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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 chin out and glared at him. “I’m going to fix it.”
