In Too Deep (15 page)

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 in 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.”

“
Then you did it wrong. And
sleeping with that scatty cow, Jules, four months ago doesn’t
count.”

Jules must’ve agreed with that
assessment, since she and Curt had not only taken off and left him
in the lurch, but taken off as a cutesy couple. “I’m sick of
holding one way conversations,” she’d moaned at him that last day.
“Curt
talks
to me, and he
listens
to my
feelings.”

Served that weasely little prick
Curt right. Now he could put up with her two-hour
monologues.

“
Whatever. Not like there are many
options around here.” Ben hit the switch and the coffee machine
kicked in with its soft hisses and pops.

“
You’re kidding. It’s high
summer—there are women all over the place.”

West eased to the floor and did
his cross-legged thing, resting his hands palm up on his knees and
closing his eyes. The guys would’ve given him grief about doing
yoga back when they all used to hang out as teenagers. But other
than Ford and that prick Gav, all their other mates had left for
greener pastures. And West swore yoga helped with his
free-diving.

“
Not my style.” He grabbed two
cups, hesitated, then reached for a third.

“
Bro, you don’t have a style.
You’re style
less
and verbally handicapped when it comes to
women.”

“
Yeah? Well
your
style got
you pushed off the wharf yesterday.”

West grunted, but kept his eyes
shut, inhaling until the outline of his ribs became
prominent.

“
Did you ream her out when you got
home last night?”

West blew out a long, slow breath.
“Nope. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“
So you kissed and made up
then?”

An eye popped open for a split
second and then snapped shut while West sucked down another lungful
of air. He huffed that one out, angling his head down to
contemplate his navel, or whatever he did while doing that weird
breathing stuff.

“
I called her out on her
overreaction and she told me I had dick for brains for free-diving.
Kind of a mutual agreement to drop the subject after
that.”

“
Women never know when to drop the
subject—that goes double for Piper.”

“
She doesn’t have much to say to
you. Now, shut up, I’m breathing here.”

Piper’s grim-lipped stance around
him hadn’t eased. His memories of his sister’s nonstop chattering
didn’t mesh with the woman who’d shown up last week. Probably
because every moment spent here with her family was a moment too
many. Couldn’t wait to get away; too bloody stubborn to leave. Or
maybe her silence came about because she remembered the accusations
he threw at her after their dad’s death.

The coffee finished trickling into
the pot and filled the kitchen with the unmistakable smell of
decent java juice, one of the bonuses of hanging out at West’s for
the next few weeks until the summer season was over and he moved
back into his house.

“
Morning.” Piper stood in the
kitchen doorway, fully dressed, boots and all.

“
Didn’t take you long to smell the
coffee.”

She shrugged, ambled into the
kitchen and grabbed the mug he offered. “I need it. West’s bringing
The Mollymawk to the wharf later so Mum and I can make sure it’s
outfitted properly for the weekend.” Her gaze darted left to West,
still cross-legged on his mat.

“
Ahhh. A day spent with Mum
fussing with bed sheets and folding facecloths into funny shapes, I
can see why you—”

“
What is he doing?”

Ben twisted his neck to follow her
gaze. “Sitting like a preschooler and huffing like a steam
engine.”

“
In his underwear?” Piper’s voice
rose half an octave on the last word, a flush of high color
appearing on her cheekbones.

“
Be thankful,” he said the driest
tone he could muster. “Usually it’s clothing optional.”

“
Up,” West said after inhaling.
“Yours,” he completed on exhaling. “It’s my house, my shorts—not
underwear
—and it’s Pranayama, or yoga breathing for an
ignoramus such as yourself.”

Ben pulled the coffee carafe from
the machine and poured a cup. “You just missed him doing his
doggy-style pose. Quite fetching, really.”

Piper darted a glance in West’s
direction and then a suspicious look at him, as if she couldn’t
quite believe he’d include her in their good-natured ragging. She
shoved her mug out for Ben to fill. “I’m lucky I slept in
then.”

Ben waited until she raised the
coffee to her lips and sipped. “Kissing up to West last night tired
you out, hmm?”

Droplets flew in an arc as Piper
choked and spluttered. Ben rescued the mug from her hand and leaned
against the counter, his gaze skipping between his sister and West.
Without sparing a glance at Piper who coughed up a lung over the
sink, West rose, rolled up his mat, and said, “I’m hitting the pool
for an hour.”

Ben filled a glass with water and
gave it to his gasping sister. Ah, bollocks, something was going on
with West and Piper. Again.

***

Piper. Kiss-flushed, thighs
spread, and moaning on his dining table. That was all he’d be
thinking about on this romance cruise. He’d tasted her and now it
made him want to pound the hell outta something.

West stepped from The Mollymawk’s
wheelhouse and gave a mock salute to Ben below on the wharf. Ben
cast off the last rope and aimed his crutch, pretending to pull an
invisible trigger.
Mate, if only you knew the images in my head
you’d be reaching for the real McCoy.

With a shake of his head, West
retreated into the wheelhouse and navigated The Mollymawk away from
the wharf, out into the choppy waves of Halfmoon Bay.

A short time later, footsteps
tapped into the wheelhouse behind him. He kept one hand on the
steering wheel and the other gripped on the throttle arm. That he
could sense Piper’s proximity now just smeared another layer of
annoyance across his skin. He was far too aware of her. The mango
scent of her skin and the throaty laugh she let loose whenever she
thought he wasn’t around. The whiplash along his nerves when their
eyes met. Frickin’ killed his concentration and kept him on
edge.

And that smoking-hot kiss? He
sucked in a breath and blew out his cheeks. Yeah. That murdered his
concentration even more.

“
They all settled in?” he
asked.

“
Yep.” A glance at the window in
front of him reflected Piper’s tousle-haired image leaning against
the doorway. “Couples one and two are keen to snorkel for a few
hours before lunch. The husband of couple three wants to fish,
while his wife plans to catch some rays and sneak admiring glances
at your butt.”

“
What? She said that?”

Piper sauntered over and flopped
onto the other helm seat, exposing a mile long length of leg that
tempted him to lean over and run his hand along the silky
skin.

“
Not in so many words, but wife
number three definitely checked you out.”

Wife number three was attractive
in a barracuda-ish type way, but Piper wouldn’t mean the comment to
be a compliment about his charming way with women. He sure didn’t
take it as one. “The woman’s pushing fifty.”