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“Christ Danny, since when do you speak in riddles? And you don’t have to worry. I’ve changed. Trouble is no longer my middle name,” she grinned, or at least she attempted too, but with her fuzzy mouth she wasn’t sure she was successful. “Heck, you didn’t even know it was me.”

  For a moment her mind wandered and she thought of the church she had left behind. A church filled to the brim with her family and friends. With Gerald’s family as well, including his dried up witch of a mother. But still, had they deserved what she’d just put them through? If she had truly changed would she have done something like that?

  Runaway bride, that’s what I am.

  “I promise to behave,” she said carefully, pushing her glass toward Danny. She needed to forget how the threads of her life had become so damn tangled. She needed to not feel how hollow and empty she was inside. She needed to be some place else and right now, the only some place else she wanted to be was right smack dab in the middle of Drunksville, USA.

  Danny frowned, but filled the glass, though he leaned close and said gruffly. “That’s it at least for the next half an hour and I’m going to bring you some greasy fries to soak it up. Understand?”

  She nodded like a good girl and leaned her elbows on top of the bar, staring down at the glass for a few moments before taking a sip. This time she let the whiskey settle on her tongue a bit before swallowing. She needed to savor the sensation. The sensation of falling into oblivion.

  Her eyes drifted upward and she spied a large red heart dangling from the stiff end of a fake—or not—large fish. A bass maybe. The paper heart was startlingly, vibrant amongst the dull browns that invaded nearly every inch of the bar and she stared at it so long it blurred and she glanced away, feeling a little dizzy.

  Danny pushed a plate of fries in front of her and surprisingly enough, she was hungry. “Thanks,” she said softly as she dug in, tossing a mean look toward one of the men from the table a few feet away as he slid onto the stool beside her.

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  She swallowed a mouthful of gravy before answering. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Wow, what’s got you so cranky? Late for a wedding?” He grinned down at her, but it quickly faded when she let the frosty, bitchy part of her rise to the surface. It was something she’d perfected well over the last few years.

  “Not really. The wedding was nearly three hours ago.”

  “Huh,” he replied.

  “Huh,” she mimicked. “Is that all you got?”

  The guy brushed his hand through a thick cropping of curly hair and slid off the chair. He wasn’t bad looking in an ordinary, bland, sort of way and she was sure he was perfectly nice—for someone who hung out at The Hard Rock. But she was done with men. Done with thinking.

  And obviously—as she dripped gravy onto her lap—done with weddings.

  “You’re a cold one. A real bitch,” he sneered as he backed away toward his buddies.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” she answered, his words triggering a memory that she preferred to keep hidden, tucked away in that place reserved for the one man who’d said them before.

  She stared down at her plate and suddenly her gut rolled. It took a few moments to calm her stomach and when she did, she slipped off the stool and into her shoes. She then wandered over to the small dance floor, located in the back corner near the washrooms. She needed to move and get the blood flowing because as much as she was all about being badass at the moment, there was no way in hell she was going to pass out in this place.

  A small DJ booth was set up in the corner, just as she remembered and as her foot hit the tired and worn wooden floor the energetic strains of the Dixie Chicks’, Goodbye Earl, followed her.

  She laughed—the kind of laugh that had lived inside her for years before she banished it away—an uninhibited Julia Roberts kind of moment. And then she twirled, or maybe staggered a little, but her skirt rolled out into a full circle as she turned around and let the music invade her tired soul.

  It woke something inside her. Something she’d forgotten about ages ago. Her fun button. When was the last time she had done anything just for the sheer pleasure of how it made her feel? She loved music and she loved to dance.

  She used to do a lot of it with Shane. Hell, if they weren’t making love they were getting out of hand.

  For one second—one bittersweet second—she let the pain that always accompanied thoughts of Shane, swell. It grew and tightened her chest. It clogged her throat and flushed her skin with something fierce, hot, and dangerous. And for that one moment, here at the Hard Rock, she felt more alive than she had in a very, very, long time.

  As the music filled the space around her, Bobbi lost herself in it and when the song ended, when the loud raucous melody crashed to its finale, she wasn’t ready to let it go. She glanced at Danny, her hair sticking to the side of her face, her skin flushed, and he nodded as if he knew what she needed. The gentle strains of Skynard fell into her ears, the country blues strains of Simple Kind of Man.

  Slowly her hips moved back and forth and as she twirled all by herself, there in the shadows, her mind rolled back and for a moment she was confused. Was it the booze? Was she that drunk?

  Arms slid around her waist, hard arms—male arms—and she relaxed into the embrace, her eyes closed as the haunting melody infiltrated her mind and soul.

  “Shane,” she murmured, her head falling back.

  “Baby you can call me anything you want.” The voice was gravelly. Unfamiliar.

  Bobbi’s eyes flew open and she stiffened, her fingers trying to pry the man’s hands from around her waist. Heat burned through her cheeks when she realized his groin was pressed right up against her butt.

  He chuckled in her ear and managed to turn them away from the room so that they faced the DJ booth, and Bobbi’s panic began to rise when she realized exactly just how excited this guy was. She could feel it—through her raw silk skirt.

  “Let me go,” she said carefully. It was dark here and no one could see what was happening real well. And that’s if they were looking.

  He just laughed a low, menacing growl, and his hands crept up toward her chest, kick-starting panic, anger and frustration.

  She tried to wrench herself from his grasp, hating when he laughed again and murmured, “This dress is a little slippery, just like you.”

  “Take your hands off her and step back.”

  Bobbi froze when she heard the voice and it only managed to confuse her more than she already was. Note to self: Please don’t pound back three doubles and a couple shots of tequila on an empty stomach.

  The man who held her only tightened his grip, cursing when she stomped on his foot, the wrong end of her four inch Manolos hitting the top but good.

  “Back off, asshole,” he muttered. “We’re having a private party so I suggest you—”

  But then the words were cut off as he was hauled backward—taking Bobbi along with him—and she barely managed to stay on her feet as the guy’s grip fell away and he landed on his ass in the middle of the dance floor.

  Time rolled away as Bobbi pushed her hair off her face and stared up into the eyes of the one man she’d been avoiding for the last four months. The one man who’d stolen her heart years ago and then crushed it in less time than it took to walk out of this bar and not look back.

  “Bobbi,” Shane said as he stepped forward, his tall frame draped in leather and denim. His voice was as smooth as the whiskey she’d just downed and the sound of it triggered all sorts of things inside her. Hot things. Fierce things.

  Painful things.

  He sported a few days worth of stubble across his strong chin, and thick espresso colored hair that was still on the long side—not exactly badass, but not exactly GQ either. His dark eyes regarded her with a blank expression and that little box inside her—the one that held Shane close, the one she never opened—expanded and then relaxed.

  The fierce and hot things inside her withered away to nothing. Sh
e fucking hated that blank look. It was the same damn look he’d been giving her ever since he had shown up in New Waterford the previous fall.

  Danny popped out from behind the bar and stood a few feet away, his eyes grim as he glared at her. At least his expression wasn’t blank. Nope. She had no problem reading what was going on inside his head.

  Danny’s thoughts were spelled out loud and clear. Trouble.

  In that moment there was a lot of things she could have said and hell, some of them could even have made sense. But as Shane Gallagher’s dark eyes moved over her slowly, starting at the top of her head and then finishing at the bottom of her toes, she said the only thing she could think of—which didn’t make much sense at all.

  She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “It’s Vera fucking Wang, in case you were wondering.”

  Chapter Four

  It took a lot for Shane to control what was going on inside him. Bobbi had always tapped into that wild and crazy part of him, the one that should never see the light of day. Because when it did, shit happened and most of the time it wasn’t good.

  “Good to know,” he replied, his eyes moving over the fancy dress as she stumbled slightly and nearly fell over the douche bag on the floor. She regained her balance, eyes never leaving Shane, and moved a few inches away.

  The asshole who’d had his hands on her, rolled to the side and sprang to his feet, fists at the ready. But one look at Shane and he thought better of it. At six foot four, Shane had at least three inches on him and was at about ten years younger.

  The guy slowly lowered his hands, muttered bitch a few times and disappeared back toward his buddies.

  Bobbi stuck her tongue out and something slid out of her mouth but it was unintelligible.

  Danny shook his head. “I knew it.”

  “What did you know?” Bobbi retorted belligerently.

  The large bartender’s cheeks jiggled as he ran his hand across the top of his nearly bald head. He leaned forward and spat. “Trouble. It’s your middle name. Always was. And even though you’ve fancied yourself up, you haven’t changed a bit.” He glanced toward Shane. “I hope you’re taking her the hell home because I want her gone.”

  The fuck I am, he thought.

  It was one thing to step in and make sure some stranger kept his hands off her—he would do that for any woman—but take her home? He’d stopped looking after Bobbi Jo Barker a long time ago.

  Shane’s jaw clenched tight as he scowled at the bartender. “Call her a cab.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Danny took a step toward him, his big, beefy frame humming with anger.

  “Hey! Assholes,” Bobbi slurred. “I’m here you know. I’m not dumb or deaf or dumb or,” she blew out a breath. “Whatever I am.”

  Shane ignored her. He refused to look straight into eyes that were like the tracking devices from those old Star Trek movies. They’d lock onto him and he’d be lost. And Shane Gallagher was done being lost. He’d just started to find his way again and damned if Bobbi was going to fuck with that.

  “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.

  “I was hoping to avoid any Barker sightings today,” he retorted, taking a moment to rein in his anger.

  “Fat chance of that happening since there’s three of us.”

  “Yeah, well there’s only one Barker triplet that I don’t particularly care to see.”

  “Sucks to be you then,” she said turning away.


  Shane swore, slammed the door shut and crossed over to the driver’s side. He slid behind wheel and shoved the key into the ignition and growled, “Get your seatbelt on,” as he did so. He worked the windshield wipers a bit and when the ice that had formed along the bottom fell loose, he glanced over, his mouth tightening in disbelief.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Shane lunged for her, but she turned away and pressed herself up against the window, giggling a little bit and spilling whiskey down the front of her dress. Her Vera fucking Wang dress.

  “Shit,” she murmured and then proceeded to chug straight from the bottle, gasping and wiping the side of her mouth before turning back to him. She offered it up to him, eyes alive with mischief. “Want some?”

  “I’m driving.”

  “Oh,” a smile widened her mouth. “Sucks to be you.”

  “You already said that.”

  “I just said it again.”

  “No shit,” he gripped the steering wheel and counted to five. “I’m not playing this game with you. Either you give me that bottle so I can toss it or I’m going to haul your ass outta here and you can take your chances with lover boy in there.”

  Her tongue darted out and licked the corner of her mouth again and for some insane reason, his eyes followed the movement, resting on her glossy, plump lips. A small puff of air fell from between them as she exhaled sharply. One…then another. And another.

  “Can I finish it?” she asked sweetly.

  Shane shook his head, not in the mood for her drunken games and held out his hand. “Give me the bottle or…”

  His warning hung in the air between them, and though he knew he should just take it from her forcefully, there was something about this game that kept him going.

  “Or what?” she asked, licking her lips again before tipping her head back and taking another quick drink. “Jesus,” she shook her head. “Danny needs to upgrade his whiskey. This stuff is shit.”

  “Lady at this point, I’m surprised you can taste anything.” He paused. “Give me the bottle.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer because he already knew what it was going to be. Ever since the summer he’d turned twenty-two, since that first time he’d really noticed Bobbi, he could probably count on one hand the number of times they agreed on anything and usually, that only occurred when sex was involved and they were arguing about who was going to be on top.