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 sil
k 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.
Piper. The metaphorical swarm of mosquitoes in his paradise.
She’d raided the dryer, dressed in her own clothes of cargo pants and a loose plaid shirt that skimmed over a breast-hugging tank top. And he tried, really tried, to ignore those breasts. It was far too early and he was far past his juvenile years of ogling a woman’s rack at any opportunity. He nodded curtly and strolled into the living room.
Besides, he’d been there, done that. Done her.
Ben turned from the kitchen counter, his free hand clenched around the handles of two coffee mugs. With a graceless balletic spin on his good foot he placed them on the dining table. “Coffee’s up—” His smile slipped as his glance slid from West to something a short distance behind. Ben straightened to his full height. “What’s she doing here?”
Ben’s suspicions as to where exactly Piper spent the night were etched on his wrinkled brow and stick-up-the-ass stiffness. West faked a yawn and slumped into a dining chair, his mind kicking into action. Did Ben honestly think he’d make a move on his sister on her first night back on the island? Because the idea of Ben figuring out he had a sexual history with Piper made him shudder.
Unwritten guy rule: You didn’t screw your best mate’s sister soon after her eighteenth birthday and then dump her like yesterday’s leftovers.
West took a sip of his coffee, keeping his gaze on the steaming mug. “Sod off, Ben. Go bitch to your mother if you’ve a problem with Piper staying in my office—it was her idea.”
Ben relaxed as he retrieved his crutches from their position against the kitchen counter and swung himself over to a chair. He picked up his cup and blew on it. “Touchy this morning, aren’t you?”
“Now, now, boys.” Piper swept into the kitchen heading straight for the coffee pot. “Let’s get some caffeine in us before we have to face the Inquisitioner, aka Mum.”
“What?” Ben said.
Piper scanned the row of cabinets above the counter and randomly opened one after another until she spotted the mugs. “You’d scurried away by the time Mum ordered us up to her place this morning.” She snagged a cup and filled it.
Ben groaned. “All of us?”
“Yep.”
“A family reunion at seven o’clock in the morning. Just great.” Ben swirled the contents of his coffee cup as if the grounds might reveal a plausible excuse his mother would buy.
West flexed his fingers and bit back a groan. Sounded like a fun meal. Not.
Bad enough having his house invaded by Harlands, screw being trapped with four of them in a room at the same time. Not even Glenna’s legendary cooked breakfast could tempt him. “Think I’ll give it a miss. Family dramas are not my scene.”
Piper leaned against the counter and slowly crossed one ankle over the other. Her steady, flat scrutiny made him wonder if this was the woman that apprehended criminals saw.
Cool. Centered. In control.
She snatched up the phone handset beside her and slid it across the table. It bumped against his coffee cup with a soft rattle. “Mum included you in that order disguised as an invitation. It’s your call.” Her voice was deceptively calm but beneath her even tone, flashes of temper sharpened the words. “You can ring to explain why you’re not coming because I’m not making excuses for you.”
Bugger. He could never say no to Glenna Harland. For that matter, he could never say no to Piper.
“Call it a miracle, but for once I agree with Piper.”
West dragged his gaze from her and refocused on Ben.
“Since you’re now part of the Save-Poor-Ben team, you should be there.” Ben shoved his cup away and stood. “Just keep you head down, eat your breakfast, and agree with everything Mum says.”
A dry chuckle escaped West. “You can tell you’ve been raised in a household of women. Jeez.”
“Well, you and your bro hung around us long enough to know what it’s like when you’re outnumbered. You smile and wave to keep the women happy and then do whatever you need to do.”
Piper threw up her hands. “Uh, hello? Female person right here.”
Ben tucked the crutches under his arms. “Though in Piper’s case you may want to cover your nuts if she catches you. I’ll wait downstairs.”
The clock ticked off monotonous seconds after Ben left the room.
“So. Are you coming…or not?” Piper crossed her arms, cleavage appearing at the motion.
Awareness clawed through his empty belly at the peaked outline of two nipples pressing against her top in the cool morning air. Coming or not. There would be no coming with Piper any time in his future. His dick twitched once in rebellion and he resisted the urge to adjust himself.
West shook his head and drained the remains of his coffee with a grimace. “I’ll go. Give me twenty minutes to shower and shave.”
“Better make it thirty—what, with you needing to fix your hair and all.” A dimple winked in her cheek as she sashayed past.
West scraped a hand over his chin to mask the curl of his lips. That was the Piper he remembered. He blew out his cheeks in a harsh puff of air. Problem was, he remembered too much.
So it’d better be a cold shower.
Chapter 4
A typical Harland family get-together, the peace lasted ten minutes after they arrived in her mother’s kitchen.
Piper sat beside Shaye, who gave their brother the stink-eye across the kitchen table. Ben refused to contribute to the stilted conversation and continued to mainline his breakfast. West, seated next to him, hadn’t glanced up since Glenna placed his plate in front of him.
Rearranging a cluster of grilled button mushrooms, Piper tried to pretend she was totally relaxed being in her old home. Other than a new coat of paint, everything had remained the same. Glenna’s vast array of copper bottomed pots and pans hung from a ceiling rack, and fruit filled a carved kauri bowl on the island counter. Her mother flitted around like a hummingbird, refilling coffee cups and sneaking Ben and West extra sausages and slabs of buttered toast.
If she squinted, she could return to a time when her father sat at the head of the table, thumping his fist for emphasis, making them all jump as the crockery rattled. West and Ben would be outfitted in their rugby gear ready for their Saturday morning game, Shaye bent over one of her mother’s recipe books or catching up on homework.
But those days had gone.
Her father was dead, her sister an independent twenty-four-year-old woman, and her brother and West no longer Piper’s best friends.
Piper sipped her orange juice, the cool, familiar sweetness soothing on her tongue. “So, Ben. Tell me what happened and what we’re up against.”
Ben’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth and he glanced over to West, looking for back-up. West carried on eating.
“I haven’t been meeting my payments for nearly four months. Since October, when Jules and Curt took off,” Ben said.
“The dive guides you mentioned last night?”
Her brother nodded. “I could’ve coped with one of them leaving, but not both. Gavin Reynolds didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the situation by poaching my customers.”
“Gav’s a dickhead.” Shaye sliced her knife across the remaining sausage on her plate with enough venom to cause sympathetic winces from both men.
Piper cut her sister a sidelong glance. Out of all the Harlands, Shaye was the most easy-going. She had a temper—holy crap, she had a temper—but you very rarely saw evidence of it and her usual sunny nature meant the locals loved her. What had Gav Reynolds done to warrant such a reaction?
“Agreed,” Ben said. “He’s always been a dickhead. But now the dickhead is a businessman who’s never forgiven me for being blessed with the looks and charm he missed out on.”
Shaye snorted. “More likely because you beat the crap out of him in high school.”
“He had it coming.”
Piper set her knife and fork down. Enough tiptoeing around. “You’re four months behind in payments. Exactly how much do you owe the bank?”
It wasn’t West’s movement that caught her eye; it was the absolute absence of movement. He didn’t look at her brother, just examined his plate with a neutral expression frozen in place.
Ben’s knife squeaked on china as he sawed at a bacon rasher. Finally he looked up. “Thirty grand.”
Piper’s belly went into free fall and her hand jerked, knocking her fork off the table. Thirty grand? Ben owed thirty thousand dollars? “Are you screwing with me?”
Ben’s silent gaze flipped her the bird.
“Piper, please.” Her mother glided past to sit at the table head. The chair at the opposite end remained empty, a constant reminder of Michael Harland’s absence.
“Sorry Mum, but Jesus, Ben! Why didn’t you ask for help earlier?” She held up a hand. “No, no, don’t tell me, I can guess—you were convinced you could crawl out of this financial shithole by yourself?”
“I would’ve sorted it.”
“You’re such a dumb-assed stubborn male.”
Ben’s shoulders hunched, his eyes narrowed slits. “I am not dumb.”
Shaye, ever the peacemaker, touched Piper’s shoulder. “We’ve had real crappy weather this summer and the tourists aren’t coming. West has helped out when he could, but after Ben broke his leg—”
“What’s done is done.” Glenna angled the spout of her teapot over a delicate porcelain cup. She finished pouring and fixed them with a lethal stare. “We can throw blame around like monkeys hurling excrement, which gets everybody mucky and doesn’t solve anything—”
Piper’s mouth dropped.
“—or, we can work together to help extricate Ben from this financial shithole.”
In Too Deep Page 4