a dark corner.
“Dance with me?” he said, his mouth by the shell of her ear to counter the music volume. It also presented the opportunity to take her lobe between his teeth for a gentle nip.
She shivered, and pressed so intimately together, the muscles in her bottom contracted as she reacted to both his action and suggestion.
“West…” Her voice was a hesitant breath on his jaw as she turned toward him. “I don’t dance.”
“I won’t step on your toes this time. Promise.”
A soft laugh tempted him to kiss her right then and to hell with it. “You didn’t step on my toes last time. You were too slick for that, even then.”
He captured her hand and feathered a kiss on her knuckles. “Give me another chance, Pipe.”
Piper glanced over her other shoulder at Mrs. Taylor and her cohorts, who pretended not to watch, but did. Her gaze, hooded and unreadable, met his again. “I could encourage your reputation as a lady’s man before the bidding war starts.”
“That’s right. You’ll be helping Ben by dancing with me.”
Her lips curved. “One dance, Westlake.”
Freeing her hand from his grasp, Piper slipped it behind his neck and tugged his ear close to her mouth. “And if your hand goes anywhere near my ass like it did the last time we danced, I’ll nail your nuts to the wall with one of my five-inch heeled sandals.”
“Baby, I love it when you go all ‘cop’ on me.” He led her out onto the dance floor.
West got five dances with her in the end, and would’ve kept her trapped flush against him for another if she hadn’t mentioned the charity auction was about to start.
“There’ll be a catfight if you go onstage like this,” she whispered, while rotating the cradle of her hips against his erection.
Judging there was a low risk of emasculation, he palmed her sweet bottom before whispering back, “Just don’t tear your dress while you’re fighting them off me, hmm?”
He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. A chaste kiss, or else take advantage of the space beneath the buffet to ravish her. Not much of a choice.
“I’ll try to restrain myself once women start throwing their panties,” she said.
West chuckled. “Good. And don’t dance with anyone else while I’m gone, or you may have to arrest me—you’re mine tonight.”
The look she cut him from those gorgeous hazel eyes was a mix of indignation and confusion.
It warmed him as he walked away. Once again he’d caught her off her guard.
***
“God, that woman’s scary.” Piper leaned back in her chair and shuddered. “I almost feel sorry for them. Almost.”
Sandwiched between Shaye and Kezia, she watched Oban’s last two eligible bachelors herded onto the stage by a voraciously smiling Mrs. Taylor. Possums caught in a hunter’s spotlight with a .22 rifle couldn’t look more stunned than Ben and West.
Shaye snickered. Kezia smiled into her wine glass.
“They love the attention, Piper, don’t you worry.” Erin twisted a lock of blonde hair around her finger from her seat across the table.
“Well, Kip certainly did,” Shaye said. “All those flexing muscles, and Mrs. T. copping a feel of his biceps.”
“She never lets an opportunity pass her by, that’s for sure,” Erin said.
“Shaye-girl, you paid two hundred bucks to take Kip on a date you’ll end up cooking for. What a sucker.” Tarryn, looking amazing in a burnt-orange dress that showed off curves Piper would flip to the dark side for, grabbed another handful of pretzels.
“Hey! Holly paid three-fifty for Ford and we all know how that date will turn out, since Ford talks even less than Ben—and that’s saying something. She’s the sucker. I’m planning to have a fun night out with a hot guy.” Shaye glared at Tarryn, who shrugged amicably.
“My date’s hot too and I could listen to that sexy Irish brogue of his for hours—oh, wait, I will get to listen to that sexy brogue for hours.” Tarryn raised her beer bottle.
“Tarryn’s gonna play doctors with Joe, oh yeah!” Erin snorted and nearly choked on her carrot stick.
Tarryn pointed the neck of her bottle at Erin. “Like you’re not intending to play good cop, bad cop with the I’m too sexy for my rugby shorts Noah Daniels?”
“Bust-ed,” Erin said.
The interplay around their table only captured half of Piper’s attention. Kezia, clutching her wine glass and shifting frequent glances to the hall entrance, seemed unusually quiet.
Piper nudged her with an elbow. “You okay? You seem a little off, tonight.”
“Not many men left to choose from, Kez. It’s slim pickings now,” Tarryn said.
“I’m fine. And I’m playing the young widow card tonight, so no dates for me.” Kezia tossed back her curls but her smile appeared forced, her usually lush mouth thin and pinched closed.
“Spoilsport,” Tarryn said, but with no real heat. “So that leaves you, Piper. Make your play, girl—and since one of those remaining hunks is your brother…”
Shaye edged her chair closer and leaned in. “I hear Bree’s gunning for West. So, are you going to let your man hook up with one of those desperate hussies in front?” She jabbed her thumb toward the tables set up by the stage where Bree, Holly, and some other local woman sized up the talent.
Piper started to say the whole West isn’t my man thing and then stopped.
The idea of Bree—who, okay, wasn’t a total bitch—cozied up with West, made her want to snarl. And the desire to snarl meant one thing.
Crap. West was so her man.
If only for another two weeks.
Mrs. Taylor grabbed West’s hand and towed him to the front of the stage.
“Now then, who here doesn’t recognize this fine specimen of a man?” Mrs. Taylor said into the microphone, and without a bat of her lavender eyelids, she smacked West on the ass.
West jumped, his charming smile slipping as a chorus of wolf-whistles and hoots of laughter echoed around the hall. His wild gaze scanned the crowd, searching her out. Piper raised her wineglass at him in a sympathetic toast.
“That’s right, ladies, this is Ryan Westlake. Ryan’s our local hotelier, so he has a steady job and he’s quite the catch of the day—” Mrs. Taylor paused
to glare at Ford, Joe, and Noah, the worst of the hecklers now they’d been auctioned off. “Doesn’t he scrub up well? Six feet of pure feminine fantasy up for auction tonight. Who’ll give me fifty dollars?”
Bree’s paddle jumped into the air.
Shaye giggled. “Feminine fantasy? OMG.”
Piper’s gaze swept back to West, all six feet of him. His black wool dinner jacket outlined broad shoulders and skimmed down in a pleasing “v” to his hips. With his jaw clean shaven and his blue eyes sparking fire now the hecklers had pissed him off—well, hello sailor.
Piper squirmed on her seat.
If she’d pegged the man as dangerously good-looking in blue jeans and a tee shirt, then wearing a formal suit with an honest-to-goodness bow tie?
Lethal, baby. Lethal.
And it appeared she wasn’t the only one to notice.
Fifty dollars leaped to seventy by a redheaded loopie on the other side of the hall, topped by Bree again at a hundred, then another blonde at the front table. The bids came thick and fast: one-twenty, one-fifty, two hundred, two-fifty—
“C’mon Piper, bid!” Shaye hissed in her ear. “I’ll give you a hundred. Call it an early birthday present.”
“That redhead’s already thinking dirty thoughts about stripping West out of that tux—look at the way she’s leering at his butt,” said Erin. “I’ll spot you another hundred.”
“And a hundred from me. Stick your paddle up, woman,” said Tarryn.
Shaye grabbed Piper’s arm and forced it up, yelling, “Three hundred.”
Bree swiveled in her chair and gave Piper a thumbs up sign—she’d stopped raising her paddle back in the mid-hundreds.
The redhead wasn’t keen to let it go. “Three-fifty.”
The other blonde shook her head and laid her paddle on the table.
The crowded gave a collective “Oooooh.”
“We’ll see about that.” Kezia yanked Piper’s paddle hand off her knee and into the sky. “Five hundred,” she hollered.
In Too Deep Page 24
