Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book

by Tracey Alvarez

  She groaned and wrapped her other arm over her face. “Oh, God. I did, didn’t I?”

  “Totally. And Ben would’ve kicked your ass if you’d succeeded.”

  “And Brittany of the big boobs and French manicure would’ve gone for me too.”

  He patted her leg, leaving his warm palm on her calf. “You could’ve taken her.”

  “Damn straight, I could’ve.” She sat up a little, resting back on her forearms, testing her stomach to see if anything else threatened to erupt. So far, nothing. “I must’ve seemed pretty pathetic—drunk, and trying to kiss you with gross vomit breath.”

  A muscle twitched in the corner of his mouth. “Actually, you shocked me. I couldn’t understand why you wanted to kiss me.”

  Piper sat up further and drew her knees to her chest, so his hand slid off her leg. His touch dizzied her senses more than the rhythmic rocking of the boat. “Like you didn’t know I’d been crushing on you for ages.”

  “Believe it or not, I wasn’t always so clued up on the mysterious hints women give.”

  “Well, I’m not such a cheap date now. I don’t put out after only three beers.”

  His rich laughter filled the room and she smiled in spite of herself. It was the kind of laugh they used to share, back before the drunken kiss fail, back when they’d just been friends hanging out.

  He stopped laughing and his gaze dropped, alighting on her lips. Suddenly conscious of her breath, Piper would’ve given a week’s wages for a mint Tic-Tac. What was the protocol in this situation? The kind of situation where you’ve puked in a bucket held by the man who still turns your insides to jelly with only his laugh.

  “I’m flattered you didn’t kiss me in my kitchen the other night because you were drunk—” and before Piper could invent a blasé excuse or a sarcastic comeback, West continued, “—but we have guests suiting up to snorkel. Maybe you’d feel less queasy if you hopped in the water for a bit.”

  Floating face down under the water where no one could figure out the cool and collected cop wasn’t actually all that cool, and with West around, definitely not collected—that sounded preferable to barfing in a bucket while he looked on. “Let them know I’ll be up in ten. The show must go on.”

  “That’s my girl.” His warm fingers wrapped around her ankle and squeezed, then he stood and exited the cabin.

  Piper swung her legs off the bunk and dropped her head into her palms, cursing her foolish, foolish heart for leaping into a wild calypso. Acting like the silly girl she’d been would not get her through the next five weeks, or even through the rest of the day.

  Just because West briefly turned on the I care about you, babe charm in her moment of weakness, didn’t mean she should jump to unfounded conclusions. She’d never been West’s girl, even when at eighteen she’d been naive enough to think that sex with him automatically labeled her as such. She’d been nothing more than a quick fling, an easy conquest, another chick he’d banged.

  The only thing that kissing West proved was she was still too stupid to learn her lesson the first and second time around.

  “Not aiming for third time lucky, pal.” Piper staggered to the cabin door and locked it.

  Now. If she could just stop thinking about the long night ahead, trapped in this cabin with him.

  And how she would prevent herself from being stupid all over again.

  Piper sliced strips of green pepper for the green salad with the focused attention of someone performing their first solo brain surgery.

  Outside the galley, West’s baritone rumble was cut into by wife number three’s piercing giggle. “Oh, West, you’re too much.”

  Wasn’t he, though. Too much of everything decadent and yummy. An overindulgence she couldn’t afford. She tossed the strips into the salad bowl, snatched up another pepper and pierced its glossy skin with her knife.

  After West fixed the exhausted but happy couples their early evening cocktails, which they currently enjoyed on The Mollymawk’s deck, he helped garnish the plate of smoked salmon blinis and carried the platter out.

  Fortunately, the rest of the day had gone without a hitch. Couples one and two snorkeled their little butts off, while she thanked the gods her seasickness had abated once in the water. Later in the afternoon she buddied up with husband number three on the scuba dive, while his wife chattered non-stop to West back on-board.

  Afterwards West sidled up to her and in a low-pitched voice, snarled, “Don’t ever leave me alone with that woman again. She never, ever shuts up.”

  “Wiggles stories?” Piper whispered back.

  Wiggles being the woman’s spoiled Maltese terrier. Piper had managed to zone out from most of the Wiggles stories when Cynthia, aka wife number three, looked after her earlier.

  “Did you know Wiggles has her own wardrobe?”

  “She showed you her photos, didn’t she?”

  “I wanted to poke my eye out with one of those little cocktail umbrellas.”

  They grinned at each other.

  God, his real smile, the genuine one she rarely got, made Piper want to lap him up like melted chocolate—the decadently expensive kind.

  And he was out there now entertaining the three couples with his irresistible bartender charm.

  “Salad greens, check. Peppers, check.” Glancing down at her to-do list, Piper poked a finger at her sister’s scrawl. “Cherry tomatoes.” She yanked open the fridge and removed a small bowl. “Check. I’ve so got this.”

  “Got what?”

  She spun back at the sound of West’s voice. He carried a tray of glasses and set it on the outer counter of the galley, wisely staying out of her little triangle of space between the stove, sink, and fridge.

  “Got everything under control.” Piper blinked. “Refills already?” He nodded, and transferred the empty glasses to the counter top, along with the empty starter platter. “Wow. That was fast.”

  “They’re hungry, happy, and starting to get horny.”

  Super. Nice to know that a group of fifty-somethings were getting in the mood for sex later that evening, while she would pass an uncomfortable eight hours on a narrow bunk in a tiny cabin with West. And definitely not having sex.

  “Lucky Bluff oysters aren’t in season,” she muttered and returned to the chopping board, swiping the back of her hand across her forehead.

  Was it just her, or had the kitchen become way too hot?

  “They don’t need an aphrodisiac, that’s for sure. But I didn’t take you for a prude.”

  He risked her wrath by moving around the counter and into her space, bending down to take out fresh wine glasses from the cabinet near her knees. His tee shirt rode up, baring a strip of tanned skin on his lower back.

  What had she been thinking about yumminess? Would his skin be hot to the touch or cool from the brief swim he’d taken before cocktail hour? Would the scent of sea and salt and male pheromones transfer to her fingertips if she traced the bumps of his vertebrae?

  Adjusting her grip on the knife, Piper studied the two avocados beside the board. Chopping a finger off while ogling a man she shouldn’t be ogling wouldn’t be a good look. She rolled her shoulders and instructed her pulse to drop the hyper act and return to normal.

  “I had any prudishness stomped out of me after I started at police training college.” She kept her voice breezy as she picked up an avocado and ran the blade around it lengthwise. “Men have dirty minds, male cops even more so.”

  “Intimidating for an eighteen-year-old.” He placed another set of wine glasses on the counter and straightened.

  “I was hardly an innocent,” she said, and then realizing how it could be interpreted, tacked on, “I hung around with my big brother and his smut-brained friends.”

  West shook his head and moved to the fridge, his glutes flexing under his thin board shorts. Oh, for Pete’s sake. Piper wrested the avocado halves open with a silent snarl and used a spoon to pry out the pit.

  “We didn’t always have smut on our
minds.” He selected another bottle of white wine and returned to the other side of the counter.

  “No, there was fishing, diving, bikes, rugby, beer, and how to get more beer. That about covers the things you and the other guys gabbed about.”

  “Eavesdrop much?”

  “All the time.”

  West’s rough chuckle fired another bolt of some female chemical, designed solely to turn her on, straight to every damn erogenous zone.

  “What else did you hear?” He peeled the foil off the wine bottle and looked at her expectantly, nothing but warm humor in his clear blue eyes.

  Against her will, she found herself smiling back. “I heard about your bet with Ben that you could cop a feel of Lisa Cameron’s boobs.”

  “Did you, now?” That earned her another sexy laugh. “I was fifteen and it was my first spectacular blow-out with a girl. She slapped my face.”

  Piper snorted. “I would’ve punched your lights out.” She sliced the avocado into quarters. “And you’ve got me to thank for that slap—I told Lisa what you were up to.”

  West’s eyes crinkled and he gusted out a full belly laugh. Gripping the edge of the counter he leaned forward until his face was only a foot away from hers. “You’ve got a mean streak, Piper. That slap cost me days of groveling to get back in Lisa’s good books, and I never did get to touch her boobs.” He paused, tilted his head, and deliberately directed his attention down to where her breasts pressed against her shirt. “So you owe me a feel of your boobs to make up for it.”

  Red alert. Red alert. Her next inhale stopped halfway down her lungs and her nipples budded into two hard points of Ohmigod-yes-please. She raised the tip of her chef’s knife and pointed it at his nose. “Keep your hands to yourself, Westlake.”

  His gaze flared hot. “What if I don’t want to?” He took two slow steps sideways, two steps closer to her. “What if I’m tired of playing your game of ‘there’s nothing going on here.’”

  The knife in her hand swiveled to follow his cat-like movements. “I don’t play games. And FYI there is nothing going on here. Nothing I’m interested in pursuing, anyway.”

  Another step and he rounded the corner, crowding her backward until her butt hit the counter. He rescued the knife from her shaking fingers, laid it on the chopping board, and left his hand resting there, effectively trapping her.

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” he murmured.

  She shoved a hand against West’s chest to stop him coming closer, but all that achieved was runaway tingles up her arm from the hard, hot muscles beneath his shirt. He leaned into her fingers and the rapid bump of his heartbeat throbbed against her palm. Close enough to see her own reflection in West’s eyes, she froze when his pupils shrunk to tiny dots.

  His nose twitched. “Something’s burning.”

  Yeah, something was burning, all right. One more touch, one more second of him looking like he planned to do her on the kitchen counter and she would either catch fire or do something absurd like kiss him again.

  “West.” Hating the breathy quality in her voice, Piper sucked in a lungful of smoke-tainted air. Smoke-tainted? What the—?

  She followed West’s gaze to where a thin ribbon of steam mixed with smoke seeped out of the oven door. Shaye’s carefully prepared meal was in that oven reheating. And now smoking.

  The galley’s smoke detector found its voice and screeched with gusto.

  “The fish!” and then a second afterward she spotted the froth boiling over the pan on the stove, followed closely by a hiss and sputter as the lemon dill cream sauce sizzled down the sides and hit the element. “Oh, crap! The sauce!”

  While she momentarily froze, West turned the stove off, shoved both hands into protective mitts, and yanked the pan from the oven. Steam, smoke and the stench of incinerated fish belched into the kitchen. The smoke detector continued at an even higher decibel to broadcast her cock-up to the world.

  The galley door flung open and husband number three poked his face inside. “Everything okay in here?” He took one look at her stricken face and added, “Dang, is that our dinner?”

  Yep, that was their dinner. Ruined. Absolutely annihilated.

  West strode toward husband number three and the open door, trailing a plume of grey smoke behind him. Piper followed him, groaning as West chucked their guests’ baked blue cod with skinny carrot thingies and spinach overboard.

  With her luck? The Department of Conservation would have her up for poisoning the sea life. And then, Shaye would murder her for obliterating one of her culinary masterpieces.

  Chapter Nine

  Piper silently recited every foul word in her vocabulary, which thanks to nine years on the police force formed a substantial list.

  How the hell would she fix this?

  She couldn’t offer green salad and cheese and crackers to guests who expected a luxurious three course meal. Fortunately, she hadn’t destroyed the white chocolate mousse cooling in the fridge. Give her time, though, give her time…

  “Oh, dear, what happened?” Wife number one appeared at her side, accompanied by her husband.

  Piper massaged her temples and forced her lips to curl into a wry smile. “I had some trouble with my sister’s reheating instructions. I’m afraid she’s the domestic goddess in our family, not me.”

  Husband number one patted her shoulder. “My Janet’s much the same, aren’t you, love? Sticks to the ‘keep-it-simple-stupid’ philosophy or else everything turns to charcoal.”

  Janet slipped him a look that should’ve flash-fried his nuts to charcoal, while Piper debated rifling through The Mollymawk’s cabinets in case she’d skipped over another gourmet meal in her haste. The couple moved away to watch the gannets circling overhead. She didn’t like the birds’ chances of a tasty snack if they were eyeing up Shaye’s fish.

  Husband number three wandered over with his refilled wine glass. “What’s plan B then, ay? I’m starving.”

  Good to know he had his priorities straight. Would it be rude to snatch the glass out of his hand and gulp the rest herself?

  “Plan B? Well…” Piper angled a sidelong glance at West who’d just finished scraping the crusty black remains out of the oven pan.

  “How does fresh lobster and paua fritters cooked over a fire on the beach grab you?” West said.

  “Brilliant.” Husband number three wrapped an arm around his wife.

  “We’ll head a couple of beaches over to Kahurangi Bay where there’s a good spot to catch lobsters. We’ll take the dinghy and drop you off on the beach. The six of you can collect driftwood for the fire while Piper and I dive for seafood.”

  “Oooh a beach party, how wonderful! I love beach parties!” Wife number three’s enthusiasm infected the others and the couples started chattering amongst themselves.

  Piper grabbed West’s arm and tugged him inside the galley.

  “What? You don’t like my idea?” he said as Piper shut the connecting door and leaned against it.

  She shook her head. “It’s great, thanks, but there’s not enough air left in any of the couples’ tanks for you to dive.”

  West continued through the small dining area into the galley and dumped the pan into the sink. “I won’t be using a tank. You can, but I don’t need to.”

  “Oh.” She folded her arms and worried her bottom lip with her eye tooth. “You’re going to free-dive.”

  “Why don’t you call it ‘spear-fishing’ since the word free-dive pushes your buttons? Kahurangi’s shallow with good visibility and we’ve both dived there many times.”

  None of which eased the knot of tension behind her breastbone. “You want me to be your buddy.” She couldn’t keep the flatness from her tone.

  His eyebrow kicked up. “Don’t dive alone, right?”

  Rubbing at the tight spot did little to ease it when she thought of being West’s buddy. “Right. Okay, let’s go, then.”

  Thirty minutes later she and West trod water beside the anchored dinghy, while l
aughter from the beach drifted across the gentle swell of the bay. Suited up in wetsuits, fins, and masks, the neoprene couldn’t keep the chill of the water from penetrating deep inside her.

  Or maybe being West’s safety diver brought on the ache that made her cold right down to the marrow. Because buddy was just another name for responsibility and he’d neatly maneuvered her into it while he “spear-fished.” A responsibility she didn’t want.

  Piper had already collected half a dozen large-shelled paua while West snorkeled above, keeping her in his sights. She unhooked the mesh catch bag around her waist and dumped the molluscs into the dinghy.

  “My turn.” West pulled his mask into place again.

  The words “be careful” were on the tip of her tongue but she gulped them back. She wouldn’t give him the power of her worries.

  You’re okay. This is not the same situation as with Dad. The water’s only thirty feet deep here at most. It’ll be fine—he’ll be fine.

  Lots of self-talk that didn’t slow her racing heart or the adrenaline slamming through her.

  She nodded and popped in her regulator, not trusting herself to speak. West rolled onto his back and sucked in air, gulping like a fish to pack more into his lungs. Then with a smooth twisting movement he slipped under, barely rippling the surface.

  Piper followed him down, bubbles trailing behind her. He moved through the water like one of the tiny fish who swirled around him in silvery shoals—effortless, at home. She kept her distance as he glided through the kelp forest to the rocky seabed. West’s dive light flickered into cracks and crevices. His hand darted into a gap and emerged with a decent sized lobster, its legs flailing.

  West gestured her toward him and she finned over, holding the catch bag open. He dropped the lobster inside and held up a finger, pointing back at the rock opening. Making a motion across her throat with her spare hand, she raised a questioning eyebrow. Out of air?

  He shook his head and turned back to the rock, reappearing moments later with another struggling lobster. That one also stored, he gave her a thumbs up—returning to the surface. Mirroring the gesture she flutter-kicked away, feeling the drag of the catch bag in her hand, the movement and eddy of water flowing around her. She looked to the right, expecting to see West beside her. Nothing but air bubbles and a sleek kahawai swimming past.