Love Block (The Love Lock Duet Book 1)

by S. M. West

  “Where are you working right now?”

  His fingers slide over the condensation on his glass, and I picture him trailing the moisture over my collarbone, carving a path between my breasts. I shiver pleasurably and rub my thighs together.

  “Pip?” he tries again. “I said, where are you working?”

  My stomach drops. Work is the last thing I want to talk about, but I want to talk to Drew. I want to reconnect.

  “Oh. I’m a physical therapist for the region.”

  For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to work with athletes and help them recover from their injuries. That’s why I got my kinesiology degree, then went on to grad school, where I also interned with a Canadian Football League team for over a year. Upon graduation, I wanted to stay on, but the team didn’t have an opening.

  “Cool.” His relaxed nature warms my insides. “Is it what you want?”

  “Yeah, for now. It’s experience but temporary. I want a gig on a pro team.” I pour another beer. “A friend of mine has an in with the NFL and says there might be an opportunity opening up soon.”

  “NFL?” His eyes widen.

  “Yup. I’m excited, but competition is tight.”

  “Pip, that’s fantastic.” The tops of his cheeks flush. “You’re doing it.”

  He’s referring to a conversation we had a few years ago, and my chest swells that he’s remembered.

  Days before I left for graduate school, a bunch of us got together to play football, and afterward, Drew and I hung back; he asked me about my plans for school.

  I was unsure about grad school. Torn between getting a job with the degree I had or going back to school, which meant more debt. He listened, asked questions, but never did he tell me what to do. Our conversation helped me realize a graduate degree was right for me.

  “Thanks, Drew. I think I am too.” My hand wraps around his wrist. Strong and warm. “And I’m so happy for you. Your place is beautiful.”

  “Thanks. It needs a lot of work, but I’m good with that.”

  “You’ve wanted a cottage for as long as I can remember, and it’ll look amazing when you’re done. And I want to help.”

  “Seriously?” He studies my face and I welcome his attention.

  “Yeah. I’m off this week. I could stay.” I fidget in my seat, unsure for the first time tonight. “I mean, if you want.” Please say yes.

  Like an elephant walking on a tightrope, my words hang heavy, unbelievably daring and inexplicably mad, between us. His posture is rigid and his expression dark.

  “Well, er… I…” He rubs the back of his neck and averts his gaze.

  “Hey, don’t sweat it. I saw the paint cans and thought you could use a hand. I’ve got a mean stroke.” I flash him an impish smile.

  “Sure, why not.” He chuckles and shrugs.

  “Wow, you don’t need to sound like you’re doing me a favour.”

  His face softens at my sardonic tone, my bite isn’t lost on him.

  “Shit, sorry, Pip. I truly appreciate it.” A lopsided smile spreads across his handsome face.

  We’re doing it again. Our gazes fasten to each other, and the air thickens, suffocating with want, need—or maybe it’s just me.

  Over the speakers, Spirit of the West sings about not feeling their best, sick from the drink, and needing to go home for a rest. My feet tap wildly and my hips sway freely to the addictive fast fiddle of the folk-rock band.

  “Omigod, I love this song.” Now out of my seat, I tug his arm. “Let’s dance.”

  Shaking his head no, he doesn’t budge. He’s an amazing dancer but rarely does. The few times I’ve been lucky enough to indulge and watch his body moving to music—it’s orgasmic. He’s seductive and sensual despite his height and muscular frame. Sexy. He’d be a formidable lover, without a doubt.

  “Ah, no.” He sips his beer. “Go, have fun.”

  “Fine.” I gift him with a flirty pout, hoping to sway him. I want to spend more time with him. Feel his body against mine.

  He doesn’t give in. He’s almost aloof, shooing me away and turning his attention to the TV.

  The dance floor is small and crammed, but I find Paige easily. We dance for hours with Ken, and others come and go. All the while, Drew stays firmly planted at the table watching the playoffs. A few times, I notice he’s not alone.

  One or two women are bold enough to approach, and my stomach clenches as if my insides are being ripped out every time.

  He isn’t mine, but that doesn’t stop the hurt of seeing his casual flirting with another woman. I wish it was me. But he won’t let us go there. Unless I can change his mind.

  Hours later, well past midnight, he pays our bill and heads our way. “Let’s get going.” Drew leads Paige by her elbow from the dance floor.

  “One more song,” she whines, shimmying her ass.

  “It’s okay, Lady Gaga, we’ll go dancing once we’re back in the city.” I hook my arm around her neck, and she laughs.

  “I think you two have had enough. Pippa’s danced with every guy here.” He hooks his thumb aggressively in my direction.

  “What?” I tense, offended by his comment. “What does that mean?”

  “She didn’t,” Paige jumps to my defence. “I did.”

  We laugh, but I’m a fraud. Any joy on my part has been corroded by Drew’s acidic innuendo.

  At the car, we find Ken in the front seat, resting his head back with his eyes closed. He must have struck out tonight. I thought for sure he’d have gone home with some girl.

  Drew holds the back door open, his expression distant, watching Paige scoot in. I’m next and undeterred by the chill rolling off him, I stop to face him with the car door between us.

  “What exactly did you mean in there?” I flick my chin in the direction of the bar.

  “Why’d you always have to make friends with everyone?” His stare is bitter. “You danced with complete strangers.”

  His cold rebuke sears my throat and burns my cheeks. I blink back the prickle in my eyes.

  “You could’ve danced with us. You turned me down. There were plenty of guys willing to help a girl out.”

  His eyes narrow and his lip twitches, edging into a sneer. “Help a girl out?”

  “You don’t need to be a jerk. You. Turned. Me. Down. Deal with it.”

  I slam the door and slump in the seat. I did nothing wrong and refuse to feel shitty for his mood. Sure, one of the guys was handsy, but I handled him.

  “Yikes,” Paige murmurs, leaning into me. “Don’t listen to him. He’s jealous.”

  I glance quizzically at her, wondering just how wasted she is. Drew isn’t jealous. He’s playing big brother because Finn isn’t here. That’s what he does.

  I wrestle with my ingratitude. He’s never let me down. He’s always there for me. But he’s not my babysitter.

  Why is it most guys want to get with me except the one I want?

  5

  Drew

  Men flock to Pippa without any effort from her. Her comfortable enthusiasm and daring nature seduce men. They can’t help but feel special and want her, need to be near her. I witnessed it last night. Like cockroaches coming out of nowhere, three guys jockeyed to dance with her. Get their hands on her.

  I can’t really fault them. She was the hottest woman in the bar. The way her body moved, hypnotically swaying to the pulsing music with her golden hair gleaming under the smoky lights like spun gold.

  And her ass.

  Magnificent.

  She was having a good time, and when she laughed at something one of the douchenozzles whispered in her ear, I was equally incensed and entranced. The way she angled her head backward and the elegance of her long neck caught my breath. Tantalizing.

  Almost toppling the stool to the ground, I wrestled with myself to remain seated and not give into my caveman impulse to mow down all the pricks around her.

  Pursue. Conquer. Claim.

  I wanted to sink my teeth into the tender
point at the base of her neck and taste her. Feel her throbbing pulse against my tongue. Make my mark in front of the fucking vultures.

  And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I wasn’t the only one captivated—all the guys in her vicinity were dumbstruck. Each vying for a shot, willing to make a deal with the devil.

  Fuck, I gotta stop thinking about her like this, or just tell Finn how I feel about his sister. I’ve been mulling over how best to broach the past with him. What happened long ago is my biggest hurdle. If only I could gauge where his head’s at, and how open he is to the thought of Pippa with me, maybe, just maybe, Pippa and I would have a chance.

  With phone in hand, I fire a text off to Finn.

  Me: Hey, you ever talk to Mario Renzetti?

  Mario's one of the many guys he cut ties with after the incident years ago. And within seconds my phone vibrates with an incoming call. Finn.

  “Hey,” I say.

  "What the hell, D?" His voice is tight. “Why you asking about that asshole? You bored? What happened to all the work that needs to be done on the cottage?"

  He attempts to keep his tone light with a laugh but fails as his words sound strangled.

  It’s been years since we’ve talked about what happened that night and every time I tried, Finn would always go off on me.

  “Nah, I got plenty to do." I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. "Mario came to mind because of his dad’s cabinetry business. My kitchen needs an overhaul. I was thinking of calling him.”

  “Fuck, no. That motherfucker would screw our sisters in a heartbeat. No fucking way." He pauses, holding my next breath hostage. "You and Ken are the only friends I need. It’s like I forget.” He pauses, again, and my insides churn. "You’ve got a dick.” He chuckles. "I trust you.”

  Fuck me.

  I force out a laugh, needing to end the call. “All right, Finn. We’ll talk later.”

  “Drew.” My name is suspended between us like a loaded gun, but I’m not sure which way it’s pointing.

  “Yeah?”

  “You aren’t calling him, right?”

  “Yeah. I’m not. Later.”

  I end the call and get out of bed, feeling worse for having called Finn. Nothing has changed. He’s stuck in the past and any move I make on Pippa could ruin him.

  Grabbing my shorts, I quietly make my way to the kitchen, surprised I’m the last one to wake, and leave all thoughts of Finn behind.

  All the room doors are open and the beds are made. Ken even put the pull-out couch back together in the living room.

  As I step into the kitchen, my thoughts wander to last night. Again. The hours between midnight and dawn have been consumed with reliving moments, some delectably good and others, not so much, from the night before. Most of which featured a sexy blonde and her knock-out bod.

  And now that I come to think of it, Paige wasn’t much better on the dance floor. Between the two, I wanted to beat the shit out of half the bar, and I’m not a violent guy.

  Regrettably, I took my frustration out on Pippa, and once back at the cottage, she bolted to her room. My tipsy sister stayed behind to give me a tongue-lashing, and deserving of her venom, her last words stunned me.

  “Drew, you need to grow a pair and make your goddamn move before it’s too late!” Paige yelled, face twisted, arms swung out, and eyes filled with fury.

  Before I could form a rational thought and respond—I was stuck on the thought of not having a chance with Pippa, of being too late—Paige flew into the house, slamming the door behind her.

  Not for nothing, but my sister loves drama and jumps at any chance to storm off, slam a door, or act like the wounded party.

  We’ve never talked about Pippa and me. Anytime Paige broached it, I’d play it off. I couldn’t explain to myself, much less my sister, how my feelings for Pippa blossomed from friend to treacherously horny and infatuated.

  And Finn’s warning to stay the fuck away from his sister—he knew Pippa had her sights on me—kept me from doing something stupid.

  The smell of coffee draws me to the present, and I pour a cup from the nearly full carafe, then take it with me to admire the serene lakefront view.

  It was this view that sold me on the place. I had reservations about buying the cottage because it was so badly run down with a hefty price tag. There was already an offer in, and I had to decide quickly whether I was going to counter.

  Faced with the decision, I stood in this very spot taking in the tranquil water, lush trees and bushes. Happily, I was able to see past the disrepair and long hours of hard work ahead. I saw summer nights, bonfires, swimming in the lake, and more awesome memories to make with my family than I could count. It sealed the deal.

  Movement pulls me from my thoughts as Pippa cuts into my vision—tiny black shorts and a sports bra. The view of the serene lakeside fades away. No longer holding my attention.

  My eyes rake over her body, following the flex and muscle of her toned back down to the dip of her slender waist. Tight shorts cling to the curves of her ass and hips and thighs.

  Seeing her shouldn’t be enlightening or even give me pause, but it does. I still wonder if this is real. If she is real. It’s been so long since we’ve been this close to one another and she isn’t a daydream.

  She is here.

  She is all I see.

  Her.

  The effervescent woman of my dreams.

  It looks like she’s been running and she’s now cooling down, stopping every step or so to stretch a leg or arm, bending and twisting her lean, sensual body.

  She toes off one sneaker, then the other, taking her socks with them, not once noticing me. Next, she hooks her fingers into the sides of her shorts and strips down to a bikini bottom.

  I nearly spit out the coffee, forcing it down my now dry throat, and my tongue swells, along with other body parts, at the sight of her. Or, more specifically, her ass. I’m an ass man, and Pippa’s ass is the kind poets write sonnets about. Men would fall to their knees willing to give their left nut to squeeze her sumptuous behind.

  The neon orange of her bikini bottom, hugging her firm ass, is phenomenal against her toned, bronzed flesh. I should look away, give her privacy rather than gawk like a creeper. But I can’t.

  All five foot seven inches of curvy, toned muscles stands on the pier. Pippa. My cock jerks and stiffens.

  Dirty thoughts of what I want to do to her, to her ass and tits, to all of her, consume all other thoughts. I’m going to hell.

  I won’t make it through another day with her here. It’s only a matter of time before I do something that I won’t be able to take back. She’s got to go. I’ve got to send her home.

  She’s messing with her hair, gathering it in a knot, and I’m completely taken with her, not once registering something is missing or off.

  She takes a step, then two. The wood shakes. My breath stalls.

  It’s then I notice what’s missing and has been clawing at my subconscious. Where the hell is the caution tape?

  I need to warn her. I should have warned her the instant I saw where she was standing, but all my blood rushed south, and for the past several minutes, I’ve been thinking with my dick.

  The dock vibrates with her every move, and I dash out the door, intent on getting to her before it’s too late.

  “Pippa!” My hands wave like flags in the air. “Get off that thing!” I shout at the same time a loud crack rings out and one side of the pier caves.

  She glances back at me, eyes widening, and yelps. I’ve only got feet to go, but in painstakingly slow motion, it happens. The other pillar gives way, with a sharp crackle and splash, followed by several more, and the entire pier collapses, taking her with it.

  “Pippa!”

  I’m running faster than ever before as I watch her sink under the water. My sole focus is getting to her. She can swim, and the water isn’t too deep where she went in, but the danger is if she hits her head.

  Diving in, the wet cold binds my chest like
an iron grip, and I wrestle to move past the smothering sensation as my hands grasp her waist. The feel of her in my arms loosens something within me and breathing comes easier, the air moves effortlessly through my lungs, as she latches onto me and we break the surface.

  “Drew.” She’s stunned, blinking back water from her eyes, staring as if unable to comprehend how I’m here.

  Her arms and legs cling to my neck and waist, and a hot current flows through me. My eyes flick to hers, then to her mouth, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip; her legs strengthen their hold—vise-like—around my middle.

  “You okay?” I tighten my grip, and she nods. Wet and safe in my arms.

  “What the hell happened?” Ken calls from the shore.

  I drag my gaze from her, now puzzled as to how this happened. “There was caution tape yesterday. The wood’s rotted.”

  “Shit.” Ken turns away. “I saw part of it lying on the grass and took it down this morning.” He’s waving his hands and looking remorseful. “I figured it was left over from a party or something.”

  Clenching my jaw, I glare. I don’t want to waste words on his stupidity. He gets it was an idiot move. Besides, with Pip in my arms, my anger fizzles fast. She’s okay.

  “It’s wrecked. I’m so sorry,” she says so only I can hear.

  “It’s okay.” We glance at the rubble of wood floating in the water. “I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

  I reluctantly loosen my hold; I’ve taken this rescue too far. She’s safe. But it’s hard to let her go and she continues to cling to me like a koala to a tree. Does she feel it too?

  “Ken now has a job for the day,” I say loudly enough for him to hear and dip my chin at the mess floating in the water, indicating he can remove the wood.

  “Fine.” He groans, then pauses, eyeing our embrace with a suggestive smirk.

  I try again, pushing at her waist to gain some distance from her, but she doesn’t budge.

  She’s in my arms.

  So close.

  I want to kiss her.

  Kissing her would be so easy and so hard.

  So easy because she’s here and her mouth is what I desire. I want to taste her with abandon. To take without reproach or repercussion.