In Too Deep (5 page)

At least she had the common sense
to turn around and come back.

He pulled off his helmet as she
drew alongside, and held it out to her. She froze beside him and
kept her hands on the backpack straps, her mouth a pale, straight
gash on her face.

Cold rain trickled down his neck
and oozed inside his collar. The fingers on his left hand felt
frozen to the handlebars with icy rivets. “For once in your bloody
life don’t argue—just get on.”

Her face jerked toward his, but
her eyes were hidden under the brim of her cap. The bike’s engine
rumbled in neutral and a peal of thunder cracked across the sky.
Piper’s lips opened but nothing came out. She took the helmet and
moved out of his line of sight. Pretty certain she muttered a word
ending with “hole” as she jammed the helmet on, West turned the
bike toward home and waited. He forced his muscles to relax when
she lightly touched his shoulder and swung on behind
him.

The pretense didn’t last once she
settled into position, her wet denim-covered legs pressed against
the outside of his thighs, her upper body forced close to his as
the bulk of her backpack shifted her center of gravity forward. One
hand clutched her cap in a death grip, the other snaked around his
waist and settled lightly on his abs. His groin tightened and the
crotch of his uncomfortably damp jeans squeezed like the denim had
shrunk a size.

“
Ready?” he gritted
out.

The chin guard of the helmet
clipped his shoulder blades as she nodded. He toed the bike into
gear and released the clutch. The spread of her fingers across his
stomach nearly caused the lever to slip from his grasp. Stalling
like a kid with a learner’s permit was not the impression he wanted
to give.

West steadied his hand and let the
clutch out slowly. Grit and small stones crunched under the tires
as they gathered speed and headed back toward town. Thankfully the
rain tapered off to a wet drizzle so he could see where he was
going.

When he turned into his lane and
gunned it up the hill to his driveway, Piper’s second hand joined
the first as she clung to his torso, the firm mounds of her breasts
mashing against his back.

He came to a complete stop in
front of his garage. Piper leaped off the back like the seat of her
pants was on fire. Fine by him. He hit the automatic roller door
button in his pocket and walked the bike inside. Donny, the mad
mutt, padded out of the shadows, panting and wet. By the time he’d
nudged the kickstand down, Piper had the helmet off and was staring
bug-eyed at his dog.

“
Is that yours?” She let out a
girlish squeak when Donny whipped his body around, sending water
and slobber flying.

“
Yep.”

“
What kind of dog is he? A
miniature, balding Yeti?”

He studied her expression. Donny
was a deal breaker, and if she he didn’t care for him, tough. She
could sleep in here. “Staffy boxer cross.”

Donny strolled over to Piper and
delicately sniffed her knee. Maybe he resembled a miniature bald
Yeti, what with his missing ear, droopy jowls and mangy fur, but
West’s pal had manners. Piper slowly lowered her hand and let the
dog transfer his snuffling to her knuckles. “He looks like he’s
been through the wars.”

“
He has.”

“
What’s his name?” After receiving
Donny’s tongue swipe of approval, she stroked his head.

“
Donny.”

She crooked an eyebrow at him. “As
in Donnie Wahlberg from New Kids on the Block?”

“
You’re kidding, right? Think I’d
name my dog after someone in a boy band? No—it’s short for Don
Juan.”

“
Don Juan? You named this poor
ugly creature—and no offence buddy,” she crooned, scratching the
dog’s back while he shivered in delight, “—after Don Juan, the
greatest fictional lover of all time?”

“
Donny doesn’t think he’s ugly and
the ladies appreciate him just fine.”

“
I suppose they see past his
flaws.” Piper shot him a pointed glance and strolled further into
his garage as if she owned the place. “This is quite the man cave.”
She placed the helmet on an empty spot on his workbench.

Tools and grease-smeared bike
parts covered almost every available surface and he squashed an
irrational urge to tell her to get the hell out of his garage. “You
expected something else? A craft nook complete with scrapbooking
supplies and knitting needles?”

Her nostrils flared and her hands
returned to the straps of her backpack, gripping them until the
skin across her knuckles turned a bloodless white. “I wasn’t
expecting anything.” She huffed out a sigh. “I know you don’t want
me here any more than I want to be here, but surely we can be
civil?”

Civil? They’d never been civil to
each other in all the years they’d known each other, which was
pretty much always. A memory flash of her with her ball dress
rucked up above her waist, her long legs, lean and muscled from
years of diving and playing sports wrapped around his hips. The
hint of cheap champagne on her breath, the soft velvet of her skin,
her bare breasts in his hands. He shoved the image ruthlessly
aside—he wasn’t touching a lit match to that powder keg. “Sure. I
can do civil.”

They walked out of the garage, and
when he opened the front door and moved aside so she could enter
first she said, “Thank you.”

All very civil-like and it creeped
him out. What kind of demonic game was she playing?

***

The door closed with a click and
West rustled somewhere behind her.

What a nightmare this day had
turned into.

A light blazed on and she blinked.
They stood in a small entranceway with shoes and boots neatly
aligned on the tiled floor, and jackets and other gear hanging on
wall hooks beside another door.

West gestured with a thumb. “Ben’s
through there. If your brother wasn’t so damn big he could’ve had
the office while you slept down here.”

“
His feet stick off the end of the
futon, huh?”

“
Way off. The sofa is not made for
guys. You should be okay.”

Piper shucked off the backpack and
dropped it to the floor, pressing her lips together to stop a groan
of relief from escaping. She unlaced her boots and tugged them and
her wet socks off. Looking up, she was level with a superbly taut
butt as he bent to remove his boots. West’s shirt rode up to reveal
a strip of tanned back and the waistband of some Calvin Klein
logoed underwear. Her tongue dried out. Her nerves fizzed, like
someone had shot a caffeine bullet into her exhausted
body.

Get your head in the game,
Pipe.
She thrust her gaze down to her pale toes and stood
before he spotted her appreciative examination of his rear
end.

“
Hey—your bag’s leaking,” he
said.

She glanced down at the water
seeping out of the bottom of her backpack. Ah, crap.

“
Here.” He tossed her an old towel
and snagged a strap, lifting her backpack as if it weighed nothing.
“I’ll take this upstairs.”

“
I can—”

“
Civil, remember?”

“
Right.” She crouched down to wipe
the tiled floor and was rewarded with another view of West’s
sublime rear as he disappeared up the stairs at the end of the
entranceway. Fisher-the-Shrink hadn’t done a thorough enough job
picking around in her brain, because she was clearly
certifiable.

Piper padded up the stairs into an
open-plan family and dining room. Plain but comfortable-looking
navy sofas and matching armchairs were positioned in front of
accordion glass doors, which opened on to a full-length deck.
Framed photographs of native birds hung on the pale walls and only
a couple of coasters were stacked on the coffee table. The style
was understated and functional, from the airy space of the lounge
to the clean modern lines of the small kitchen and wooden dining
table.

Where were the Harley Davidson
posters, the stack of tatty bike magazines, and the piles of dirty
sports gear? When she’d been the annoying little sister desperate
to hang out with her brother and his cool friends, West lived in
the cottage behind Due South with his parents. Later, he and Ben
shared a tiny four-room house. But this wasn’t a teenager’s sloppy
hangout; this was a man’s home. West was no longer the carefree
buddy from her childhood—and she’d best remember that when
nostalgia and reality didn’t mesh.

Her shoulders sagged under the
weight of memories. Nostalgia sucked.

“
I’ve put your bag in the
bathroom, first door on your right.” West appeared at her side with
a stack of linen. “My office is the next room down. I’ll find you
some an extra blankets in a sec.”

Piper blinked the dreamy
rose-colored lens from her eyes. “Thanks.”

He offered her a thick white
towel. A faded tee shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts were
folded on top. “Thought you might want a shower and something dry
to change into.”

“
Oh—I don’t need
those.”

“
Did you use a plastic liner in
your backpack?”

Know-it-all.
“I
forgot.”

“
Then everything will be soaked.
You can throw your wet stuff in the dryer.”

Her eyes widened. Wear West’s
clothes
?

He hooked the tee shirt up with
one finger and dangled it in front of her. “If it makes you
uncomfortable…”

“
No, not at all.” Oh, she was way
beyond uncomfortable. “Uh, I’ll hit the shower now. I’m making a
damp patch on your carpet.”

Piper snatched the clothes and
towel and marched into the bathroom.

Wrapped in the towel and finally
warm after a decadently long time spent using up West’s hot water
supply, Piper peeled open her backpack. Yup. Everything was
drenched.

With a sigh she pulled on his
shorts and picked up the tee shirt. The worn cotton slipped over
her head, a shiver skating along her skin as she inhaled his scent.
Sure, the tee shirt smelled of whatever laundry powder he
preferred, but traces of something uniquely male, uniquely West,
clung to the fabric. She slid her arms through the sleeves, letting
the shirt caress her nakedness. Her skin, where the shirt touched,
felt covered in prickly heat, and her nipples hardened into tiny
exclamation points.

Total overreaction girl, you’re
losing it.

She’d worn West’s clothes before.
At fifteen she kept his Red Hot Chili Peppers tee shirt because
he’d never asked for it back. And so what if she still had the
shirt stuffed in a bottom drawer back in Wellington? Or if
sometimes she’d wear it to bed—but only because it was so
comfortable, and hey, she still loved the Chilies.

Piper threw her wet clothes into
the dryer and cracked open the bathroom door. The house was silent,
except for a faint murmur of a TV or radio from the opposite end of
the hallway. With any luck West would’ve gone to bed, since she’d
hogged the bathroom for a good half hour. She tiptoed to the room
West had indicated and rushed inside. A meticulously organized
computer desk sat opposite the futon sofa—the futon which he’d made
up with sheets and blankets while she’d been in the
shower.

Propped against the pillows lay a
hot water bottle.

She sat on the bed and picked it
up. West gave her dry clothes, fixed her bed, and filled a hot
water bottle, somehow remembering how her feet froze on cooler
nights. But, she thought, he didn’t want her anywhere near
him.

Piper hugged the warmth of the
rubber bottle and hoped the heat would nullify the tiny twinge in
her chest.

***

West was woken by the now-familiar
sound of thumps and snarled four-letter words as Ben crutch-hopped
up his stairs.

Three fast raps on his door and a
“Get your lazy ass out of bed,” had West rolling onto his back with
a pillow jammed over his head, questioning why he hadn’t killed Ben
when he moved downstairs a couple of months ago. It’d been a long
time since they’d shared a house. Now he knew why.

He lifted a pillow corner and
squinted at the blurry hands on his watch. Six a.m. Jesus. Normally
he was up at the butt-crack of dawn, but how many hours sleep had
he got last night? Two? Three at the most. Torturous hours spent
listening to the hum of the dryer and imagining Piper naked under
his old shirt, then kicking himself for allowing his mind to roam
down that dead end street again.

Yeah, he was a guy and all, and
therefore his dick often controlled the direction of his thoughts.
What he should’ve been doing was figuring out who he could unload
his unwanted houseguest onto. But with only four hundred locals
living full time on the island, and a lot of those locals running
B&Bs or renting their investment properties in the high tourist
season, no one had a spare room.

“
Coffee’s ready. Move or I’ll
drink it all,” came Ben’s muffled yell from the kitchen.

West groaned, slid out of bed and
walked to the French doors, which opened out onto the deck.
Filaments of sunlight speared through the native bush surrounding
his house and spilled like oiled silk over the flat surface of the
bay below. Sunrise on another day in paradise. He tugged on some
clothes and left his room, spotting the tousle-haired woman at the
end of the hallway.