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She stared down at the pizza with longing. Actual, real longing etched all over her pretty face. “I try to watch what I eat now,” she admitted, her voice soft. A little sad.

West ran his gaze down the length of her. She looked perfectly fine to him. Too fine. Curves in all the right places, not too skinny, the type of body a man wanted to run his hands all over. “You look great to me.”

Her gaze met his, her eyes wide, lips softly parted. Completely kissable, if he was being honest with himself. He was half tempted to lean in and test it out. See if they'd have that same spark. See if she'd push him away or not.

But he remained rooted to the spot, not moving a muscle, not saying a word.

“Well, thank you. But that's because I don't eat DeMarco's anymore.” She reached for the smallest slice and set it on the paper plate he offered her. “I'll just have one.”

“Harper, you used to eat this stuff all the time. What gives?” He grabbed three pieces and stacked them on his plate. “And I have ranch out for you if you want to use it.”

“Oh, I can't do that either. Just extra calories.” She shook her head and started to head for the table. His gaze zeroed in on the sway of her hips, the perfect curve of her ass. A few extra calories wouldn't hurt that very sexy body of hers. Who was filling her head with such lies?

“Want a beer? Or does that have too many calories too?” he asked.

She sent him an admonishing look from over her shoulder before she settled in at the table. “Just water, thanks.”

Muttering under his breath, he grabbed her another bottle of water and brought everything over to the table, including the ranch dressing and the two beers he was now going to drink himself. He dumped a bunch of ranch on his plate then dunked his slice into it, taking a big bite.

Damn. He hadn't eaten pizza with ranch in a long time. It was delicious.

The look Harper sent him as he chewed was now filled with pure jealousy. She wanted the ranch dressing, so why wouldn't she just go for it? “Why are you depriving yourself?”

She nibbled on her tiny slice of pizza, like she was trying to prolong the moment. “If I ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it, I'd be huge.”

He snorted. “I doubt that.”

“It's true. I've given up most junk food. I had to,” she said defensively.

“Well, that's a damn shame. I get eating healthy. I prefer it most of the time. But sometimes, I want a burger basket from the BFD,” he explained.

“Or a huge slice of DeMarco's pizza covered in ranch?” She raised her brows, nodding toward his plate.

“Exactly.” He set the half-eaten slice on his plate and licked his fingers just to drive her nuts. The way her eyes narrowed, he figured his plan was working. “It's freaking delicious. You're missing out.”

She made a face. “You're mean.”

“You're the mean one, torturing yourself.”

“Oh my God,” she mumbled, reaching out and grabbing the ranch dressing bottle, twisting off the cap. “You're also ridiculous.”

“Says the girl who thinks she's fat.” It pleased him to watch her squeeze a small dollop of dressing on her plate. She delicately dipped the end of her slice in the dressing and then ate it, her eyes going dreamy with pleasure.

His skin went hot. He liked that look. A lot. Even if it was initially caused by pizza and ranch, he'd like to be the one to put that look on her face eventually.

“You should have another piece,” he suggested after she devoured the first one. Before she could say a word he got up, grabbed the pizza box from the kitchen, and brought it back to the table. He flipped open the box, waving a hand. “Go for it.”

She sighed, then pressed her lips together. “Maybe just one more?”

“No judgment here,” he said solemnly.

“I'll have to work out extra hard tomorrow to make up for this.” She reached for a slice, grabbing a much bigger one this time around.

He could think of a workout that they could indulge in together to burn a bunch of calories. Not that Harper would take him up on the suggestion. Not that she should. She was still recovering from ending her relationship. He was looking for nothing serious. He'd be fling material, nothing more.

Maybe that was exactly what Harper needed . . .

“What do you do to work out?” he asked, genuinely curious. He remembered she'd been on the volleyball team in high school. Her freshman year she'd been a cheerleader and cute as absolute fuck in her uniform. Harper could wear a short skirt like no one else. Even Delilah and she had those long dancer legs. “Still play volleyball?”

Harper made a face. “No. I haven't played it in years.”

Of course she didn't. And he never thought about Delilah like that anymore either. Yeah, they'd had a thing when they were kids. A pretty passionate thing, if he was being truthful. As passionate as two teenage kids could be. But it had fizzled out fast. They were better off as friends and had realized it quick, which was awfully grown-up for them. They'd been babies then.

Seeing Delilah now, there was no spark, no interest. More like a pleasant fondness and memories of a time past. He was hopeful that they could continue their friendship. Delilah was good people. She always had been.

Harper Hill was . . . different. Just hearing her name being said by someone else sent a bolt of sensation straight through his veins. Hearing her voice made his heart race. Having her so close, or worse, having her touch him, however briefly, however meaningless it was . . .

He felt weak—weak with wanting her.

Was it because he'd never had a real chance with her? One night of kissing for a few hours hadn't been nearly enough. More like a sampling of what he wanted more of. Once he had her—if he ever got the chance—would he get over this feeling? Or would that make him want her more?

For all he knew she wasn't interested in him like that. He couldn't blame her. He'd treated her like crap by walking away and never acknowledging what happened that night. Of course, he'd left town and never had the chance to talk about it with her, but maybe that had only made it worse.

Hell, he
still
hadn't acknowledged what happened between them. Maybe he should. Maybe they should confront their past indiscretion once and for all, get it out of the way so they could forge on. Move forward. All that positive mumbo jumbo he'd never been much of a believer in.

“So what do you do? For exercise?” he finally asked, needing to get back on track and focus on Harper. Not become lost in old memories.

“I run mostly. A few mornings a week,” she said with a little shrug. She set her slice of pizza on the plate and took a drink of her water. “I should probably run more, but . . . ”

“Do you do anything else?”

“Sometimes Delilah gives a torturous exercise class during the summer. I've been known to participate in that.” Harper made a little face. “She's kind of ruthless.”

“This doesn't surprise me,” he said, though he distinctly remembered Delilah complaining about her dance teacher and how relentless and pushy she used to be. Now Delilah was the relentless, pushy one.

“I should exercise more. I should do a lot of things that are good for me.” She dropped her gaze to the table, a little sigh escaping her.

“Like what? And says who?” he asked.

Harper lifted her head, her pretty brown eyes meeting his. “This is going to sound incredibly lame,” she started, her lips immediately clamping shut, as if she didn't want to say the rest.

“Out with it,” West encouraged. “Come on, Harper. We're friends, right?”

Her gaze never strayed from his and after a few seconds of silence, he wanted to squirm in his chair like a little kid until she finally said, “Is that what we are, Weston? Friends?”

He froze. Here it was, their moment of truth. He could run right over this moment and not acknowledge their past or he could throw it out on the table and see how she reacted. What would she do if he told her he was attracted to her now? Still?

What would he do if she wasn't interested in him at all?

West frowned. He wasn't sure. And he didn't know if he wanted to consider either possibility yet.

“I thought maybe . . . ” Her voice trailed off and she looked away, as if she couldn't face him. He got it. His heart pounded like a freight train, rattling his ribs as he waited for what she had to say next. “After what happened that last night you were in Wildwood, before you left. Things changed between us, Weston. They changed a lot.”

She was right. Things had totally changed. But he never thought he'd have to see her again. He'd thought that he could just walk away from her and pretend that night had never happened.

But it had. And he suddenly, desperately wanted to talk about it. Own it. Reenact it.

Would she let him? Did she want him to?

H
ARPER
'
S HEART WAS
racing. If West agreed that yeah, they were nothing but friends and that night meant nothing to him, she would bolt, leave this place and never look back because she wouldn't be able to take his rejection again.

He took a deep breath, like he needed it for courage. “We've known each other for a long time,” he started.

“And you've been gone for a long time,” she finished. Did he see her as the same silly little Harper Hill? His little sister's best friend? God, she hoped not. She'd changed. So much so, she didn't feel like the same person anymore. Even the girl she was before, that night when she and West kissed, she wasn't her anymore either. She was older.

Supposedly wiser.

Maybe not so much, considering she was sitting there waiting with bated breath to hear what West had to say next.

“There are a lot of things I regret,” he said, ducking his head so he stared at the table, pushing his plate away from him. “The last time we were together years ago, I didn't handle things between us right. And I'm—I'm sorry about that, Harper. So damn sorry.”

He said nothing else and neither did she. She couldn't find the words, could hardly find any air left in her lungs. Was that all he had to say? Was he rejecting her again? God, she'd been right all along. She was supposed to protect her pride, protect her heart, and instead she'd laid it bare like a complete idiot.

Yet again.

Pushing away from the table, she stood, hurrying out of the tiny dining area without saying a word.

“Harper,” she heard West call after her but she ignored him, too busy trying to get the hell out of there, too panicked he might try to say something else. Like how they should just be friends and there was nothing going on between them and what, she took that night of glorious kissing seriously? How silly could she be?

Yeah, she couldn't face that. No way.

Grabbing her purse from where she'd left it, she slung the strap over her shoulder and reached for the front door handle just as West crowded her from behind. He slapped his hand flat against the door, preventing her from escaping, surrounding her completely with his big, warm body.

She went completely still, the air stalling in her lungs as she tried to regain her composure. Surely she was overreacting. But he'd rattled her so completely it was hard for her to keep it together. Just being near him made her want to do stupid, reckless things.

Like throw herself at him. Beg him to kiss her again like he had so long ago. Feel his arms come around her and hold her close. She wanted all of that, as crazy as it sounded. She may have been with Roger, may have even thought that she wanted to marry him at one point, but the truth was right here, standing directly behind her, literally breathing down her neck.

She wasn't over West Gallagher. Not by a long shot.

“You didn't let me finish what I was going to say,” he murmured, his fingers tangling in her hair, brushing it away from her neck. She sucked in a breath, tingles sweeping over her skin when he stepped even closer. Her purse slipped from her shoulder and she let it fall, heard it land on the tiled entryway with a soft clatter. “I don't want to push you to do anything you don't want, Harper. I know you just broke up with your boyfriend.”

She trembled all over. He was so close he must've felt her body shaking. His fingers were still in her hair, skimming her nape, and she closed her eyes, overwhelmed by his simple touch.

“Ever since I saw you in the supermarket I haven't stopped thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice low, so close it felt like he was speaking directly into her ear. “You looked so pretty, even when you were mad and insulting me.”

Embarrassment threatened to swallow her whole. She
never
acted like that. There was something about West that brought out the worst in her.

Or maybe he brought out the real her.

“I remember exactly what you felt like in my arms, that night I kissed you,” he continued. “What you tasted like. The sounds you made. How you'd clutch me closer every time I tried to pull away.”

She dipped her head forward, her eyes tightly closed as she remembered too. The way he felt, the sounds he made, the way he tasted. He shifted closer, his mouth—oh, God, his
mouth
—was right at her nape, his hands resting lightly on her hips. “I'm curious to see if it's still just as good between us,” he murmured against her skin, his warm lips making her shiver.

His hands on her body and his mouth moving against her neck made her want to melt. It was going to be good. So good she would probably combust at first touch of his mouth on hers.

“Turn around, Harper,” he whispered into her hair, and she opened her eyes, turning slowly so she could face him. Her knees were so wobbly she leaned against the front door so she wouldn't fall to the ground in a boneless heap. West stepped into her personal space, his big hands braced against the door on either side of her head, his intense gaze zeroed in on her lips. “I didn't plan on this happening tonight.”

“Plan on what happening tonight?” she asked with a slight frown. Oh, God, maybe he didn't want her after all. Maybe he was trying to let her down easy? She should've just left. It was complete torture, knowing he was most likely going to say something nice so he wouldn't hurt her feelings. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable blow.

“This.”

His lids lowered as he dipped his head, his mouth landing on hers, and her eyes slid closed once more, relief flooding her as she automatically reached for him, looping her arms around his neck. He didn't touch her, his hands remained on the door, but his mouth did wondrous things. Soft and seeking, warm and damp, his lips brushed against hers once. Twice. She parted her lips beneath his the third time, but he didn't take it any deeper. No, he was slow, methodical, purposeful. Learning her, driving her out of her mind.

He put some space between them and she slowly opened her eyes to find him watching her, his eyes glowing, his lips damp from her own. He was so close she could see the stubble lining his jaw, the faded scar just beneath his chin that he'd gotten when he crashed his bike into a fence at the age of eleven. It was kind of weird, kissing a man she'd known since he was a boy. Weird and . . .

Thrilling. Yes, definitely thrilling.

“Was it just as good as the last time we kissed?” she asked, surprised at her bravery. Pleased with her boldness. The simplest kiss in the world had the power to rattle her to the very depths of her soul. She sounded dramatic but it was true. West was exactly what she'd been searching for.

Passion.

“Better,” he confessed with the faintest smile just before he kissed her again. He took it deeper this time, teasing just the inside of her mouth with slow sweeps of his tongue before circling it around her own. She clutched the soft hair at his nape, her fingers tugging, trying to pull him closer. He still hadn't put his hands on her and it was driving her crazy.

Harper tilted her chin up, her hair rubbing against the door as she tried to shift the kiss even deeper. But West wouldn't have it. He broke away from her, his mouth running along her jaw, down her throat, gently touching the sensitive spot just behind her ear. He bit her earlobe, making her gasp, her entire body throbbing with need.

And still he hadn't touched her.

“I know what you want,” he whispered against her neck, sounding arrogant as hell. And so incredibly sexy too. If he knew what she wanted, then why wasn't he giving it to her? “But the second I put my hands on you it's all over.”

“Wh-what's all over?” She bent her head to the left, giving him better access, and he took it, kissing and—
oh, God
—licking her neck.

Weston Gallagher had an amazing tongue.

“My self-control.” He lifted his head, shifting himself away from her. “I'm afraid I'll tear your clothes off once I get my hands on you.”

Her breath hitched in her throat at the thought.
Yes, please.
Oh, she'd never been lucky enough to have a man so overcome with need for her that he tore her clothes off. That sounded absolutely wonderful.

She slipped her hands away from his neck, over his shoulders, down his chest. He was firm. Muscular. And very, very warm. What would he do if she slipped her fingers beneath the hem of his T-shirt and lifted it right off him? Maybe
she
was tempted to lose all self-control and tear
his
clothes off.

Or maybe not. She was feeling brave tonight, but not that brave.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked.

“I wasn't . . . ” She shook her head.

West removed one hand from the wall, pressing his fingers against her lips and silencing her. “Don't lie to me, Harper. You were mad. That's why you were running out of here like your feet were on fire.”

How did he know her so well? Maybe since she was so obvious? Probably. “I thought you were going to . . . let me down easy,” she murmured against his fingers.

“I thought you were angry at me for attempting to make a move on you,” he confessed, his hand dropping away from her mouth.

“Why would I be mad about that?” It was what she'd wanted for years.

“I come back into town, see you, and within twenty-four hours of our supermarket reunion, I hear you split with your live-in boyfriend. I figured you needed some time to . . . I don't know . . . heal? Not deal with some guy from your past acting like he wanted to get in your panties.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear like he couldn't keep his hands off her.

Oh. Did he really want to get in her panties? The only words floating through her brain were
yes, please
. And then,
when can we make that happen?

Whoops. That was definitely more than two words.

“You wanted to, um, get in my panties?” Her voice squeaked on the last word. She actually said
panties
to West. And they were in reference to
her
panties. She should be mortified, but she wasn't. No, more like aroused.

Very aroused.

“I've wanted to get in your panties for years,” he admitted, his voice so low she almost couldn't hear him. “You turned sixteen, and I immediately wanted to jump you.”

Say what?
She sucked in a sharp breath, laughing as she lightly slapped him on the chest. “You did not.”

He nodded. “I did too. You got all those pretty curves and the braces came off? Forget it. I was done for.”

“You were a senior when I turned sixteen.” He'd had his pick of girls. All three Gallagher boys had a reputation. With their good looks, easygoing attitudes, and natural athleticism, they were extremely popular. Smart. Friendly. Guys wanted to be their friends. Girls wanted to be their girlfriends. Everyone was naturally drawn to them, and West was the most charismatic of the bunch.

Well, he was to Harper.

“I know. And my sister's best friend.” He shook his head. “And underage. Just . . . I thought we were a bad idea.”

Wow. She'd always thought they'd be a great idea. She couldn't believe he'd been interested in her for so long.

“I'm thinking we might still be a bad idea,” he said softly, his words causing dread to seep into her skin, reminding her that they were definitely not on the same page.

They weren't even in the same freaking book.

She stiffened and curled her hands into fists, pushing him away from her. He went stumbling back, the shock on his face obvious. How stupid could she be? Falling for his lines? Letting him
kiss
her again?

Clearly he made her stupid. Like, unbelievably stupid. And she wasn't a stupid person. Though when it came to men, maybe she was. She felt all over the place. From calm, stable Roger to sexy, outrageous West—what in the world was she doing?

S
HIT
,
SHIT
,
SHIT
. Why'd he have to go and say that? Harper was looking at him like she wanted to rip his head off when only moments ago she'd been in his arms, his mouth on her smooth, soft neck, savoring all those sweet little sighs she made. It was just as good between them as the last time they'd kissed. No surprise. But she was sweet and warm and giving and so incredibly responsive. She wanted more from him. She didn't have to say it, but he knew. And she deserved to be with a man who wanted to give her more.

He didn't think he could be that man.

Running a hand through his hair, he kept space between them, waiting for her to grab her purse off the floor and leave. He wouldn't blame her. Couldn't hold it against her if she made her escape. Not that he wanted her to leave, but . . .

If she stayed, he'd fuck her. She deserved more than that, a quick fuck. And that was all he was good for. All he could offer.
Permanency
wasn't a part of his vocabulary. Being with a girl, having a relationship? He'd never really experienced one beyond high school stuff and that didn't count. Once he graduated and started working for Cal Fire, he'd never had time for a steady girlfriend. Ever.

He was twenty-eight years old and had no idea how to make a relationship work. How pitiful was he?

“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings by saying that, Harper,” he started, but she glared at him, making his lips clamp shut. Damn it, he needed to get this out. Reassure her that it wasn't her, but him. “It's just . . . you deserve someone better than me.”

She made a face. “Give me a break. Are you serious?”

Great, here she went, calling him out on his shit. Not that he didn't deserve it. “I'm not what anyone would call boyfriend material.” That sounded lame. He scratched the side of his head, uncomfortable with the way she studied him. Like he was a bug pinned on a board, wiggling and desperate to make his escape. “Plus, you just came out of a long relationship. You have to agree trying to dive back into another one probably isn't the smartest move.”