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“We’ve got one taxi in this town,” Danny continued. “One! And everyone knows that between the hours of six and eight, Merle has his dinner. He won’t come out even if you’re dying and that little lady over there,” he pointed toward a scowling Bobbi, “Can’t wait. Besides, Merle will never take a fare that requires him to drive over an hour. You New Waterford folk should have just stayed in your own damn town.”
“No shit,” Shane retorted.
The bartender paused, his eyes narrowed for a moment. “How is that the two of you ended up here anyway?”
How indeed.
Shane’s dark eyes returned to Bobbi and it felt like a punch to the gut when their eyes met. How the hell could she still do that to him? After all this time?
“What?” she said insolently, though a shudder wracked her body and her teeth began to chatter.
Shane considered his options. He could leave her here and not look back. He could get into his truck and head down the Interstate until he hit New Waterford. He could hole up at his place and drink himself into oblivion. He could forget all about The Hard Rock and Bobbi.
Except that he couldn’t.
“Fuck,” he muttered, running his hands through his hair as he glanced toward the table of men that had grown by at least three guys since the dance floor fiasco had started.
Decision made he turned to Bobbi and nodded. “Let’s go.”
Her eyebrows shot up and she raised her chin. “Excuse me?”
Nothing was ever easy with this girl.
He stepped toward her and pointed to the exit. “It’s time for your drunk ass to leave.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“You’re not drunk,” he said dryly, not surprised that she wanted to argue. She always wanted to argue and back in the day they’d done more than their fair share of arguing, though every argument usually ended up with both of them naked.
“Nope,” she shook her head, stumbling to the left a little as she did so. She grabbed her skirt and lifted it slightly and then smoothed it over her hips. For a second she seemed to be lost in thought, her long, elegant fingers stilled.
Then suddenly, her head whipped up and she took a step toward the bar. “I need another drink,” she giggled, “or two and then maybe…maybe then I’ll be drunk.”
“I don’t have time for this Bobbi. We’re leaving now.”
She whirled around, her expression hard, her eyes glittery. “You’re not the boss of me, Shane Gallagher. You never were. I’ll leave when I damn well want to.”
“Well, princess, you have no choice.”
He strode forward and though she took a step away she wasn’t fast enough. He ducked and scooped her up and over his shoulder in one smooth move, clamping his hand over her ass to keep her in place.
Her head hung down his back and though she cursed a blue streak, he had no idea what she was saying—but he had a pretty good idea. Bobbi had always had a rather explosive, extensive, vocabulary and he had a feeling most of the words falling out of her mouth had been kept inside for way too long.
Before he had a chance to change his mind, he strode through the bar, stopping only long enough to scoop up the furry white thing that Danny shoved at him along with her sparkly purse and then he was pushing open the door. A blast of cold February wind hit his face and he took a moment to breathe it in, hoping the cold arctic blast would do something to temper the heat that rushed through his veins.
Heat that scorched and teased and filled up things that were best left alone.
Already his jeans were tight across his groin and as Bobbi continued to wiggle and squirm—as her scent and softness continued to taunt him—he clenched his teeth and moved forward.
He needed to get her butt home and out of his head because within moments of her touch he was sporting a raging hard on and a host of memories he wanted no part of.
He reached his truck—a rusted out red Ford—and yanked on the passenger door, not taking his time or caring all that much as he dumped her inside. Suddenly the blackness inside him, fueled by resentment and a need for self-preservation, reared its head.
“Why the hell are you here?” he asked harshly. His hair blew all over the place and he cursed, grabbed a toque out of the pocket of his leather jacket and shoved it on his head as he glared into the truck. As he stared into eyes that looked like liquid sapphires.
Eyes that had haunted him forever it seemed.
“Why the hell are you here?” she snapped back, her eyes no longer sparkling like liquid sapphire. Hell no. They were as hard and glacial as the North Atlantic.
