Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3) (16 page)

Del flicked up the kickstand, and the bike wobbled under her added weight.

“Er, when did you ride a bike last?”

“Been a while, I guess.” He eased forward to give her more room.

Shaye felt like an octopus with too many arms—what was she supposed to hold onto? Him? “This is such a bad idea.”

A warm hand snaked up to grab her wrist. Del tugged her closer, placing her hand on his hip. “Can’t change your mind now, so you’d better trust me—and hang on.”

The bike lurched forward, and they were off. Shaye fisted his tee, her knuckles brushing lean muscle. The hell with it—gravel rash wasn’t an attractive option. She plastered herself to his big body as the bike picked up speed. Breasts smooshed against Del’s broad back, thighs hugging his, she made like a limpet.

Due South and the primary school blasted past them in a blur.

“Okay?” he asked at a yell as they rounded the first corner.

Her hands moved from clenching his shirt to wrapping around his stomach.

“My life’s flashing before my eyes, but yes,” she hollered. “It’s all good.”

He laughed. A genuine, from the gut,
I’m glad to be alive
laugh. The first time she’d heard it. And oh,
myyyy
…

His laugh was like gooey caramel hidden in the center of a surprise muffin; you didn’t know how good it was until you got a taste of buried sweetness. She clung tighter—one percent of the reason was the bike hurtling around another corner, the other ninety-nine because she loved the feel of his hardness and warmth.

All too soon, they reached Shearwater Bay. A few locals in their yards waved them past, and on a rocky outcrop beneath the low cover of trees, a small group of fishermen took advantage of the changing tide. Two kayakers cut through the dull emerald ocean, their paddles flicking up plumes of sparkling water.

Del eased back on the throttle, and Shaye regretfully untangled her arms from around him. They coasted by a few more properties right on the beach front, until the road abruptly ended—with Wally Nolan’s shoe-box-shaped house.

Nestled against an impenetrable wall of variegated green bush and trees, the single-story house stood well apart from its nearest neighbors. Del rolled to a stop outside and killed the engine. Shaye clambered off the bike and removed her helmet, straightening her now wonky ponytail.

Del stood beside her, removing his helmet and holding his hand out for hers. “Hasn’t changed much and he wasn’t wrong about it needing a new coat of paint.”

Even from the road, the beach house looked neglected, with paint flaking off the clapboard sides, and the dark blue window trim faded and chipped. Shaye crossed the soft sand to the deck. Two sets of glass sliding doors featured at the front of the house, reflecting the pewter clouds gathered over the distant Ulva Island.

She cupped a palm to the first door and peered inside. Circular dining table and chairs, a battered green couch, and a functional but sparse kitchenette. Two doors led off the main room, one to a bathroom, she assumed, the other—she moved sideways along the deck to where Del had arrived at the second doors—yep, a bedroom. Complete with a set of bunk beds.

Del turned toward her and tapped on the glass. “Dibs on the top bunk.”

The corners of her mouth twitched up in an automatic smile. She got it. “Oh. You’re going to rent Wally’s place?”

Del edged past her and moved to the spot she’d vacated, looking in on the living area. “If we can come to an agreement.”

“For how long? Wait—you said you heard from the States. Ethan Ward?”

He nodded, dug a hand into the pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a keyring. He slotted a key in the door and unlocked it. “Rang me about an hour ago. I’m in.”

The grin he shot over his shoulder before he slid the door open stripped her defences bare.

“You got through? They’re coming out to film?” She hurried inside after him, considered removing her shoes but after one look at the grimy, sand-speckled floor, she changed her mind.

Del poked through the kitchen, opening and closing doors. “Ethan and his crew are arriving later in the month. I haven’t heard any more of the details. His people were going to call my people.” He yanked open a cabinet and removed a cast iron skillet, holding it up to the tiny window over the sink for closer examination. “All very Hollywood, as you’d expect.”

Running a fingertip over the dusty counter top, Shaye grimaced. “Now you’ve got to clear it with West and your dad?”

He placed the skillet back where he’d found it and shut the orange painted door, then straightened to pin her with a stare. “Can I count on your support?”

Shaye leaned a hip against the counter, folded her arms. “It’s just going to be you and Ethan in the kitchen, right?”

He frowned, mirroring her posture at the counter’s other end. “You know, I’m not a hundred percent sure. I’d assume most of the time it’d be me and Ethan. But the crew would want a glimpse of the restaurant in action.”

“Ugh. Not cool. I hate the idea of being in front of a camera.”

“Your mom was an actress; didn’t you ever want to take to the stage or screen?”

“Mum says the camera adds ten pounds to skinny women, thirty to the rest of us.” She twisted a strand of her ponytail. “I always thought it a miserable way to live, worrying what lumps and bumps the camera would show. So, no, I never wanted to be an actress.” She let go of her hair and fiddled with the hem of her top. “But my little bit of vanity won’t get in the way of Due South’s need for good publicity.”

“The camera’ll love you, you’re beautiful.”

He moved closer, and her scalp prickled as a static charge zipped between them.

“And I happen to like your lumps and bumps. The camera mightn’t see the real you, but I do.”

She should’ve shoved him aside with sarcasm. A “Puh-lease” and an eye-roll. Del didn’t see her as anything but a pain in his ass. Or, since her ego could use a boost, she conceded he was attracted to her—in an
I have boy bits, you’ve got the corresponding girl bits
kind of way. Guys like him called women beautiful the same as they labeled a sports car or a fine cut of sirloin.

She opened her mouth to say, “You don’t see the real me at all,” but he closed the remaining distance to zero. Words spun away as he touched his lips to her cheek. It wasn’t quite a kiss—but definitely not a brotherly peck. Just a soft brush of his mouth, the last kind of touch she expected from the bad-ass Del Westlake.

And it stopped her heart for a second.

He pulled away far enough for her to see her dazed expression in the endless blue of his eyes.

“Tell me no.”

Shaye blinked. “Huh?”

“Tell me not to kiss you.”

She breathed him in. A hint of soap with a whiff of petrol he must’ve spilled while refueling the bike, but mostly sun-warmed male skin, throbbing with testosterone.

Her hand trembled, and she placed it on his chest, spreading her fingers wide over his shirt. Heat burned through the thin cotton fibers and the rapid thud of his heart throbbed against her palm, beating in time with her own.

“Please kiss me, Del.” She slid her hand along his collarbone to his neck, skimming over the first prickles returning along his jawline, fingertips tingling. “Pretty please.” She raised her other hand to cup his face. “With a damn cherry on top.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, and her heart flipped in a series of summersaults. God, that smile. Those eyes.
Him
.

Swaying forward on tip-toe, she tilted her chin. He misjudged the angle of her mouth and bumped her nose.

“Smooth move, Hollywood,” she murmured.

The rumble from his throat could have been a laugh or a growl. Didn’t have time to decipher it before his mouth descended on hers—hard, hot, and very, very smooth.

He kissed like a man starved, and she was a dessert bar. The flicker of his tongue against hers danced fire through her resistance. She melted, pouring herself into him. Her fingers thrust into his hair—keeping his lips locked in place. She opened to him, holding nothing back, offering him control to wield as he liked. And he took control, sealing their mouths together as if it would take a crowbar to part them.

Closer. More. Deeper.

He surrounded her with hard warmth, and she held on, the feel of her body—breast to thigh pressed tight to his—doing liquefying things to her bones.

Not just a kiss. Not even close.

Then she was sitting on the countertop, Del’s big hands gripping her butt from where he’d lifted her. Her fingers clawed his shoulders, her legs hugging his hips, pulling him in, locking his lower body hard against her, and his mouth—
ohdearGod
—the man kissed like a demon and angel combined. To hell with
just a kiss
; she’d become a glutton wanting more.

She wrestled up the hem of his shirt, sliding her hands across miles of silky skin, tracing down the strong line of his spine. He pulled away, teeth catching her bottom lip in the softest of nips. Del repeated her name twice before her brain registered his mouth wasn’t returning. Blue, blue eyes had turned a smoldering shade of thundercloud grey.

“Shaye. We can’t.”

The length of steely male trapped between her legs said
oh yes we can
.

She shifted her hips fractionally, rubbing against him. His ragged moan nearly compensated for the ache spiraling up from her core. His hands tightened on her and stroked down her thighs. Then he backed away.

“God.”

Del’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he stood watching her. Watching her want him, panting for him like an inexperienced school girl who’d never been kissed before.
Hah
. The joke was on her—because she never
had
been kissed like that before.

Her cheeks burned as they continued to stare at each other.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

“Why?” Because she was inexperienced and waaay out of his league? Because while in her head that kiss would’ve registered off the Richter scale, for him it was more
meh
than earth-shattering?

Del must’ve caught the indignation in that one word, since his lips curved again in that damn sexy smile.

“Now I’ve had a taste of you, cupcake, I want more. Not only the frosting.” He gestured down at himself, and like an obedient little hussy, she followed with her gaze.

Holy hell, the man packed some serious equipment in those jeans. Some seriously heavy-duty equipment. It took her at least five seconds to drag her gaze up to eye level.

She cleared her throat. “Maybe I want more than frosting, too.”

Like the whole damn island’s supply of frosting spread over his naked bod.

He rubbed his neck with a palm. “I can’t offer you anything more than a—”

She hopped off the counter and jabbed a finger at his stomach, which hurt, dammit, because the man had some rock hard abs under his shirt. “I’m not asking for more than a…”

His eyes hooded and flared hot, and her voice stuttered to a halt.

“More than a quick fuck?” he said quietly. He grabbed her hand, cupping it loosely in his. “You’re not the type of girl who should hook up with a guy like me.”

“As I’ll only be a quick, mindless fuck, right?”

He squeezed her fingers then, and let go. “Nothing like that. But tell me, how many years did you continue to send me letters when I left Oban?”

Oh, crap. He’d received the pages of handwritten letters she’d sent? She tilted her chin. “I forget.”

“Up until you were fifteen. They stopped after your father died.”

“You never answered a damn one.”

“No.” He shook his head, but his eyes never left hers. “I didn’t know what the hell to say to you. We weren’t buddies like West and Piper were. I couldn’t understand why you kept sending them. Little tidbits of island gossip. What books you were reading. What the other kids did during the Christmas holidays. I finally figured it out.”

“Did you?” Her voice flattened. She remembered now. The first Sunday of the month was
write to Del
day, the sad-eyed boy she’d hoped to make laugh again.

“You couldn’t let me go.”

“
Then
. I couldn’t let you go
then
. I was a kid, and I guess I held on to you the same way I’ve held on to all my favorite childhood books and my Barbie doll collection. I won’t be holding on to you this time.” She forced her lips into a smile. “Sorry to pop your giant ego. Hell, when you leave after the wedding, I won’t even send you an e-mail.”

He chuckled. “Giant ego aside—sex complicates things. Especially for people who work together.”

She arched a brow. “I haven’t even decided if I
want
to sleep with you.”

“Smart girl. You should slap my face now and walk away.”

She tilted her head. “This, from a man who’s probably slept with more than one employee in his life…Is there something else going on here? Is there—?” The thought blazed into her mind like napalm. “Is there
someone
else
? In LA—”