Wicked Nights (7 page)

needed after her unwelcome call with Del had torpedoed her afternoon, and the Pleasure Pier was perfect.

Built more than a hundred years ago by one of Cal’s enterprising island ancestors, a man who’d decided

to combine beer sales with fish sales (pure genius, in Piper’s opinion), the pier stretched out into the bay,

living up to its name. The piles were painted the green of Doublemint gum and winked with white lights.

The place stayed true to its roots, selling fishing licenses and fresh fish. The occasional angler parked on the

edge, trying his luck in the water below before hauling the catch over to the weighing stations and a dusty

wall of old photos of oversized, prizewinning marlin and swordfish, and successful fishermen. For the less

fish-inclined, the pier sold saltwater taffy, ice cream and churros. An old-fashioned lemon-yellow swing

ride lit up the far end by the beer kiosk.

A beer and candy sounded perfect, followed by a half-dozen, gut-churning rides on the swings. She

wanted to fly through the air, leaving the day’s problems behind her. Ten minutes later, she traded in five

bucks she should have been saving and acquired a fistful of paper tickets and a bonus bag of taffy. She’d

passed on the beer, after all—she had the Harley, and some chances she wouldn’t take.

The swings slowed, riders stumbling away, laughing. Kids shrieked while their parents snapped photos,

creating a scene that was loudly happy and all chaos.
Perfect.

“Hey, Lenny.” She greeted the ticket taker, offering him the bag of taffy. Lenny had worked on the pier

for as long as she could remember. Like the ride itself, he looked a little older each year.

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” Lenny poked through the bag, looking for the red-and-white taffy, like

he always did. “Got your favorite swing all ready for you.”

“Perfect.” She laughed. Her feet flew to the bright red double swing she always rode. Deliciously garish,

with over-the-top gold trim covering every edge, and faux rubies hot-glued to the sides, her swing winked

at her just as enticingly now as it had twenty years ago. It also had the most lift of all the swings on the ride,

or so she and her brothers had concluded after a summer of experimenting. She’d ridden it ever since.

She settled in, waiting for the ride to fill up. The sky was dark now, with plenty of stars peeking

through the clouds. She’d always meant to buy one of those charts and learn their names. She tracked one

glowing blob and debated if the slowly moving light was a comet or a shooting star. Her knowledge of

astronomy was sadly lacking. She’d seen a shooting star once, a bright flare and a quick descent. The flash

of red was her first clue that celestial milestones weren’t in her future tonight. Her “star” was a plane. Nope.

She’d better not count on a career as an astronomer.

And...darn it. Despite her careful planning to
not
think about Cal or the bet she had impulsively

proposed to him, Mr. Tall, Dark and Glum himself stood there on the pier, dogging her from the shadows.

The Pleasure Pier wasn’t his kind of scene. She had a hard time imagining him fisting a bag of taffy and

riding the swings until he was deliciously seasick. Cal was too responsible, too...something else. On the

other hand, if she accidentally fell over the pier because she was too dizzy, he’d be the first one in to save

her.

He watched from a distance, giving the impression there was an invisible space bubble or do-not-cross

police tape surrounding him. The pier’s usual evening crowd flowed around him obediently. He’d changed

out of his suit, looking more familiar in his usual faded blue jeans, T-shirt and work boots. His long, lean

legs were stretched out slightly in front of him as he leaned against the pier’s railing, the ocean at his back.

And, God, his eyes...she liked his watchful, heated gaze far too much for comfort. She had no idea why he

was here, but as long as he stared, she was staring back.

So screw it.

Flip him the bird or crook her finger? Oh, the choices... Grinning, she flipped him the bird. He tipped

his head in silent acknowledgment and then slipped away into the shadows.

She pushed down the strange pang of disappointment. She might not
like
Cal, but baiting him was

almost as much fun as eating taffy and riding the swings. He had better things to do than stand there and

watch her. Of course.

She’d been kissing distance from him that night at Big Petey’s, and the closeness had made an

impression. That was all these residual feelings were. Because kissing Cal—or doing anything else with the

man—would be a recipe for disaster. His hot body came with an arrogant, take-charge attitude she didn’t

need in her life. She’d win their bet and thumb her nose at him. So what if she’d imagined the man doing a

Chippendales routine at her own personal direction? Just because he’d have to take orders from her didn’t

mean she had to
give
him any orders. She certainly hadn’t planned on actually getting into bed with him.

Lenny bellowed for last-takers, and she tightened her fingers on the chains connecting her swing to the

ride. The anticipation of waiting to start was almost as good as the ride itself. As the music swirled and

blared, the swing dipped and swayed as someone else sat down beside her. Nope. No way. She always rode

alone.

She turned her head—although how she was going to protest sharing a public ride with single seats for

solo riders, she didn’t know—and Cal settled onto the seat beside her. She couldn’t remember the last time

Cal had ridden the swings. Or the first time, for that matter.

“I could be saving that seat,” she pointed out through a mouthful of candy.

He raised a brow. She
hated
when he did that. The gesture always, always preceded his busting her.

Sure enough...

“For whom?”

He reached out a thumb and rubbed at the sticky corner of her mouth. Oops. She was wearing her guilty

pleasure on her face. At least he hadn’t licked his finger first. Ignoring the rasp of his callused skin against

hers, she pulled away from his touch. He was also far too literal. “I didn’t say I
was.
”

“Just that you could be,” he agreed. “Which you’re not. So fair game.”

“Since when do you ride the swings?”

“Maybe I’m trying something different.” His eyes met hers in silent challenge, and she wondered if her

comment about his predictability had stung the other night.

Lenny was making final rounds, collecting tickets and checking the safety harnesses. If tonight were her

lucky night, Cal wouldn’t have one. Of course, since he was never impulsive, he undoubtedly did.

Lenny paused.

Cal handed over his ticket.

So
not her night.

A minute later the ride started, the familiar music drowning out the chatter of the pier’s crowds. The

lights flashed a riff of rainbow shades, and Discovery Island melted into a colorful blur as they rose up off

the ground. She loved this. The sensation was almost as good as platform diving had been. She could—

again, almost—pretend she was flying.

Cal ruined it by opening his mouth.

“Good job today,” he said. Instead of looking out at the island, he was staring at her again. Cal was

always annoyingly fair.

“You, too,” she admitted grudgingly. Because it was true, darn it. He
had
done a good job and it worried

her. She really, really needed the contract, and Cal might be the person who stopped her from getting it.

The ride whirled up, gravity and centrifugal force working their magic as the swings swung out in a

wide arc. She’d sat on the inside because she really hadn’t expected company, and he outweighed her. He

braced himself as the ride turned, but his thigh pressed against hers. The world spun out of focus, and she

couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore. Cal’s weight changed the swing’s pitch but not in a bad way. On

the next turn, which came faster and higher, he slid into her—the man had no choice—and she leaned

forward.

“There’s Deep Dive.” She leaned forward and pointed to his shop.

* * *

Literally.

Cal wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and gently tugged until she wasn’t quite so close to the

edge of the seat. The ride had a safety harness, a set of thin chains, which struck Cal as more ornamental

than functional. The ride’s designers had clearly bet on gravity keeping riders in their places. Equally

obvious, they’d never planned on Piper. She’d once debated the feasibility of jumping from the ride, when

it swung out over the ocean at its highest point, and hitting the water.

He’d never know for certain whether she’d have gone through with the plan or not, but he’d watched

her like a hawk for the rest of the summer until she’d gone back to the mainland with her family. She’d

accused him of being an old grandfather. He’d countered that she’d had a death wish.

Her legs extended in front of her as their swing whirled into the next turn, and she threw her arms over

her head, shrieking happily. Her right knee didn’t quite straighten all the way, the ridge of scar tissue there a

visible reminder that some things in life hadn’t worked out for Piper. On the other hand, while the accident

had put an end to her diving career, she didn’t seem to be in mourning.

Instead, she’d moved on.

Or moved back. Cal wasn’t sure which. All he knew was that he was off balance in more ways than

one, which was pretty much what always happened when he was around Piper.

They needed to let go of this ridiculous bet. It was a stupid idea and unprofessional. He had no idea

why he’d agreed to it in the first place, except that when he was around Piper, things seemed to happen.

That was part of the problem.

At least he had a captive audience. She couldn’t run away from him now. “About our bet—”

“You can’t renege,” she said. “Look, you can see my boat.”

“Piper—”

“That’s my name.” She slid a sideways glance at him he couldn’t read. Too bad Piper didn’t come with

an instruction manual. Or an off switch.

“We can’t do the bet,” he said firmly. He knew what happened when he gave Piper so much as an inch.

“You agreed,” she countered, every bit as stubborn as he remembered. The years hadn’t softened her up

any. Or taught her to be reasonable.

He braced as the ride spun higher and the swings arced out into the air. Squashing Piper hadn’t been

part of his plan. “Cut me some slack.”

“Nope,” she said. “No way. You were my childhood nemesis. You never went easy on me once.”

Her body curved into the turn, and she threw her arms up again with another whoop, taking at least a

year off his life as her butt lifted off the seat. He anchored her with an arm around her waist, feeling the

warmth of her beneath the thin cotton top. She looked sweet and sexy, both of which were misleading. He

had no idea what game Piper was playing with him, but she’d never shown the slightest awareness of him

as a man. Or sweetness. Stubborn, fierce, competitive—Piper was all of those. Sweet, however, was not

part of her vocabulary.

He didn’t even like sweet.

He tucked her bag of candy into his pocket before it flew away. See? Nothing but trouble.

“We’ll renegotiate,” he stated firmly.

“Cheater,” she said, a small smile curling her lips, and the delight in her voice matched the grin on her

face. “You’re a cheater, Cal Brennan.”

He had no idea what she was talking about. Up, down, sideways. He never knew where he stood with

Piper, other than on her shit list. He seemed to have a permanent place there. But that was Piper. She was

confusing, annoying and definitely...sexy? It had to be a residual from seeing her bare breasts the other day.

Her spectacular, beautiful, completely naked breasts.

He could feel an answering grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Piper,” he crooned. “You’re not

making any sense.”

And...his words were the match to her tinder.

“Shut up,” she snapped. “And hold on.”

She muttered something else he couldn’t quite catch—but she’d always had a potty mouth, so he could

make an educated guess—and then hooked a finger in the front of his T-shirt, dragging him toward her. He

could have stopped her. He was bigger, and he outweighed her by at least eighty pounds. And yet he leaned

obediently toward her. Another first for him.

The ride lurched into its final, lightning-quick round, the music building to a deafening roar. His

stomach lurched right along, and Piper laughed, her face glowing. She’d always loved riding this

monstrosity. He was close enough now to see the paler gold ring in her brown gaze and the freckle by the

corner of one eye.

Her hands bunched in his shirt, knuckles brushing his skin, the metal of the dog tags he wore to

remember. He had no idea what she was up to. Piper was one surprise after another. She’d never been

prone to violence, though, so he figured he’d stay safely in the swing.