under
her breath before nodding toward the table and gesturing around the
large, main floor of the carriage house. The entire area was his
workspace, the one place where he felt at home and relaxed.
That is until today.
“I thought you worked for Logan at his
shop.”
“I do,” he answered easily. He had returned
to New Waterford because at the time he’d had no choice. As an
ex-con, fresh out of prison and on parole, he’d had to procure
employment and Logan had stepped in, offering him the chance to
work in his bike shop, building custom rides. It’s something he
enjoyed and it served its purpose, but it wasn’t his dream.
“So what’s all this?” she asked, finally
meeting his gaze.
Shane shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood to play
nice with Bobbi. Not today. Not ever.
“I’m just fooling around.”
Her delicate eyebrows furled and he knew she
wasn’t going to let this go.
“Since when do you love working with
wood?”
“Since prison.”
Her face flushed and she muttered, “Oh.”
He’d skimmed the facts for sure. Working in
the wood shop had pretty much saved him because when Shane had been
sentenced to his three year term, he was definitely in a bad way.
He’d checked out on life and didn’t give a shit about anything. If
not for Wilson, the old man in the painting, he wasn’t sure where
the hell he’d be right now.
Awkward silence fell between them and Shane
rolled his shoulders as the muscles across his back tightened. Two
minutes in her company and he was already wound tighter than a damn
top.
“Get dressed and I’ll take you home,” he said
roughly, nudging Pia aside with his foot as he nodded toward the
stairs.
Her chin shot up. So did her eyebrows.
“I’m not going anywhere until we discuss what
happened last night.”
That surprised him. He thought she’d want to
hightail it out of his place as soon as possible.
She fingered the edge of his T-shirt
nervously and glanced away, her large eyes suddenly shadowed. It
hit him then. She wasn’t just hung over. She was suffering from the
after effects of one too many shots of tequila. The main one being
memory loss.
A cool grin touched his mouth as he moved
forward, and something perverse and dangerous rifled through him
when he saw the panicked look that crept into her face.
“You want to talk about last night,” he said
slowly.
She swallowed and his gaze rested on her
mouth. That damn, delectable, soft and wicked mouth. Bobbi cleared
her throat as the air between them exploded in a crackle of
fireworks and sizzling energy.
“Well,” she began breathlessly, her pulse
beating fast and hard at her neck. “Don’t you think we should?”
Shane was inches from her now. She should
smell like a damn brewery—or at least like the kind of woman who
had spent the night in a bar tossing back way too much whiskey and
tequila. But she didn’t. Hell the fuck no. The subtle fragrance
that clung to her hair and lived on her skin, was something
familiar and his groin tightened at the memory of it.
She smelled like summer. It was cold as hell
outside with a brisk north wind blowing and yet, Bobbi smelled like
fucking summer. Go figure.
“It was your wedding night,” he said gruffly,
pissed that she affected him so much.
Her pink tongue ran along her top lip and his
focus shifted. It had to. Because he was suddenly as hard as a rock
and was thanking the good Lord that his jeans had more than enough
room between his legs. Though if she kept it up…kept up with the
mouth and the lips and the tugging on the edge of his damn T-shirt,
there was no way he would be able to hide how turned on he was.
“In case you missed it, I ended up at the
Hard Rock in a wedding dress minus a groom.”
“True,” he answered. “Why did you run out on
Dooley?”
“I didn’t,” she began and then blew out a hot
breath. “I…didn’t,”
“You didn’t.” He arched an eyebrow and
narrowed his gaze.
“Well I did, but I’m,” she thrust
her breath before nodding toward the table and gesturing around the
large, main floor of the carriage house. The entire area was his
workspace, the one place where he felt at home and relaxed.
That is until today.
“I thought you worked for Logan at his
shop.”
“I do,” he answered easily. He had returned
to New Waterford because at the time he’d had no choice. As an
ex-con, fresh out of prison and on parole, he’d had to procure
employment and Logan had stepped in, offering him the chance to
work in his bike shop, building custom rides. It’s something he
enjoyed and it served its purpose, but it wasn’t his dream.
“So what’s all this?” she asked, finally
meeting his gaze.
Shane shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood to play
nice with Bobbi. Not today. Not ever.
“I’m just fooling around.”
Her delicate eyebrows furled and he knew she
wasn’t going to let this go.
“Since when do you love working with
wood?”
“Since prison.”
Her face flushed and she muttered, “Oh.”
He’d skimmed the facts for sure. Working in
the wood shop had pretty much saved him because when Shane had been
sentenced to his three year term, he was definitely in a bad way.
He’d checked out on life and didn’t give a shit about anything. If
not for Wilson, the old man in the painting, he wasn’t sure where
the hell he’d be right now.
Awkward silence fell between them and Shane
rolled his shoulders as the muscles across his back tightened. Two
minutes in her company and he was already wound tighter than a damn
top.
“Get dressed and I’ll take you home,” he said
roughly, nudging Pia aside with his foot as he nodded toward the
stairs.
Her chin shot up. So did her eyebrows.
“I’m not going anywhere until we discuss what
happened last night.”
That surprised him. He thought she’d want to
hightail it out of his place as soon as possible.
She fingered the edge of his T-shirt
nervously and glanced away, her large eyes suddenly shadowed. It
hit him then. She wasn’t just hung over. She was suffering from the
after effects of one too many shots of tequila. The main one being
memory loss.
A cool grin touched his mouth as he moved
forward, and something perverse and dangerous rifled through him
when he saw the panicked look that crept into her face.
“You want to talk about last night,” he said
slowly.
She swallowed and his gaze rested on her
mouth. That damn, delectable, soft and wicked mouth. Bobbi cleared
her throat as the air between them exploded in a crackle of
fireworks and sizzling energy.
“Well,” she began breathlessly, her pulse
beating fast and hard at her neck. “Don’t you think we should?”
Shane was inches from her now. She should
smell like a damn brewery—or at least like the kind of woman who
had spent the night in a bar tossing back way too much whiskey and
tequila. But she didn’t. Hell the fuck no. The subtle fragrance
that clung to her hair and lived on her skin, was something
familiar and his groin tightened at the memory of it.
She smelled like summer. It was cold as hell
outside with a brisk north wind blowing and yet, Bobbi smelled like
fucking summer. Go figure.
“It was your wedding night,” he said gruffly,
pissed that she affected him so much.
Her pink tongue ran along her top lip and his
focus shifted. It had to. Because he was suddenly as hard as a rock
and was thanking the good Lord that his jeans had more than enough
room between his legs. Though if she kept it up…kept up with the
mouth and the lips and the tugging on the edge of his damn T-shirt,
there was no way he would be able to hide how turned on he was.
“In case you missed it, I ended up at the
Hard Rock in a wedding dress minus a groom.”
“True,” he answered. “Why did you run out on
Dooley?”
“I didn’t,” she began and then blew out a hot
breath. “I…didn’t,”
“You didn’t.” He arched an eyebrow and
narrowed his gaze.
“Well I did, but I’m,” she thrust
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