by Tessa Bailey
“What?”
“You took a bite of me, and even if you decide you don’t really like me, you’re going to be noble and eat the whole thing. You can’t do anything halfway. It’s all or nothing. If I’m potpie, you have to tell me. You can’t just keep eating and eating and . . . I’m drunker than I thought.”
Yeah, she might be drunk, but her worry was genuine. Her forlorn tone of voice made that obvious, and it troubled him. Not because there was even a chance it might be valid—she was a woman, not a fucking pie. Her worry bothered him because she didn’t feel secure. Yet. And he needed to find a way to fix it.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
“Okay. Let me just make sure Opal has a ride.”
Piper trotted off to confer with a group of woman, hugging each of them multiple times before making her way back to his side. Brendan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her out of the bar. He’d parked his truck near the entrance, and he unlocked it now, boosting Piper into the passenger side and buckling her in. When he climbed into the driver’s side, her head was lolling on the seat, and she was studying him. “We’re going to talk about what you said. In the morning. When you’re clearheaded and you’ll remember what I say back.”
“That’s probably a good idea. I’m feeling very share-y right now.”
“I’m tempted to let you share, so I know what I’m up against. But I don’t want you telling me things and regretting it tomorrow.”
She was silent as he pulled onto the road and took the first right. “You talk about being with me like it’s a battle.”
“It is, in a way. But I’m grateful I’m the one fighting it.”
He could feel her studying his profile. “You’re worth fighting for, too. If you got banished to LA for three months, I would pull out all the stops to keep you there.” She paused. “Nothing would work, though. It’s not real enough for you. You’d hate it.”
“‘Hate’ is a strong word, honey. You would be there.”
“Eh.” She waved a hand. “There are thousands of me there.”
Brendan snorted at her joke. And then he realized she was serious.
“Piper, there is nobody like you.”
She smiled like she was humoring him.
“Piper.”
She looked startled by his tone. “Whoa. What?”
He pulled the car onto the side of the road, slammed on the brakes, and threw it into park. “Did you hear me?” He reached over to tilt up her chin. “There is nobody like you.”
“Why are you getting so worked up?”
“Because I . . .” He raked a hand through his hair. “I thought I was an intuitive man. A smart man. But I keep finding out new ways I’m flying blind when it comes to something so important. You. You are important. And I thought you were just scared of commitment. Or didn’t think you could belong in Westport. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You think I have some kind of passing interest in you? Like it could just change like the wind?”
“Everyone else does!” Her eyes flashed. With pain, with irritation. “Not just guys. My friends, my stepfather. I’m this season’s color, in demand today, on the sales rack in Marshalls tomorrow. I’m just . . . momentary.”
“Not to me.” God, he wanted to shake her, kiss her, shake her some more. “Not to me.”
She jerked her chin out of his grip, flounced back against the seat. “Can we just talk about this tomorrow, like you said?”
Brendan slammed the car back into drive. “Oh, we’re going to talk about it.”
“Good! Maybe I’ll put together some talking points.”
“Me too, baby.”
They drove past No Name, and she made a small sound. Sniffed.
“What?” he asked, softening his tone.
“I was remembering the time you sent Abe to nail the memory foam to the top bunk. You’re actually really thoughtful and wonderful, and I don’t want to argue with you.”
He almost blurted out I love you, right then and there, but buttoned it up at the last second. The moment was too volatile to throw that confession into the mix, but he didn’t think he’d be able to keep it inside much longer. “I don’t want to argue with you either, Piper. All I want to do is bring you home, put you in one of my shirts, and find out if you snore.”
She gasped, some of the humor returning to her eyes. “I don’t.”
“We’ll see.”
“Do you have toast and Advil?”
“Yes.”
They pulled into his driveway a moment later. Brendan got out and rounded the front bumper to Piper’s side, smiling when she melted out into his arms. He held her and swayed for a few beats in the darkness, in what he thought might be a silent, mutual apology for shouting at each other on the drive home. And he wanted to do this for the rest of his life. Collect her from a night out with the girls, have her soft and pliant against him, be her man.
“You’re not even going to make out with me tonight, are you?” Piper said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “You probably think you’d be taking advantage of me.”
Brendan sighed. “You’ve got it right.”
She pouted up at him. “That’s romantic and I hate it.”
“How about I promise to make up for it tomorrow?”
“Can we negotiate a kiss good night?”
“I think I can manage that.”
Appeased, she let him bring her inside. While he made her toast, she sat perched on his kitchen counter with a glass of water, looking so beautiful, he had to keep glancing over his shoulder, checking to see if she was real. That he hadn’t dreamed her up.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked after swallowing a bite.
“That I like you being here.” He braced his hands on the counter, dropped his mouth to her bare knees, and kissed them, in turn. “That I liked going into my bedroom today and finding a Piper-sized indent on my comforter.” A thought occurred to him. “When did you come over?”
She gulped. Didn’t answer.
“Not with that storm going on.” His right eye was beginning to tic. “Right?”
Piper set down her toast, laid the back of her hand against her forehead. Wobbled dramatically. “I feel kind of faint, Brendan. I think I’m fading.”
With a growl, he drew her off the counter. And with her legs hooked around his waist, he left the kitchen and carried her up the stairs. “I’ll add it to my list of talking points for tomorrow.”
She groaned, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “Tomorrow sounds like it’s going to be a super-sexy good time.”
“We’ll get to that after.”
“Before.”
“After.”
“Before and after.”
Brendan set Piper down on the end of his bed, rocked by the rightness of having her there. Emotion crammed into his chest, but he turned away before she could see it. “Take off that dress.” He opened his drawer, took out one of his favorites—a white, worn-in T-shirt with grays harbor written in script in the middle. “Speaking of which, do you even own a pair of jeans—” He turned back around to find Piper sprawled out on his bed in a neon-purple thong. And nothing else. “That can’t be comfortable to sleep in,” he said hoarsely, already regretting his vow to give her a good-night kiss and nothing more.
She raised her knees. “I guess you have to come over here and take it off.”
“Christ.” The flesh in his jeans swelled, curving against his zipper, and he blew out an uneven breath. “If the ocean doesn’t kill me, you will.”
Just like that, her knees dropped back down, her arms coming up to cross over her breasts. And maybe he shouldn’t have been shocked when tears rushed into her eyes, but he was. They made his throat constrict.
“God,” he said thickly. “That was a stupid thing to say.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He lifted her up and pulled the T-shirt down over her head, holding her tight to his chest. “It’s not okay. I’m
sorry.”
“We can add it to the talking points for tomorrow,” she said, looking him in the eye long enough to make his heart beat triple time, then tugging him down into the pillows. “Want my kiss,” she murmured against his lips, pulling him under with a slow, wet complication of tongues, her smooth, bare legs winding through his, her fingers pulling him closer by the waistband of his jeans until their lower bodies were locked together, soft against hard, man against woman. “Maybe we’re a little more than more than friends,” she whispered, tucking her head under his chin. “Good night, Brendan.”
His eyelids fell like shutters, his arms pulling her closer.
I love you, he mouthed over her head.
He didn’t fall asleep for hours.
Chapter Twenty-One
Homey sounds came from somewhere. Drawers opening and thudding softly, bare feet on a floor, the sputtering of a coffee maker. Piper cracked an eye open but didn’t move. She couldn’t, because she’d lose the sweet spot of warmth and fluffy bedclothes and the scent of Brendan. Best sleep of her life, hands down. She’d woken up at some point during the night having to pee and found herself locked into the recharging station, Brendan’s soft breaths against the back of her neck. And she’d decided to hold it.
What did she say last night?
Something about potpies.
She also remembered trying to seduce him and failing. Womp.
Some shouting on the ride home.
No sex.
She’d just have to gauge his mood to find out if she’d said or done anything irredeemably embarrassing. There was a good chance she had, because otherwise he would still be in bed, right? Like, hello. Horny lady. Right here.
Piper’s bladder screamed at her, and she sat up, grateful the Bellinger Method had worked, and padded to the bathroom. She ignored the gooey, melting sensation in her belly when she found her toothbrush from the morning before waiting beside Brendan’s in the medicine cabinet. Where else was he supposed to put it?
With the toothbrush in her mouth, she picked up an unused bottle of cologne and sniffed. But it wasn’t him at all, and she couldn’t imagine him using it. Other than that, there was only his razor, some shaving cream, and deodorant. Her medicine cabinet at home would probably make him break out in a rash, it was so jam-packed.
She finished brushing her teeth, splashed some water on her face, finger-combed her hair, and headed downstairs . . . and . . . and jackpot.
Brendan was standing in the kitchen in nothing but black boxer briefs.
Piper crowded against the wall so she could observe him without being discovered. He was hunched over the kitchen counter reading a newspaper, and good gravy, the thick, masculine ropes of back muscles were all she wanted for breakfast. How dare he with those thighs? Did he use them to anchor the boat? They were generous and ripped and—
“You want coffee?” he asked without looking up.
“Aherm?” Piper blurted loudly, coming the rest of the way down the stairs, very aware that he was in underwear while she wore nothing but his T-shirt and a thong. And then he pushed up from the counter and scratched his happy trail, and yes, she was very aware of that, too. “Um, yes? Coffee, sure. Sure.”
He half grinned. “Okay.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “What is this extra cockiness you have going on?”
Brendan poured her a cup of coffee, preparing it exactly how she liked it. “You might have told me last night in the bar that I was the best, best, best sex of your life.”
Heat climbed her cheeks. “I said ‘best’ three times, hmm?”
After handing her the coffee, he leaned back against the counter and crossed his ankles. “You sure did.”
She hid her wan smile in a sip of coffee. “I think I might have also become a professional beauty consultant last night. One who gets paid in drinks.” More and more memories knitted together. “And, oh God, I volunteered to throw a party on Labor Day at the bar.”
“Whoops.”
“I can’t wait to tell Hannah.” She cupped her hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth. Not just from the drink itself, but from Brendan’s kitchen. The way he looked at her with affection, not a rush in the world to move or hurry. When had she started liking those things? The silence between them didn’t need to be filled, but she was thinking too much, so she did it anyway. “Who would buy you cologne?”
His brow arched. “You mean the one in my cabinet? Birthday gift from Sanders. His wife picked it out. Obviously. He didn’t even know what it was until I opened it—and the guys, they ragged on him for months. I probably just keep it because it makes me laugh.”
“You’re so close with them. Your crew.”
“Have to be. Our lives—” He cut himself off, taking an abrupt sip of coffee.
“Are in one another’s hands?” When she said it, the memory of her crying in his bed last night came rolling back in on a tide. This was probably it, then. No more smoke screens or hiding or flirting her way to safety with this man. Even if she couldn’t recall every single second of last night, she could feel that the layers had been stripped away. By his hands. His words. His presence.
“Anyway, it’s not the scent I would pick for you.”
Interest lit his expression. “What would you pick?”
“Nothing. You already have the ocean on your skin. And it’s not like you to embellish what’s already working.” Something heated in his eyes at her words. At the proof she’d been cataloguing his finer details? “But if I had to pick a scent . . . something, like, rainy and mossy. To remind me of your garden. How earthy you are. How substantial.” Her attention meandered down the line of black hair disappearing into his briefs. “How male.”
His chest rose and fell on a shudder. “You’re really messing up my plans for the morning, Piper.”
“What were your plans?”
“To take you out on the Della Ray.”
The smile blasted across her face. “What? Are you serious?”
“Uh-huh. Being out on the water is good for talking.”
“Oh, right.” She rocked back on her heels, her initial excitement tempered by the reminder that the reckoning had arrived. “Talking points.”
“That’s right.” He raked her with a blistering look that turned her nipples to tingling peaks. “Now I just want to take you back to bed, though.”
Her breathing went shallow. “Can’t we do both?”
His regret was obvious when he shook his head. “Next time I fuck you, I want to be sure you’re not going to pull away from me afterward.”
“And I can’t escape on a boat?”
“That might have crossed my mind.”
She huffed a laugh. He was really serious about her. And she’d gone home with him last night knowing it. As natural as could be, like she did it all the time. That’s how it felt being collected by Brendan and sleeping in his arms. Expected. Inevitable.
Damn him.
There was a chance she might be serious about Brendan, too.
How had this happened?
“Just so we’re clear,” she said, setting down her coffee mug. “You are withholding sex.”
“No, I’m not.” His jaw flexed. “I’ll fuck you facedown over that counter, Piper. If sex is all you want, I’ll give it to you. But I want more.” His voice brooked no nonsense. “You do, too, or you wouldn’t have come here in the middle of a storm and slept in my bed. Don’t ever do that again, by the way. I need to know you’ll be safe when I’m not here.”
“I’m a strong runner!”
He gave a dubious grunt.
“Fine,” she said, voice irregular. “We’ll talk!”
“Good. Whenever you’re ready.”
Lost in a sea of emotional vulnerability, she utilized her best physical weapon, stripping off his shirt and tossing it to him. Then she marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs in nothing but her thong, knowing full well he’d watch her the whole way. If he was going to demand she let him in
completely, shed all of her defenses, she’d make sure it was a long day for them both.
* * *
As the Della Ray backed out of its slip into the mouth of the harbor, it became obvious to Piper that the boat was an extension of Brendan himself. And the time he spent on land was just filler. He sat in the captain’s chair with easy command, confident in every movement, the wheel sliding through his ready hands, his eyes vigilant. Framed in the hazy sunlight, he could have been from past or present. A man and the ocean. Timeless.
Piper watched him from the relief skipper’s seat, her cheek pressed to the wood paneling of the wheelhouse, never having felt safer in her life. Physically, anyway. The hum of the engine beneath posed an ominous warning to the trembling organ in her chest.
“How far out are we going to go?”
“Five or six miles,” he said. “I’ll drop the anchors and give you a tour. Sound good?”
She nodded, finding herself looking forward to it. Watching this man move in his natural habitat. It had the makings of capability porn all over it. And maybe if she asked enough questions, they could avoid having the talk of all talks.
Yeah, right. There was no getting out of this. The set of his jaw said a resolution was imminent, and he had way less of a hangover than she did. Also, he was in a sexy boat captain mode. It did not bode well.
“Hey,” Brendan said, his bearded chin giving a persuasive jerk. “Come steer this thing.”
“Me?” She stood slowly. “Are you sure? Based on my track record, I will find the one parking meter in the middle of the ocean and back into it.”
Laugh lines appeared around his eyes—and then he patted his big, sturdy thigh. Oh yeah, like she was going to pass that up. “Get over here.”
She feigned one more moment of indecision, then climbed onto his left thigh, mentally praising Hannah for packing her a skirt so she could feel the denim of Brendan’s jeans against the backs of her legs. The shift of muscle.
Brendan took an old captain’s hat off a peg on the wall and dropped it onto her head. Then he wrapped his left arm around her middle and tugged her back more securely against his chest. “See this dial? Just keep the arrow right about here. Northwest.” He took her hands and placed them on the wheel, making sure they were steady before letting go. “How’s that?”