Page 3 of Wrecked
But he’d never seen her like this. He was used to seeing her in jeans and tanks, grease on her skin from a day in the garage, hair pulled off her lovely face. Shit, she looked hot enough in her work clothes, but this? The mouthwatering dress she had on hid nothing. Not. A. Fucking. Thing. And goddammit, it had his cock rising to attention, painfully so. It should be impossible with the anxiety still battering him, but then this was Piper, and if anyone had the ability to turn him inside out it was her.
Jesus, she looked like one of those sexy fifties actresses, all round and soft with a tiny waist that was only emphasized further by the flair of her hips and spectacular tits.
She grimaced, frowning in a way that was cute as hell, and tugged at the dress a few more times before she carried on in his direction. He tried to move his mouth, to offer up a compliment, to say something, but instead made a croaking sound.
Her gaze shot up, colliding with his, only now realizing she had an audience. Her cheeks turned pink—then her eyes narrowed and she scowled at him. “Cole.” Then she continued on out the door.
Piper was sweet to everyone she met, saw the good in people, liked everyone—but that list no longer included him. She scowled and bitched at him, because he’d done his damnedest to make sure she hated his guts. It was the only way he knew how to keep her at arm’s length. And it had worked. Phenomenally well.
The object of his desire despised him.
She was the only person who had never treated him any different after what happened. Not once had he seen pity in her stunning blue eyes. He’d seen compassion, yes, regret, but never pity. How would she look at him if she knew Adam had lost his life because of him?
He couldn’t bear it if she felt sorry for him. That was the last thing he wanted, especially from her.
He pulled the door shut and turned to follow her. Fucking hell, the rear view did nothing to help the painful throb of his cock. He was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing any underwear. The silky material hid nothing, and not one line marred the shimmery fabric hugging her heart-shaped ass. Those round hips swung provocatively as she made careful progress in a pair of mouthwateringly sexy heels down the uneven path toward the car. He groaned under his breath. Jesus Christ.
The woman was killing him, slowly. Besides occasional morning wood, nothing had roused any kind of interest below the belt since he’d been injured. Except Piper.
The one woman he couldn’t allow himself to have, and the only woman he wanted.
He went back to focusing on his breathing, not only to calm his nerves but to cool his overheated blood. Piper, Alex, and Rusty stood by the car, chatting and laughing, waiting for him to drive them safely to the church, and that managed to do what his breathing exercises could not. A cold wash rushed through his veins, deflating his erection in an instant.
He moved toward the three women, all smiles and misplaced trust.
Opening the back door of the car, he waited while Alex climbed in. Piper moved forward in his peripheral, her intention obvious, getting in the back with her friend. Before he knew what he was doing, he sidestepped, effectively cutting her off, and motioned for Rusty to get in the back with Alex. He heard Piper huff out a breath behind him as Rusty slid in the back, but she didn’t comment as she stalked around to take the front seat.
What he’d done was messed up and more than a little pathetic. But he hadn’t realized just how anxious he’d be driving with passengers, especially these passengers. And right then all he knew was that Piper’s presence distracted him from the fear, from the memories. Calmed him. Gave him something else to focus on, even if she was off limits.
He wanted—no, he fucking needed—Piper by his side.
Shit.
Chapter Two
Piper gingerly climbed into the front seat, afraid the seams of her dress would explode any moment. Having Cole witness her humiliation would be just freaking perfect. Bad enough he’d seen her squished into the thing in the first place—every roll, lump, and dimple on display. Her ass and tits jiggled so much when she walked she totally had the two-puppies-fighting-under-a-blanket thing going on.
The dressmaker had mucked up the last-minute alterations after the final fitting. But what could she do? It was too late now. And because of the cut and fabric, she’d been forced to forgo underwear, or have them outlined for the world to see. As it was, the tiny spaghetti straps were digging into her shoulders, straining to hold her double D’s.
But today wasn’t about her and her discomfort. It was about Alex and her brother. About two people who loved each other like crazy, celebrating their love. And she wanted their day to be perfect.
Cole opened the door and slid behind the wheel. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t say a damn thing, just started the engine. What the hell was his problem? She was sure he’d cut her off back there on purpose. She stared out the window, refusing to look at him, more from humiliation than anger at this point.
She was so done throwing herself at him. Done hoping he’d wake up and finally see her as more. More than pathetic, desperate little Piper. More than his best friend’s kid sister.
Wasn’t going to happen.
She knew that now.
Today was a special day, and she planned to enjoy herself. No way would she let the man sitting to her left get to her. He could scowl and grunt all he liked.
They were still idling, parked in front of her cottage. Frowning, she glanced over at Cole. What was he waiting for? He sat there jaw tight, checking his mirrors—then he checked them again—and just when she thought he might take off, he glanced into the backseat at Alex and Rusty, then over at her and scowled. “Seat belt.”
She actually jumped at his rough command. “Oh…right. Sorry.” His no-nonsense tone made her anxious—well, more than usual—and she fumbled for the belt. She tried to pull it down, but it locked up. Releasing it, she tried again, but the same thing happened. “Um…I’ll just…” She tried pulling it slowly this time. Nope, wasn’t happening. “It won’t…I can’t get it to work.” She yanked on it. “Oh, come on you piece of crap.”
The two women in the back started laughing. “You tell it, Pipe,” Rusty called.
The guy made her nervous to the extreme, and ever since the car wreck that ended his career, she found it hard to talk to him. He’d thrown up walls that were thirty feet thick, and there was no busting through. He was so different from the Cole she remembered. The old Cole used to laugh all the time, tell silly jokes. When they were teenagers he came by their house a lot, and every time, without fail, he would seek her out, like she was important to him, just to ask how she was.
