Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3)

by Tracey Alvarez

  “Aw…” Piper draped her arm around his shoulder and leaned her head against his. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing?”

  Shaye’s brow crinkled, and she scowled. “Will you stop trying to fix me up with Kip?”

  Del couldn’t help himself. “Doesn’t he check some of your boxes? Handsome, house-trained, Mom-approved?” Bland as rice pudding…

  “Actually, he does fit many requirements on my list.” One eyebrow quirked up. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  “Hmm.” Piper placed a finger on her lips. “Maybe you need a man with more of an edge. Find a bad-boy—but not too bad, since I’m an ex-cop, and I don’t want to commit homicide on your behalf.”

  Shaye stabbed the wooden spoon toward them. “Enough. Both of you out of my hair! Piper, go and check how the men want their eggs. Del, Mum donated some spare drapes for the bedroom—they’re in the van.”

  “Come on then, future bro. Let’s leave before she decides to spit in the baked beans.”

  Piper slipped her arm through his and tugged him out of the kitchen, even though he would’ve loved to stay and find out exactly what was on Shaye’s list.

  Chapter 9

  Be a bridesmaid, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

  Shaye glared at her reflection in the private dressing room of Invercargill’s Next Stop, Vegas bridal boutique. She’d been the last dress fitted, and it’d looked fab-u-lous. Piper and Kezia had already finished getting into their street clothes and had retired to the shop’s rear garden patio with the owner and Holly’s cousin, MacKenna Jones—MacKenna luring them away with champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries.

  With The Police’s Every Breath You Take being piped throughout the boutique, and her friends occupied with glasses of bubbly, calling out for help would be pointless.

  And dammit—did she ever need help to get out of this ridiculous predicament.

  If she could only untangle herself from this hellish, toddler-sized full slip, which had jammed above her boobs, leaving her arms waving helplessly in the air…

  Shaye wriggled some more, but nope. Good and stuck. So getting her beige support panties in a twist about it wouldn’t help the situation.

  “Effing cinnamon sticks!”

  Shaye sucked in a deep breath and prepared for the humiliation of contorting her body to pry open the dressing room door to yell for assistance.

  A light knock sounded behind her. OhthankyouJesus—MacKenna or her sister had finally come to check on her. “Get in here now! I’m stuck!”

  The reflected door swung open, and Del stepped into the dressing room.

  Their gazes clashed in the mirror—hers flared wide in shock, his turning smoky and hooded.

  “Need some help?”

  Oh, this was perfect. Just freaking fantabulous.

  “Bugger off, Del.”

  His handsome face splitting into a cheeky grin, he shut the door and leaned against it with folded arms. “Now, that’s not nice.”

  Every inch of skin—and unfortunately, she was displaying a lot of bare skin—sizzled as if it’d been dipped in liquid toffee. Hot but sweet, boiling toffee. Embarrassed as hell, she couldn’t deny her libido had awoken with a hello-bad-boy purr.

  Her back still to him, Shaye once more attempted to free herself from the Spanx stranglehold. The flailing only resulted in her boobs wobbling all over the place—and based on Del’s pointer-dog attention, he enjoyed the show.

  “Where’s MacKenna and her assistant?”

  A nonchalant shrug. “Don’t know. Got sent here on an errand, but there’s no one in the shop. I was tracking female laughter when I heard someone in distress.” His grin grew wider. “Then you ordered me in.”

  Shaye huffed out a sigh. “A gentleman would close his eyes, leave, and go find the assistant.”

  “A gentleman would.”

  The click of the dressing room’s lock was loud in the small space. Del closed the short distance between them. The warmth of his big body brushed every hair follicle to attention, her nipples pebbling behind the plain beige bra.

  “But cupcake, I’m no gentleman.”

  A finger traced down the knobs of her spine, bumping over the catch of her bra, stopping at the waistband of her panties.

  She shivered and closed her eyes. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  The finger changed into a hand, which skimmed up her waist and stroked over her ribs. He moved closer, and his shirt brushed against her. Cedar wood and basil with a hint of sea brine tickled her nostrils. Her elbows folded weakly and rested on the top of her head.

  “Tell me to go now and mean it,” he said. “I’ll leave.”

  “Del…”

  Feather-light kisses on her knuckles made her shiver more. “This is crazy.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He rescued her ponytail from the Spanx’s evil clutches, winding the thick hank around his fist and gently tilting back her head. “It’s fucking nuts. But I can’t stop thinking about you, and God, the memory of you like this will keep me aching for you all night.”

  “I look ridiculous.”

  “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” The hand resting on her ribcage circled around to her stomach, pressing her lower body gently into his.

  He was hard. All over. As if he’d flicked a switch, her muscles lost all strength, and she sagged into him. The grip on her hips tightened, and she tried hard—really hard—not to grind her bottom against him. She only partially succeeded.

  “Trust me; you’re every red-blooded male’s wet dream. Open your eyes.”

  “No.”

  His snicker was a soft puff on the curve of her neck. “C’mon, baby. I want you to see what I see.”

  She slitted her eyes at her reflection. Del cradled her from behind, his cheek resting against her hair, his body aligned with hers from chest to hip. Each deep inhale pushed her boobs into a dangerous spill-zone above the bra edge. Dropping her gaze, she saw his braced, denim-covered thighs flex as he supported more of her weight. The tan male hand contrasted with her insipid beige panties, his long fingers gripped possessively tight on her hip. His other hand snaked around to hover an inch from her right breast.

  She swallowed past a throat clogged with lust and need. “Are you going to help me get this damn slip off?”

  “Eventually. But why were you cramming your sexy body into this torture device?”

  Torture device didn’t do the beige horror justice. Right now, she’d happily burn it then set fire to its ashes. But while Piper was naturally tall and slender, and Kezia short, curvy and perfectly proportioned, Shaye had been cursed with never outgrowing her puppy-fat endowed boobs, hips, and ass. Spanx was both torture and blessed assurance that nothing would wobble under her bridesmaid’s dress.

  “The slip creates a smooth line under a clingy dress—and I thought men weren’t interested in women’s underwear unless they were trying to get them off?”

  Del dropped his hand and splayed it high on her stomach, his thumb stroking delicious lines from the underwire of her bra down. Her mind blanked except for the repetitive mantra—little-bit-higher-little-bit-higher.

  “I am trying to get them off.”

  In the mirror, his eyes crinkled and she caught a flash of a grin beyond her shoulder.

  “I’d rather see you au-natural in a clingy dress. Screw the smooth lines; you’re not a mannequin.”

  “Okay.” Blame the single-syllable response on hormones exploding all over the place.

  Okay? Okay, she wasn’t a plastic mannequin? Okay, she’d go au-natural under her bridesmaid’s dress? Or okay, he could strip off her underwear and take her hard and fast against the wall?

  All of the above.

  “Del…”

  She tried again, but his fingers closed over her breast, gently rolling her nipple under her bra cup until she moaned, and her head dropped onto his shoulder.

  Heat, raw and combustible, arrowed down from the sensitized peak to her core, and she sque
ezed her thighs together. A yank on the satiny fabric and cooler air rushed over her skin. Her nipple tightened to almost painful proportions.

  Del hummed, a low and rough sound. “So pretty. A juicy little bud just waiting to be licked.”

  His fingers returned to the tip of her breast—teasing, tugging, driving her insane. She pushed into his erection, and he thrust his hips forward, grinding his thick length into the cleft of her bottom.

  “Shhh, baby. That’s all you get for now.” His voice was a velvety whisper in her ear.

  He returned the fabric of her bra cup over her breast, and before she objected, worked the stretchy slip over her head and tossed it across the room.

  Shaye panted like a marathon runner, her heart pummeling the inside of her chest.

  Del, still behind her, ran his hands up her arms. “You okay?”

  Definitely.

  Not.

  Okay.

  What had she done? Why had she allowed him to take her halfway to the edge of lustful madness, where she’d been about to beg him to do her and to hell with the consequences? Heat flared into her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze, which, dammit, didn’t help one bit, since she discovered Del hadn’t returned to “okay” either.

  At least, the part of his anatomy filling out the front of his jeans hadn’t.

  Jittering-freaking-jalapeños.

  She wasn’t the town ho, but the men she’d fooled around with—and the select few she’d slept with—hadn’t sexed her up on a kitchen counter or in a changing room. No, the men she’d been with were more tentative kisses and oh, look, a hand has crept under her shirt to fumble with her bra-catch type of men. The kind who asked earnest permission. The kind who turned on maybe two of her four burners, just enough to cook their own sausage as fast as possible.

  She was waaay out of her depth with Del, since somehow, he managed to fire her up on all burners with a few kisses and caresses.

  Dangerous stuff.

  He cupped her chin and lifted it, forcing her to meet his gaze. Clear blue eyes bored into her. “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you while you were helpless.”

  The corners of her lips quirked up. “Yeah, you did.”

  “Saw through me, huh?” His gaze flicked to her mouth. “You’re right. And if I wasn’t worried about Piper and Kezia crashing in here and sticking me with every one of those pins”—he gestured toward the loaded pin-cushion on a small corner table—“I’d have taken more advantage of you.”

  He dipped his head and kissed her, pulling away before she could wrap around him. But oh, how she wanted to.

  Pressing his thumb to her lower lip, he stepped backward. “I’ll see you at lunch then, cupcake.”

  And with a flash of a baby, you know you want me grin, he unlocked the dressing room door and slipped out.

  ***

  Del yanked open the suit hire shop door, hoping he only looked the part of dutiful-best-man-back-from-the-groom’s-errand—and not like a guy who’d had his hands on the bridesmaid’s amazing breast and who’d nearly come in his boxers like a horny teenager.

  Ben, slumped in one of the shop’s chairs, pinned him with a speculative glance. “You get lost?”

  “In a hurry to find the matching tie to your penguin suit, are you?” Del fished an envelope containing a fabric swatch out of his pocket and placed it on the shop counter.

  He’d been lucky enough to exit the change room mere seconds before the shop assistant and Kezia came looking for Shaye. Luckier still, he’d managed to lose his raging hard-on by reciting his memorized Fahrenheit-to-Celsius oven conversions.

  After the usual flurry of female excitement over the to-die-for color of the bridesmaids’ dresses, Carolina Blue—which looked like plain old pale blue to him—MacKenna handed over an envelope and shooed him out the door.

  Next time, he wouldn’t trust Ben Harland with a coin toss. He wasn’t complaining, all things considered. But Shaye’s brother would tear him a new one if he found out what he’d done in the dressing room with his youngest sister.

  “Fuck off,” Ben said amicably. “It’s bad enough having to wear a damn suit in the first place. Least you and me are finished. West’s getting his inseam measured again”—he shuddered and crossed his ankles—“then it’s lunch with my pretty lady.”

  Del sat in the chair beside Ben and gave him a shit-eating grin. “Maybe you should’ve bought the suit instead of hiring it.”

  Ben grunted. “Kezia says we’ll have a low key wedding. No suit required.”

  Del said nothing, leaning his head on the wall behind them.

  “Yeah. I’ll be wearing a damn suit.” Ben blew out a breath, and after a pause, chuckled. “She says low-key, but she deserves a fancy wedding like Pipe and West. So, that’s what she’ll get.”

  Del turned his head to the side. “Flowers and cake and fabric swatches and shit?”

  Ben had a big, dopey-assed grin on his face. “Whatever she wants.”

  Jesus. Growing up, he’d been in awe of Ben. His brother’s mate had no problem getting girls. During summer, Ben would go through the holiday-makers’ teenage daughters like a kid in a candy store—pretty girls loved the whole brooding, Heathcliff thing. He hadn’t been surprised over the years to hear Ben never settled down. But Ben with an eight-year-old daughter and taking on a widow and her little girl with gooey-eyed glee?

  That was a kicker.

  “She’s a nice lady. Congrats, again.”

  West and the guys ribbed the hell out of Ben about his fiancée, but there were too many years spent away from his childhood friends for Del to do the same. The distance became acute whenever the conversation switched from easy subjects like fishing, rugby and poker, to topics like relationships. He was a brief interloper, gone a day or so after West’s wedding. Not one of their inner circle of mates.

  “You ever get married?”

  Del shifted on the chair. “Nope. Not many women are willing to marry a man who works crazy late hours, six, sometimes seven days a week.”

  He’d come home more than once to find the woman who’d moved herself into his apartment had moved out again a few weeks later, leaving a shitty note stuck to his fridge—the only way to be sure he’d notice her absence.

  “Never got close?”

  Del slanted Ben a glance.

  Ben raised his brows as if to say, “What?”

  While he should’ve ignored the question, Del found himself answering. “I was engaged once.”

  A silent brain-snicker—look at him, male bonding with the groomsman.

  “What happened? She figure out you were too high maintenance?”

  “No, Dr. Phil. More a case of cold feet.” Because he and Jessica had been toxic together—he just hadn’t seen it at first.

  Ben cracked his mouth open in a huge yawn. “Means you hadn’t found your perfect match then.”

  A cold slick washed down Del’s spine. What was it with the Harlands and their perfect? Something wrong with fucked-up-but-trying-to-be-a-better?

  Del stood. “I’m going to check on West.”

  Ben slid his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen. “Tell him to hurry up, I’m starving.”

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, Del found himself in an Italian bistro, surrounded by potted plants and a hideous mural of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Why couldn’t he sit next to the petite Kezia instead of being squashed between a wall and Ben? The big guy elbowed him in the ribs every time Del took a mouthful of mediocre zucchini tagliatelle.

  He checked his last text message again.

  Stumbling in on Shaye had almost made him forget the other purpose of this trip. A purpose he suspected would put him on West’s shit-list for a while.

  Del cleared his throat in a natural conversation lull. “Ah, West?”

  West, on the opposite side of the booth, sandwiched between Shaye and Piper, looked up from his rigatoni.

  “After lunch, I need to head out to the airport.”


  West chewed slowly. “Who’ve you got arriving? Someone from Ethan’s crew scouting in advance?”

  Del’s fingers clenched around his knife and fork. “No, it’s Carly. She’s flying in from LA.”

  “Carly?” West said the name as if Del had announced a Vegas stripper wearing star-shaped pasties was on the flight.

  “Our sister, remember?”

  West straightened out of his relaxed slump. “Your sister, mate. Not mine.”

  Ben stiffened next to Del. Piper gave her fiancé a withering glance and shoulder-checked him.

  “She wants to meet you, West. And Piper.” Del’s gut tightened, remembering the “Surprise! I’m in Auckland International Airport” phone call he’d received this morning.

  While he and Carly used to be tight, Lionel dying had driven a wedge between them. She wanted to cling and talk, and he needed to work—and party to forget. He’d inadvertently hurt her more by pushing her away.

  But for some weird reason, she loved him and wouldn’t let him do that. Carly refused to give up their sibling bond, regularly showing up uninvited on his doorstep at 6:00 a.m. to drag him out of bed for a run, hangover or no hangover. Like hell would he turn her away now, when the catch in her voice over the phone told him she needed him.

  “Aw,” said Piper. “She’s come all this way to meet the rest of her family.”

  West dropped his fork. “We’re not related.”

  A point West made all those years ago when they’d hung out in LA. West refused to make the forty-minute drive with Del to Long Beach to visit their mother and Lionel. And Carly—who’d pretended she didn’t give a shit, but was really crushed.

  “She’s got no one else,” Del said. “With her dad gone and her grandparents dead, there’s only a few scattered elderly relatives left.”

  West gave him a how is this is my problem look.

  How long could his brother hold onto leftover bitterness? About as long as you can, good buddy, hissed a little voice in his ear. Tossing the thought into his fuck-it bucket, Del met West’s gaze square on.

  “Don’t be a douche, darling.” Piper slid her arm around West’s waist and leaned her chin on his shoulder. “Carly had no say in what her dad and your mum did. Cut her a break.”