In Too Deep (33 page)

It felt perfect, he felt
perfect.

Her brain mocked her with every
slow swirl of West’s hand.

Lust? Yeah, right.

***

West wasn’t a cuddler. And he
really didn’t like women invading his space, snoring in his ear
when he wanted to sleep.

So why didn’t he peel Piper’s
naked limbs off his body and engage in a tuck and roll maneuver to
ease her onto the other side of the double bed?

He sprawled on his back, Piper’s
cheek pressed to the spot where only minutes ago his heart nearly
erupted out of his chest. One long leg draped over his thigh and
her arm was a dead weight across his stomach. Slow breaths puffed
against his skin and twice she’d given a soft, snorting sigh as she
relaxed even further, melting into him like warm syrup.

And speaking of melting—making
love with her the second time back in his cabin annihilated any
remaining brain cells left from their beach encounter.

His fingers feathered over the
sweet curve of her ass and she muttered something, shifting her
knee higher—any higher and he’d wake her for round
three.

He couldn’t get enough.

After their sandy exuberance on
the beach, which had simultaneously whet his appetite and
frustrated the bejesus out of him because he couldn’t touch her the
way he wanted, they’d swum back to The Mollymawk. West then decided
that unless one of the local Great Whites went all
Jaws
on
them and attacked the boat, they were headed straight to the shower
and then his bed, so he could bury himself in her over and
over.

Mission accomplished.

His normal mode of operation from
this point—the afterglow—was to either kiss the woman goodbye and
disappear from her hotel room slash rented accommodation, or if she
indicated she’d like him to stay, he’d put up with cuddling for a
short period until she became sleepy enough for him to ease her
over.

But nothing was normal about
making love with Piper. Starting with the fact his brain kept
supplying the words “making love” instead of the usual four-letter
descriptions. He’d made love to Piper. Not screwed her, or shagged
her, or joined her in the act of sexual intercourse. He’d loved her
with his hands, with his mouth, with his body—and gave her every
part of himself.

Except his heart.

That was off limits.

Piper stirred, tilting her chin
up. He couldn’t see her face clearly, but he knew she was
awake.

“
West?” she said after a
moment.

He’d been drawing her in so tight
against his body that she’d woken. “Go back to sleep,
Pipe.”

He reached over with the arm that
wasn’t prickling with pins and needles and ran the back of his
knuckles down her cheek.

“
It’ll be dawn soon. I should go
back to my room.” Piper’s leg brushed across his as she arched her
back, preparing to pull away.

His hand that traced down her
cheek made a rapid drop south, landing on her knee and pinning her
in place. “Stay with me.”

Suddenly it seemed important he
didn’t lose the little bubble of warmth surrounding them under the
covers. Even the small gap she’d put between them was a chasm
filled with dead air. He needed her, needed the skin on skin, her
hair tickling his neck, the smell of apples from her shampoo.
“Please.”

A chill prickled across his
shoulders as he sensed her trying to gauge his expression in the
dark. Piper inched back into the crook of his arms and her hand
settled on his chest, one finger tracing consecutive circles on his
skin. He tucked her even closer to his side and angled his face so
he could inhale the scent of her hair again.

One by one her muscles relaxed,
until she slumped bonelessly against him once more, her breasts
mashed against his ribcage, the brush of her sex rubbing on his
thigh when she moved. The pins and needles were totally worth
it.

And when she started to make those
soft, snorting sighs again he closed his eyes, a smile creasing his
lips.

Turns out he was a cuddler after
all.

Chapter 16

Piper emerged
from the bathroom in a pair of dressy, black pants and a glittery,
off-the-shoulder tunic top. She’d snatched the clothes off a rack
when her sister and the whole female gang dragged her along on a
shopping trip to Invercargill three days ago.

“
What happened to that cute
cocktail dress we all decided on? You can’t wear that to the ball
tonight.” Shaye, with one hand on the hip of her vintage gown,
tapped a dangerous tempo on her bedroom floor with a lethal-looking
stiletto.

“
You all
decided on it. I
changed my mind and got this instead. There’s nothing wrong with
it.” Piper couldn’t keep a note of irritation from her
voice.

She didn’t even want to go to the
ball—not after her last experience at one—and what was wrong with
her outfit? It was eveningwear. The top had
sequins
, for
God’s sake.

“
Please tell me you’re not
planning to wear your combat boots.”

“
Why not? Someone needs to kick
the men falling at your feet out of the way, once you and Kez make
your grand entrance.”

“
Flattery doesn’t change the fact
you’re wearing butt-ugly pants and an old-granny top, Piper Marie
Harland.”

Piper twisted in front of the full
length mirror, checking out her reflection. “Hey, these butt-ugly
pants and granny top set me back over a hundred bucks.”

But, yeah, she had to concede Mrs.
Taylor would covet her outfit if the top was lavender instead of
salmon pink.

Shaye huffed, and jabbed a dangly
earring through a lobe. “I don’t know how we can be related.
Honestly, do you think West’s jaw is gonna hit the floor when he
sees you in that outfit?”

It’d been a week since she and
West made love for the first time and she hadn’t slept on the futon
since. He wouldn’t allow it—told her that one way or another they’d
spend their nights together, either in his big roomy bed, or
squished together on the office futon.

“
Your choice,” he’d
said.

But really, there’d been no choice
at all, because the only place she wanted to be was in his bed,
wrapped in his arms. And did she think too intently about that
admission? Not on your life.

“
Well, if he can’t accept me as
I—” A sharp rap of knuckles on Shaye’s bedroom door cut Piper
off.

The door swung inward and Glenna
marched in, her dark-sienna evening dress swirling around her legs.
“Hello, darlings. How are we going?”

Arms full of pale sea-green
fabric, Glenna beamed at Shaye and said, “Gorgeous as always,
baby.”

Her stare switched to Piper,
scanning her from head to toe. Her lips formed a pained moue. “No,
darling. Just no.”

Glenna spread the yards of fabric
draped over her arms onto Shaye’s bed, revealing a chiffon gown
with intricate beading on the one shoulder strap that crossed
diagonally from the bodice to the low cut back. “You’ll wear
this.”

Piper recognized the garment
immediately. “Mum—I can’t.”

An old album held a photo of her
mother in that dress, worn to the first dance Glenna and Michael
attended. Her mother used to whisper to her and Shaye, as they sat
on the sofa flipping over the heavy black pages, that the photo was
taken the night she fell in love with their father.

“
You have my coloring and you’re
the same size as I used to be, way back when. You’ll look
exquisite.”

“
It’s your special dress. I just
can’t.”

And she couldn’t open herself up
to the hurtful memories of facing West across another dance floor
in a pretty dress. Much safer to arrive incognito, and let all the
other women dazzle.

Her mother’s gaze went dreamy and
Piper could almost see her mind travelling back over the years to
the church hall, Michael’s arm tucked around her waist, his smiling
face half turned into her hair.

“
Please, don’t argue. Wear it for
me. Don’t hide under those dowdy clothes thinking they’ll protect
you from a broken heart. He sees you, darling, West sees you
anyway. Give him something more than those awful black pants and
this—” her mother scowled as she pinched the loose sleeve of the
tunic top between her fingers “—as a memory. You’ll knock him
straight out of his socks, mark my words.”

Beaten by a pro at emotional
warfare, Piper knew when to give in. Sighing, she reached down to
finger the slippery-soft fabric of the dress. “All right. I’ll try
it on. No promises.”

“
Brilliant.” Glenna clapped her
hands and swung around to Shaye, sidling out of the room. “Shaye?
Have you still got those silver-sling backs? They’ll go divinely
with the dress.”

Shaye blinked, her glossy lips
forming an “o.”

“
But Piper was going to wear
those, Mum.” She pointed to the corner of the room, her mouth
morphing into an impish smile after Glenna whirled in a flurry of
skirts.

“
Her purple boots? Over my dead
body.”

“
Shaye thought it’d be a fashion
statement. Kinda goth and thumbing-my-nose-at- convention, all
rolled into one.” Piper grinned back at her sister, warmth
spreading through her when Shaye poked out her tongue.

Glenna tutted and then laughed.
“You girls. The pair of you will drive some poor men batty one
day.”

“
Piper’s
already
driven
West batty.” Shaye snickered, and then squealed when a small
cushion from her bed sailed across the room and smacked the
doorframe beside her. She ducked outside the room, poking her head
around the frame long enough to make kissy noises. “Piper
lurvs
him—he’s ever so dreamy.”

“
Shove off, twerp.” Piper fired
another cushion and it bounced off the door on the opposite side of
the hallway.

Her aim was way off, thanks to the
shakiness in her upper arms. Shaye laughed again, her heels
clicking along the floor.

Love?
In lurv?
Nuh-uh. Not
possible, no way, no how.

She barely liked West most of the
time, because he was just another irritating pain-in-her-ass male.
Sure, the fantastic sex each night somewhat made up for it—the man
was an orgasm-giving machine. But, if she added to the “love scale”
the fact that beneath his slick exterior beat the soft heart of a
man who’d rearrange his life to help a friend...if she added the
way he helped out in menial kitchen prep so that his father rested
enough...well, the scale tipped dangerously into the
little-red-hearts zone.

But he still pissed her off and he
never, ever remembered to leave the toilet seat down in his en
suite bathroom.

That alone took
lurv
out of
the realm of possibility.

The door opposite opened and Zoe’s
head popped out. “Mum!” she hollered. “Someone’s throwing pillows!
How come I can’t throw pillows?”

“
Piper, stop throwing things and
get ready! Thirty minutes and counting, woman!” Kezia’s muffled
voice came through the wall next door.

Trust Shaye to choose a bossy
housemate with x-ray vision.

Piper turned back to her mother’s
Cheshire cat smile. “I’m
not
in love with him, so do
not
get that look on your face.”

She gathered up the dress and
stormed out of Shaye’s room, stomping down the hallway into the
bathroom. Leaning against the back of the bathroom door she
smoothed the dress’s soft skirt against her face.

Lying to her mother. Tsk,
tsk.

“
Not lying.” She dragged the
granny top off, squinting at her reflection with a twist of her
lips.

“
I am not in love with that
insufferable man.” Her mirror imaged stared back with flushed
cheeks and a telltale sparkle in her eyes.

No, she wasn’t in love with Ryan
Westlake.

But she sure as hell was sliding
down the slippery slope toward it.

***

At the entrance to Oban’s
community hall Ben waited, and itched. From the open doors behind
him laughter and conversation drifted out, along with the smell of
crispy sausage rolls, and the odd sound-system feedback as
technicians made last minute adjustments. Mrs. Taylor had informed
him his first job of the evening was to greet people at the door.
If
that
wasn’t bad enough, he had to wear a suit.

A suit, for Christ’s sake. He
didn’t even own a suit.

Last week he made a simpleton’s
mistake of mentioning this to Mrs. Taylor and she offered him one
of her dead husband’s God-awful checkered things. When he turned
her down she smirked and suggested he take a trip to Invercargill
to hire one.

So now he stood on the community
hall’s verandah like a funeral director with a crowbar jammed up
his ass, in a jacket half a size too small which pulled across his
shoulders.

He itched all over and beneath the
cast his ankle drove him nuts too. And as for the flaming starched
collar of the shirt that threatened to asphyxiate him…