He stared at himself, at the jagged scar that defined who he was now. It had faded a little, no longer the angry red it had been. Starting at the corner of his eye, it carried on down to the edge of his mouth, puckering the skin, twisting his lips on one side when he said certain words, held his mouth a certain way when he smiled—not that he’d done much of that lately—then it dipped lower, finishing at his jaw.
He barely recognized the man he saw in the mirror.
Not anymore.
A short time later, he was in a suit and driving a beautiful classic car covered with bright purple ribbons down Axle Alley…which added a whole new dimension of hell, not to mention unwanted attention. He already felt on display, and his stress increased as he neared Piper’s cottage. The very idea of transporting the three women had his heart slugging erratically against his rib cage.
Jesus, he needed to pull it together or he was a damned panic attack waiting to happen. He hadn’t had one in months, and he wanted to keep it that way. He hated this, this feeling that he was losing control.
He should have been honest, told Deke he couldn’t do it. But the guy already worried enough over his state of mind. The last thing he wanted to do was admit just how fucked-up he still was.
You can do this. You have to do this.
The road was quiet, which wasn’t a surprise since it was Saturday afternoon. Other than the cottage Piper and Rusty lived in, well, just Piper now since Rusty had recently shacked up with her new man, there was nothing but businesses on Axle Alley. Businesses that catered to anything with an engine and home to the girls’ classic car restoration business. After Deacon’s father died, Rusty, Piper, and their best friend Alex took over the business, and they were doing a fucking fantastic job.
Being the only residential property on this stretch of road, the cottage wasn’t hard to miss. It also looked like something from a fairy tale with its lemon and mauve paint and quaint little veranda.
Piper suited the place perfectly.
Her pink Corvette was parked outside, curvy and sexy with a whole lot of cute. A description that also fit its owner. He pulled up behind it and shut off the engine.
Gripping the wheel, he let his head drop back and closed his eyes. Breathe. He automatically started the breathing exercises his shrink taught him.
In through your nose, out through your mouth.
His pulse slowed, and the tremor in his hands eased. He could do this.
Mind made up, he climbed out and limped up the path, taking the stairs to the front door. Resisting the urge to swipe his sweaty palms down the front of his trousers, he knocked.
Footsteps sounded behind the door seconds before it swung open. Rusty stood there, smiling up at him, green eyes sparkling. Rusty was Deacon and Piper’s sister, the middle West, and the woman was currently taking him in from head to toe. Her eyes widened when they landed on his face, but she didn’t shrink back. Instead she whistled long and low. “Whoa, you look like some kind of bad-ass assassin in that suit. Nice.”
Jesus.
Heat climbed up his neck at Rusty’s continued scrutiny.
“So,” she said, grinning at him and waggling her eyebrows. “Do you have a concealed weapon hidden under there? I bet it’s biiiig, right?”
He choked out a laugh, surprised by the rough sound that broke free. He’d known Rusty since she was a little kid, and the familiar teasing helped shake off his nerves. “Big enough.”
She shook her head and snorted. “That’s what they all say.” Turning, she yelled into the house. “Let’s go! James Bond is here to give us a lift.”
The nerves he’d had somewhat under control fired back to life, but for a different reason. The prospect of seeing Piper, of getting a glimpse of her, had the usual effect, and he cursed himself for the fool he was. He heard the other two coming, chatting and laughing, before he saw them. Alex came first, stunning in her wedding dress—more traditional than he’d expected—and her hair, which she normally wore up off her face, was down in loose waves.
“You look beautiful, Alex.” She also looked nervous as hell.
She offered up a wobbly smile. “You scrub up pretty well yourself.” The sincere look she gave him made him want to shuffle his damn feet.
“Hang on! I forgot my flowers,” Piper called from somewhere behind the bride.
Shit, just the sound of her voice sent ripples of pleasure through his bloodstream. Alex stood in the doorway, so he couldn’t get a good look at the object of his obsession past all the poofy layers of wedding gown.
Rusty fussed and arranged her friend’s dress, helping Alex step onto the porch, and then Cole took the bride-to-be’s arm, leading her down the steps since she could barely see her feet, and escorted her to the car. He went back to lock up—just in time to see Piper moving cautiously down the short hall toward him.
He froze, breath seizing in his lungs. Couldn’t have moved if the fucking porch started giving way under his feet.
Holy shit.
Piper stopped a few feet away and ran her hands over the silky fabric of her dress, straightening it over her waist and hips. He sucked in an unsteady breath. The thing clung like a second skin, molded to her extremely curvaceous figure. Yeah, he was far from blind where Piper West was concerned. The woman had serious curves. The kind of curves that could bring a man to his knees. In fact, he’d studied the woman from head to toe so thoroughly, if there was an exam on Piper’s curves alone, he’d ace it.
