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So incredibly silly.
“Weston Gallagher.” Harper glanced up at him, saw the way his gaze dropped to her mouth. Looked like he had a one-track mind tonight. “Did you ever think you’d be back here in Wildwood, Weston Gallagher?”
He shook his head, leaning in to kiss her again, but she dodged him. Once they started that she wouldn’t want to stop and nothing was happening tonight at the station. She could guarantee that. His magic lips may cause her to lose all rational thought, but they were at his workplace. No way would she ever do something scandalous with him while he was on duty.
Well. She didn’t think she would . . .
“This was the last place I expected to find myself,” he admitted, rerouting his intent and burying his face against her neck. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in as close as she could get him. Just for a few seconds. Just so she could savor being in his arms.
“Are you glad you’re back?” She held her breath, not only because he was nibbling her earlobe, but also because she waited for his answer.
“Yeah. There are a lot of benefits to being back in Wildwood.” He lifted his head, smiling at her before he went in for another quick kiss.
She let him have it this time. She never claimed she was any good at using restraint. “Such as?” she asked, blinking up at him. Would he say her? No, he couldn’t say her. That was expecting too much. Way, way too much.
And she needed to remember that she expected nothing but a good time from West.
He skimmed calloused fingers across her cheek, tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, his gentle touch making her shiver. His hands were rough, a real man’s hands. A workingman’s hands, not a soft accountant-type hand in sight. Oh, she really, really liked those hands of his, especially when they were on her. “You’re pretty high up on that benefits list, Harper.”
Her heart did a dramatic tumble in her chest, landing somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach. “So no regrets, Mr. Gallagher?” Why was she pretending to be some sort of demented reporter? And why was she asking him questions with answers that scared her?
“None whatsoever so far.” He kissed her again, taking this one deeper. Longer. Helping her get lost in the sensual sweeps of his tongue, the way his fingers tangled up in her hair, his other hand sliding over her butt, back and forth, nudging her closer and closer.
“West,” she whispered against his lips, trying to get him to stop. “We need to slow down.” Not just the kissing, but . . . everything. He knew just how to sweep her off her feet, but she couldn’t get too caught up. This was just sex with West. That was it.
Just. Sex.
“The hell we do.” He tilted his head, changing the angle of their kiss, and she tried to shove him away. She needed a clear head.
“I’m serious.” She curled her hand into a fist and rapped it against the center of his chest, trying to fend him off. But he wasn’t budging. Of course he wasn’t budging. He was built like one of those towering pines that circled Wildwood. Tall and imposing and freaking impossible to move. “There will be no freaky business happening at this station.”
He started to laugh. It was such a nice sound, rich and inviting. She remembered back in high school when he would laugh often, the sound so infectious that people would swarm around him, desperate to get near him, be his friend, his girlfriend, whatever. She’d never been lucky enough to be one of the coveted few who’d moved through life in West Gallagher’s social circle. Oh, she’d been closer to him than most, but being the best friend of his sister hadn’t really counted back then.
She definitely remembered wishing for something more, for something like what they were sharing at this very exact moment. Firmly believing back then that what she yearned for was nothing but a fairy tale, a pipe dream, pie in the freaking sky.
Whatever that saying meant. She should probably do a Google search on that later . . .
Taking a deep breath, she tried to keep it together.
Okay. Focusing.
“Next you’ll tell me there will be no hanky-panky.” When she didn’t say anything he continued, looking perplexed. “My parents always used that saying. I thought it was dumb.”
She could beat him. “My parents called it getting frisky. After a while, that just got embarrassing.” So incredibly embarrassing. But her parents had insisted that was their purpose in life—giving their kids as much grief as possible and making their life a living hell of constant embarrassment.
“I think we should bring it back.” There went his mouth again, brushing against hers with infinite, excruciatingly slow care. “Getting frisky. I love it.”
“You do not,” she mumbled against his mouth, a gasp escaping her when he licked—licked—her lips. Right there in the parking lot of the Wildwood fire station. He’d lost his mind.
Well, so had she so at least they were equal.
“Your tank top is ruining me for life,” he said as he rested both of his hands on her waist and slowly brought them up. Up. Until they rested just beneath her breasts, touching them but not really. More like a ghost of a touch, eliciting a phantom of a feeling.
All the breath caught in her throat, but somehow she managed to talk. “What do you mean?”
“Red and sexy, revealing just the slightest hint of cleavage without being blatant. The fabric clinging to your curves so I can see exactly how hard your nipples are.” He was leaning in. Yet again, the persistent man, but she dipped her head down to check out said nipples only to find them announcing to anyone who was looking that they were very, extremely hard. Damn her too-thin bra.
“A gentleman wouldn’t look,” she chastised primly, hoping he could possibly stay a gentleman for a
