West sighed and pressed a kiss onto Piper’s short brown hair. “Where’s she staying then?”
“Bunking down in Claire’s room. Says she’ll help out, so Mom doesn’t get overwhelmed now Bill needs more care.”
“Nice of her,” West said stiffly.
“She’s a nice person.”
West grunted. “Piper and I have a few more wedding things to do around town before we head back to The Mollymawk. You take the car and pick her up.”
Del kept his mouth shut. Hopefully, Piper would smooth out some of West’s rougher edges before the trip to Oban. “Sure. Anyone else want to come for a ride?”
Kezia apologized and said she had school supplies to purchase, and Ben shrugged his beefy shoulders.
“I’ll come,” Shaye said. “She’s about my age, isn’t she?”
Del nodded.
“Another stray to add to your collection?” West said, stuffing a forkful of rigatoni in his mouth.
Shaye poked out her tongue. “Shut it, Westlake.”
Conversation resumed, the awkward drama ending…for now. Even if she was stray collecting, a ribbon of warmth coiled through Del at Shaye’s offer to accompany him to the airport. He swallowed a large gulp of water then crunched an ice cube between his teeth.
Don’t get sappy now, the little voice in his ear warned.
Getting sappy over Shaye Harland came with a guarantee of disappointment and disaster.
***
Riding in cramped quarters with the guy who’d had a hand on your boob only hours ago was awkward, to say the least. Shaye ran through her entire repertoire of small talk during the short trip to Invercargill airport, terrified Del would raise the whole so, you’re a D-cup gal topic. Fortunately, fiddling with dashboard knobs and buttons at every red light and stop sign kept him busy.
They found seats across from the arrival doors in the airport and sank into them. The moment they sat, Del’s knee started bouncing.
“Aren’t you happy about Carly flying in?” Shaye folded her arms to avoid the temptation to lay a soothing hand on his restless leg.
The bouncing immediately ceased.
“I am.” He shot her a sideways glance. “I’m just hoping West won’t continue the asshole ice treatment act after Carly gets here. He’s hurt her before.”
Ah. Piper had been on the receiving end of West’s freeze-‘em-out-behavior earlier in the year. Having worked with him for so long, Shaye knew the frosty outer shell he donned on occasion was his way of protecting himself.
“West’ll come around. He’s softened up a bit with your mum, hasn’t he?”
Del blew out a breath. “I guess you’re right.”
Shaye reached over and squeezed his hand. “Get used to it, Hollywood. I’m always right.”
A glimmer of affection flickered in his gaze, and he smiled, a panty-incinerating grin that flamed through her like Tabasco sauce, pooling low in her belly, firing her up. Again.
She so didn’t need this moments before meeting Del’s sister.
Shaye pulled her hand back and turned toward the now pinned-open arrival doors. People spilled through in haphazard dribs and drabs, and she scanned the female passengers for a feminine version of Del. She caught herself with a mental chuckle—Carly Gatlin wouldn’t look anything like the Westlake brothers.
“There she is.” Del stood, raising a hand in the air. “Carly!” he yelled.
Shaye followed the direction of his gaze to a woman dressed in khaki Capri pants and a slouchy, tie-dyed tee. Carly’s face broke into a huge smile that almost touched the cascading waves of the prettiest auburn hair Shaye had ever seen.
Hoisting an enormous tote bag onto her shoulder, Carly crossed to them, her smile never shifting when she registered Del wasn’t alone. She dumped her bag and wrapped her arms around him, balancing on her toes to give him a smacking kiss on the cheek.
Del pulled a face. “Jeez, Carly, quit it.” But laughter tinged his voice, and he didn’t struggle too hard to untangle himself. “Anyone would think we haven’t seen each other in years.”
“You love it.” Carly peeled herself off Del and turned to Shaye. “My rude brother hasn’t introduced us—”
Del threw up his hands. “I haven’t had time.”
“I’m Carly. Pleasedtomeetcha.”
Shaye stuck out her hand. “I’m Shaye, Piper’s younger sister.”
Carly ignored her outstretched hand and enfolded Shaye in a spearmint, apple, and floral-perfume scented embrace.
“I’m a hugger, and now that my big brother West is marrying your sister, we’re practically family.”
Shaye hugged Carly in return, grinning at Del over her shoulder. “We practically are.”
Del rolled his eyes and snagged the handles of Carly’s giant bag. “If you’re going to start singing We are Family, you can walk to Invercargill. We should collect your suitcase.”
Carly let go of Shaye and stepped back. “Suitcase-es.” She snatched her bag from Del. “Plural.”
The three of them walked to the baggage claim. After Del pulled two big red suitcases and one smaller one off the conveyor belt, he said to Carly, “Why in God’s name do you need three suitcases? Aside from the obvious fact you’ve no concept of the term pack light.”
Carly turned away from him, her stunning, light brown eyes downcast. In the short time they’d been chatting while waiting for her bags, her smile had never slipped and her eyes hadn’t stopped sparkling with excitement.
Carly extended the handle on the smaller suitcase and straightened her spine. “I’m going to stay a while.”
“How long’s a while?” said Del.
“I told you this morning, I’ve come to help Mom and your dad.”
“Bill.” Del yanked up the other two suitcase’s handles. “And I still don’t get why, when you don’t even know the man.” He shot his sister another glance. “Don’t say because he’s family.”
Carly lifted a slim shoulder in reply.
“So, how long? A couple of weeks? Three?”
“Wanting to get rid of me already?” She turned her head to Shaye as they rolled the suitcases toward the exit. “My brother, so rude—but I guess you already know, since you’re working with him.”
Shaye made a non-committal noise.
“What about your job?” he said. “You can’t just take off.”
Carly stopped, dead center of the airport, ignoring the flow of people swirling around them. “I quit.”
Del’s eyes popped. “You fucking what?”
Now people gave their trio a wide berth. Shaye swallowed a grin. Kinda enjoyable, seeing Del thrown off balance by his little sister.
“Oh, stop with the drama queen act. It’s not all about work, work, work, Del! I can get another job.”
“You’re twenty-five, not a teenager. Flight attendant jobs don’t just drop into your lap.”
Oh, crap. What did they say about redheads? Fireworks eminent…
“So, I’ll do something else.” Instead of smacking Del upside the head with her over-sized handbag, Carly cocked her hip and didn’t even raise her voice. “I’ll get a job where I don’t get barfed on or verbally abused. A job where I don’t have to miss my friends and family because of screwy schedules. And Mom’s been in Oban for months, and now you’re there, too.” Her breathing hitched, and her eyes teared up. “I miss Dad and Mom and you so much. I’m freakin’ sick of being alone.”
Shaye’s eyes stung in sympathy. Yeah, okay, sue her. She did have a thing for strays.
Del pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed out a sigh. “Shit, Carly.” Then he let go of the suitcases and reeled her in for a bear hug.
Carly clung to him and sniffed, making Shaye’s heart skip a little erratically at Del’s unexpected tenderness buried beneath his outer layer of I don’t do family jerktasticness.
After a few moments, Del patted Carly’s shoulder and pulled away.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly
. “But I didn’t mean to give you the impression I was permanently moving to Oban. You shouldn’t have quit your job. I’ll be back in the US by mid-November.”
Carly’s brow crinkled. “Mom told me how sick your dad is. I thought you’d change your mind when you got here, you can’t just leave—”
“We’ll talk about this later.” Del flicked a glance in Shaye’s direction.
Could she feel any more like the third wheel? Definitely should’ve stayed with her sister.
“Don’t mind me,” Shaye said brightly. “I can wait over there.”
Del grimaced. “Let’s just go.”
They walked outside into the crisp wind and crossed the parking lot to the car.
“Jeez, it’s freezing.” Carly hunched forward, tucking her handbag over her chest to block the wind. “I thought it was spring?”
“Welcome to the deep south,” Del tossed over his shoulder as he popped the locks and hefted the first suitcase into the trunk.
The chill cut through Shaye’s thin sweater, making her shiver uncontrollably. She should be happy Del was here for only a few more weeks—since it meant he’d be out of her hair for good.
So, why did the outlook for the rest of spring and into the summer seem bleak?
Chapter 10
Frustration, stress, and horniness do not make a good sailor.
The Mollymawk pitched and rolled like a drunk navigating the trip from bed to toilet bowl at 3:00 a.m. Del was familiar enough with that analogy to smirk at his ironic humor.
Piper and West had disappeared into the boat’s biggest stateroom once they’d headed into Foveaux Strait, Piper looking pale and sweaty, even though she wore her seasickness wristband.
West managed not to be too much of a dick, bestowing both a tight smile and a brief hug to Carly after they’d been introduced. Piper had obviously kicked his sorry ass since West didn’t even flinch as his fiancée invited Carly to their wedding.
Kezia joined Ben in the wheelhouse for the return trip, and when Shaye noticed Carly starting to look queasy, she insisted Carly lie down in the other large stateroom.
Which left Del alone with Shaye.
Perfect time to apologize for dragging her to the airport and into his family drama. He should’ve expected Carly would pull this kind of stunt. He’d ignored the warning signs that she wasn’t happy for months. Not just grieving over her dad’s death, but unhappy and restless with life in general. Great big brother he’d been.
“You feeling okay?” Shaye asked him from across the galley.
He’d been staring into the Mollymawk’s fridge for about thirty seconds. Del grabbed a bottle of water and shut the door.
Swallowing a couple of times, he grimaced. “God. It didn’t look this bad when we left Bluff fifteen minutes ago.”
He uncapped the bottle and sipped. The water went down easy, but his stomach still complained.
“It often doesn’t.” She curled into a bench seat, her skirt tucked around her knees. “Hate to tell you, but it won’t get any better for the next hour.”
“Hell.” He drank more water.
“Go lie down in the bunkroom—sometimes it helps.”
“And have West and Ben give me shit about wussing out? No thanks.”
“I won’t tell anyone, so you won’t have to hand in your man card. Promise.” She showed him her teeth. The smile missed her eyes though, and he didn’t think it was because of her insincere promise.
No. His sous chef was scared and trying to hide it.
“Come keep me company?” he asked.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Please?”
“If you puke on my favorite skirt, I’ll kill you.” She untucked her long legs and stood.
“Zero puking, because like hell will I let you have that story hanging over me.”
“It would screw up your growing reputation as the resident bad-boy chef.”
“Bad boy? Who thinks that?”
A pretty flush spread to her cheeks, and she huffed, dodging around him to the narrow hallway leading to the staterooms. He didn’t know whether to be offended, flattered, or intrigued, since the blush indicated she bought into his rep. Bad boy?
Del trailed after her, a hand held up ready to brace against the wall in case they hit a sudden trough. He didn’t feel bad at the moment—bad as in the wouldn’t-bring-him-home-to-mom-but-I’d-bang-him-silly kind of a man who women seemed to lust over. But yeah—he was currently more the you-look-green-so-back-away-slowly kind of bad.
He walked into the small bunkroom after Shaye and flopped onto one of the narrow lower bunks with a groan. Squeezing his eyes shut, Del focused on regulating his breathing and stilling his churning stomach. Puking on the woman he desperately wanted wasn’t an option.
A door squeaked, and moments later came the sound of running water. A short time after that, a damp washcloth draped over his eyes and forehead. Better, but not quite enough to distract him.
Without moving his head, he patted the mattress. “Lie down with me?”
A soft snort from across the room. “Not falling for that old trick, Hollywood.”
“We can just talk.”
“An original line that no man has used, ever. We can just talk with me safely over here.”
With an arm that felt filled with lead, Del raised the washcloth edge and cracked open an eye, rolling his head toward her voice. She sat on the opposite bunk.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Safely? You scared of me, cupcake?”
“Of course not.”
He patted the mattress again, firing off a smile. “I’m incapacitated and helpless. I’ll be at your mercy.”
“Hmmph.” But she smoothed down her skirt and stood.
Del dropped the washcloth over his face and wriggled closer to the wall. After a short pause, the mattress dipped under his spine.
“I guess this is tame, considering you’ve already seen me half naked.” A thread of huskiness through her words betrayed her interest—and woke up his. “Thought I may as well put it out there instead of pretending it didn’t happen.”
Precisely the kind of distraction he needed.
“No taking that back,” he said as warm, curvy woman settled next to him.
With a breathy sigh, she snuggled close—resting her head on his shoulder, the soft fullness of her breasts pressing into his ribcage. He resisted the urge to wrap his free arm around her and maneuver her even closer. Now that he had her near—and damn, it felt better than he’d imagined—he didn’t want to scare her off.
He cleared his throat. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine. I don’t get seasick.” A frown tinged her voice.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
A touch on his stomach then her hand settled, a light weight splaying over his heart.
“It’s silly, really,” she said. “After all the years I spent on boats as a child.”
“You used to swim like a seal. All the Harlands could.”
“Yeah. But I never liked scuba diving, not like Piper and Ben. And the free-diving…” A tremor rippled through her. “I can’t stand the sensation of not being able to breathe.”
Her father’s death hovered in the spaces between them. Del covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers.
The rhythmic grumble of the Mollymawk’s engine and the slap and whoosh of her plowing through the waves filled the silence. A strangely comfortable silence. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had been in his arms and he’d just held her.
“How’s the stomach?” She slipped her hand from beneath his and ran her fingers lightly over his abs, and then circled his belly button.
Del was tempted to lie and tell her he still felt awful. Only she’d guess it was a big, fat lie since his cock had woken up from the soft strokes of her fingers. Damned body. Seasickness was now the least of his problems.
“Getting better. Talking to you is a great distraction.”
/>
A quiet chuckle, which could mean any number of things. He thought about removing the washcloth from his face but discarded it. One glimpse of her beautiful face, one look at her amazing breasts in the stretchy top clinging to every curve, one glance of her hand, which continued to pet his torso, any would erode the last tenuous strands of self-control…the washcloth stayed.
“Talk to me some more,” he said.
Like about flower arrangements, cookie recipes, Charlotte-fucking-Bronte—anything to stop him going out of his mind and flipping her under him, putting his hands all over her. From finding out what she wore under her flirty little skirt.
“Talk, huh?” Her fingers stilled.
OhthankChrist. Because now his hard-on threatened to poke a damn hole in his jeans.
“Talk’s not distracting me enough,” she said. “I need something more.”
She shifted away from him, and he was about to complain when her breath ghosted against his lips, followed seconds later by the gentle pressure of her mouth.
Soft, so soft, she kissed him. The tip of her tongue brushed the seam of his lips, and he opened his mouth, his free arm curling around her, landing on the smooth slope of her back. Running his hand up to her nape, Del applied gentle pressure to angle her mouth closer, to deepen the kiss—but she pulled away with a hiss.
“You’re incapacitated and helpless, remember?” She grabbed his hand and removed it from her nape, returning it to rest on the sheet. “At my mercy. So keep your hands to yourself.”
Oh…he liked this more and more—though keeping his hands off her would be a challenge.
“And the washcloth stays on,” she added.
“Yes, Chef.”
Sharp teeth nipped his chin and then she soothed it with another kiss.
This time, when she kissed him, she parted her lips and slid her tongue into his mouth. Deep, drugging kisses cured him of any remaining queasiness, replacing it with burning hot need.
Fingers tangled in his hair, she broke the kiss. He arched his neck, the short strands tugging painfully as he tried to keep their connection.
“Hey!” he rumbled.
Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3) Page 15