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She was known as the health nut dance instructor around town, but everyone adored Delilah. What was not to adore? She was beautiful and spirited and moved with a natural grace that Harper could only hope to emulate. She'd taken dance with Delilah a long time ago, when they were little girls in matching black leotards and pale pink tights.

But that was years ago. Harper had never taken well to dance. Too awkward, too clumsy, too short. And she'd lost any glimmer of grace she'd picked up in ballet—not that it had been much.

“They're the best on the market. But so expensive.” Delilah shook her head. “Why are you here?”

“They have Grandma's favorite brand of coffee.” She gestured toward the cart, which was filled with two freshly ground bags of coffee and a few other items. “I have a feeling if I laid her out on an operating table and cut her open, she'd bleed brown.”

The look Delilah sent her said more than enough. She thought Harper was crazy. And she sort of was sometimes. It felt good, to say weird stuff. Out-of-character stuff.

Like being rude to Weston. She still couldn't believe she'd had it in her, but wow, she was proud. He deserved it. Though it hadn't seemed to bother him. She got the sense he found her angry comments amusing.

The jackass.

She shouldn't care. She'd moved on from that one moment—or so she told herself. She had a special someone in her life and had for a while now. Roger was everything she'd looked for in a man. Steady, reliable, loyal. With a good job and a good head on his shoulders, he was attractive and considerate and respected. They'd been together for just over a year and their relationship was solid.

So why did seeing West make her feel all tingly inside?

“Why were you so rude to West?” Delilah asked point-blank, as if reading her mind.

Harper chewed her lower lip, contemplating how to answer. The truth was too . . . truthful. What made it worse? Delilah used to go with West. Yeah, yeah, it was a long time ago when they'd been in high school, but still. They'd both burned bright together, running through town like they owned it and causing a bunch of trouble before they split.

Harper wasn't the type to poach on her friend's boyfriends, past or present—and especially future. Thinking lusty thoughts about West was normal. Thinking she could turn a single kissing session with West into a relationship was a joke. He belonged to no one. He never really had.

That was what made him so appealing. Weston Gallagher was . . . wild. Untamed. To her younger, much more romantic heart, he'd been the sort to send her swooning. The fact that she knew the word
swooning
was a testament to how many romance novels she had devoured over the years, amazing books she'd snatched from her grandma's hall closet. They'd filled her imagination with all sorts of unbelievably romantic things, and West had become the star in her overly imaginative fantasies.

She'd crushed on him since her early teens. And it hadn't helped spending all her free time at the Gallagher household. She saw West constantly. He'd teased her. Tricked her. Made her smile. Made her laugh. Made her sigh in pure, teenage misery when he dated an endless list of girls who were never, ever her. Eventually she got over it and moved on, forging her own way. Though in the back of her mind, that little spark of lust she felt for West never burned out . . .

And that one night, when for some unexplained reason he'd noticed her—
really
noticed her—and proceeded to drive her out of her mind with his delicious, wondrous mouth, she'd thought they actually had the potential to
be
something. He'd drugged her with his mouth. His touch. It was like they couldn't pry their lips from each other's for at least two hours. Maybe longer.

Her skin went hot just thinking about it. They'd been young and stupid, and he'd been a little drunk. She'd been neck deep in a massive crush for her best friend's brother, and what a freaking disaster that had turned out to be. When she realized he'd left town and never even bothered to tell her? She'd been so incredibly upset. He hadn't told anyone. Just . . . confessed to Lane and his parents that he was leaving the morning after the party, and then he was gone. Wren had been the one who told her he was gone. At first, Harper had been upset, wondering what she'd done to make him leave.

Then she got good and mad.

“We've never gotten along,” she finally said, offering Delilah a kind smile. “I know you have a soft spot for him, but the two of us . . . I was always at his house when I was a kid, and he gave me endless grief. He and Holden terrorized Wren and me.”

“But still. I've never seen you talk like that to anyone. Not even Bryan Atkins when he dumped you on prom night right in front of everyone,” Delilah pointed out.

Harper barely held in the sigh that wanted to escape her. This was the problem with growing up in a small town and never leaving. Everyone knew her secrets. It hadn't mattered that Delilah was a year older than her. They'd hung in the same social circles because the circles were so damn small.

“Bryan Atkins was an asshole,” Harper muttered as she started for the front of the store. Delilah fell into step beside her. “I haven't thought of him in years.”

“I figured. No surprise considering you let him walk away from you so easily that night. I would've kneed my date in the balls if he had done something like that,” Delilah said as she walked briskly by Harper's side. Harper would never shake her. Not that she really wanted to, but . . .

She didn't want to talk about Bryan Atkins, or anyone else for that matter. No, she wanted to savor the moment of seeing West for the first time in ages. She'd gotten a good look at him—and he at her—before he ran away from her like a coward. His sky blue eyes had studied her with a warmth and curiosity that intrigued her despite her long-held resentment toward him.

He was taller and broader than the last time they'd been in each other's presence. That white T-shirt he wore stretched over his muscles quite nicely. Too nicely. His jeans fit—very well.

Harper cleared her throat. She was sounding more and more like her grandma in her own head. More like she should think how great his ass looked in those jeans—because it did, it looked freaking amazing. But no. She went the staid, boring route, even in her thoughts. Did that mean she was turning into a prissy old woman?

God, she hoped not. She should ask Roger. He'd be honest with her. He was honest to a fault. They worked together—both literally and figuratively. She was the office manager of his accounting firm and they made a terrific pair. A solid team.

“Bryan wasn't worth my anger,” Harper said with a gentle smile.

Gentle
and
kind
, those were the two words her grandma used to describe her the most. Not a little spitfire or feisty or strong or even bitchy. Nope. Her claim to fame was being gentle and kind. Harper hated those two words with a burning passion. What would people think if she was aggressive and mean? Wouldn't that throw them for a loop? She'd always yearned to tear down those kind, gentle walls she'd built around herself over the years and just act . . . crazy. Out of her damn mind. Do whatever she wanted and damn the consequences.

But Harper had never done anything like that in her entire life. Roger would probably be horrified if she acted out that way. He wasn't one for making a big scene. He was as calm and gentle and kind as she was.

“And West is worth it? He's not so bad,” Delilah said, waving a dismissive hand. “Harmless. I'm sure he gave you and Wren endless grief when you were kids, but I know he always liked you.”

“He did?” Harper tried her best not to sound too shocked—or interested. Had he actually talked about her? To Delilah?

She'd figured she never registered on his radar growing up, beyond being his sister's best friend. He'd been too busy getting in trouble for various things—like bringing a flask of vodka to the homecoming dance, wrecking his car after an illegal street race when he was sixteen and practically failing out of school his junior year. He'd straightened up a little by the time he was a senior, but still. Everyone knew that Weston was trouble.

“Oh yeah. You know, we always remained friends, even after we broke up,” Delilah said. “Our relationship had always been based more on friendship anyway.”

Really?
Harper wanted to ask, but she kept her mouth shut, which she knew was wise. If she asked too many questions she'd look suspicious. And Delilah was perceptive as all get out.

“That's . . . nice.” Harper didn't know what else to say as they approached the registers and stood in line together. She glanced around the store, hoping she appeared nonchalant as she searched for West. Was he still here? Or had he already bailed out?

Ah, there he was. Two registers over, grabbing his receipt from the young female checker who gazed at him in blatant adoration. Harper couldn't see his face, but that was all right. West had plenty to ogle from behind too. Broad shoulders, a tapered back, and that perfect butt she'd never had the nerve to touch . . .

Ugh.
Why was she checking him out? And worse . . . why was she thinking about touching his
butt
? She had a man. Roger was handsome. Maybe he wasn't as tall and built like West, but Roger had a very fit body. Though when was the last time she saw him naked? Not that they had sex with the lights on much. More like never at all. Roger always wanted to do it in the dark . . .

Harper frowned. Why were they always in the dark? Maybe she wanted to see him. Maybe she wanted to see herself. Ooh, maybe she wanted a mirror to watch them actually have sex. Though really, she could never imagine Roger and her staring at themselves in a mirror during sex. West though? Oh yeah, she could totally see him doing something like that. All the while whispering dirty things in her ear. Wicked, naughty things that would make her blush and moan and beg for more.

And she could
see
herself with him. Wrapped up in his strong arms, his hands on her, urging her to watch . . .

She shook herself, embarrassed by her own thoughts. How could she let herself get so caught up in a West fantasy? What in the world was wrong with her? Imagining herself in bed with him when she had a perfectly good boyfriend waiting for her at home. Though things had become rather stale between them lately. She adored Roger. Really she did. But he never made her feel even a fizzle of excitement like West did . . .

At that exact moment West glanced over his shoulder, their gazes meeting. Holding. She sucked in a breath, completely tuning Delilah out as she chattered away. All Harper could do was stare. She parted her lips, remembering what it felt like to have him surround her, his mouth on her neck, his hot breath tickling her throat as he made his secret confessions.

“I've had a thing for you for too damn long, Harper. Always wondered what it would be like if you were mine.”

A shiver moved down her spine. Possessive. That's what West was. Had always been. The way he was looking at her this very moment felt as if he'd physically grabbed her and wasn't about to let her go.

She turned away from him first, smiling at Delilah and offering a murmured “oh no” luckily at the right time. When she chanced another glance in his direction . . .

West was gone.

“S
AW
D
ELILAH TODAY
at the new supermarket,” West said as he flipped the burgers over on the grill before he shut the lid, turning to face his two brothers sitting on his back patio in his new outdoor chairs. Though the place had come mostly furnished, he had ended up going out and buying a few things to make the condo more his.

He failed to mention Harper on purpose. There was no need to bring her up. He shouldn't be thinking about her. How pretty she looked, how fiery her eyes had been when they landed on him . . .

Yeah. He shouldn't think about her at all.

“Cute as ever, right?” Holden grinned and took a sip from his beer. He was the youngest Gallagher and acted like it too. Their mother had overindulged him since he was a baby. Kid could get away with anything back then and most likely still could. He was forever the golden child. Always. Made West crazy.

“She looked good.” West's voice remained neutral on purpose. He looked to his big brother, wondering what he might have to say about her. “Dee mentioned she's always talking to you, Lane.”

Lane's expression didn't so much as flicker. “I see Delilah often, yeah.” He nodded his confirmation, his tone of voice revealing nothing. Maybe West had imagined Delilah's reaction.

“Why's that?” Nah, West hadn't imagined anything. He remembered the way Delilah's cheeks went pink at the first mention of Lane. When they were dating back in high school, they used to make fun of his big brother and what a boring jerk he'd been. Now?

He had a sneaking suspicion that his ex-girlfriend was hot for his jerk of a brother.

Lane appeared completely put out at having to explain himself. “Work, bro. I patrol the shopping center where her dance studio's at.” He took a swig from his beer and then nodded toward the barbecue grill. “How are those burgers coming? I'm starved.”

Muttering under his breath, West lifted the lid on the grill and flipped the burgers once more. He'd wanted to have his brothers over at his new place tonight as a way to ease back into Gallagher family life. He hadn't been back to Wildwood for years. Not even for the holidays. Once he was gone, he was out, despite his mother's requests that he come home at least for Christmas. But he never had. His entire family probably thought he was a jerk, but at the time, he hadn't cared. He'd never planned on coming back either. The town was too small. Everyone knew who he was, knew all of his business. There was no such thing as keeping a secret in Wildwood. For once in his life he'd wanted to be anonymous.

The moment he could make his escape, he'd done it. Gladly. His mother had cried when he'd told her his promotion involved a transfer. She cried more because he'd told her about it at the last minute, right before he left. He couldn't help but think that was a total jackass move. But then his father had told him he'd be back in a knowing tone. That one remark had stung. Had driven West to prove that he would never, ever come back.

Someone should've told him a long time ago, never say never.

So here he was, back in his hometown, all because of another transfer. When he went to the interview for the permanent engineer position in the ranger unit he'd started in, he'd known what he was doing. He knew what it looked like when they asked him about returning to Wildwood and the outlying area. Everyone probably figured he was purposely trying to come back home.

That wasn't West's plan though. This was a pit stop, nothing more. He'd work at the Wildwood Lake station for a few years before transferring out at his first chance to be promoted to captain. He was all about climbing the promotional ladder as fast as he could. He loved what he did. He was good at his job too. But the better the position, the more people would respect him—like his father. If that meant coming home for a few years, then so be it.

If he could prove to everyone that he wasn't the fuck-up they all thought he was, even better. He'd rather leave in a blaze of glory, unlike last time when he'd fled Wildwood like the unwanted son.

“When's your first shift start?” Lane asked him.

West glanced at him over his shoulder. “Two days.” Though he was going in tomorrow to meet everyone, get his bearings.

“Hey, I go back to work in two days,” Holden added, amusement filling his voice. “Too bad we're not at the same station.”

Thank Christ they weren't at the same station. West didn't think he could handle it. Bossing around his little brother didn't sound like fun. Holden had never done well with authority, and that was putting it mildly.

Like West had any room to judge. He'd fought against authority—namely their father—since he was a little kid.

“Your condo is nice,” Lane said, changing the subject when West still hadn't acknowledged Holden's comment. “I assume you're renting it?”

“Yeah, didn't want to bother buying because I don't know how long I'm going to stay here,” West explained.

“You don't want to stay?” Holden sounded incredulous. And why wouldn't he? He had all the comforts of home here in Wildwood. Mom and Dad doted on him. His girlfriend, Kirsten, whom he'd been dating since they were in high school, was loyal and sweet. Everyone assumed Holden would marry her eventually. They were what everyone called the perfect couple.

That sounded like a total trap to West. Oh, Kirsten was a nice girl and all, but marriage? Holden was only twenty-three, just a baby in West's eyes.

“You gonna give us a tour after dinner?” Lane asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Absolutely.” West could admit that he wanted to show off his place. The older three-bedroom, one-and-a-half-bath condominium was close to the lake, perfect rental property for tourists. He'd struck a deal with the owner, thankful for once that he was from Wildwood and still knew how to pull a few strings.

After all, the owner was none other than Rebecca Hill—Harper's grandmother.

“Saw Harper Hill at the supermarket, too,” West said as he turned off the burners on the barbecue. He scooped the burgers off the grill with his new spatula and set them on a paper plate, then brought them over to the table where they were going to eat. “She's looking . . . good too.”

That sounded awkward as hell and he braced himself, waiting for them to say something, anything to give him endless shit. He shouldn't have mentioned her, but he was digging. Looking for any bit of information he could get on Harper.

But they didn't say a word. Lane looked at West's pitiful offerings of mustard and ketchup before lifting his gaze. “You went to the fancy supermarket and this is all you got for our burgers?”

“And some chips.” West waved an unopened bag of potato chips at Lane.

“You need some serious domestication,” Holden declared as he put together his hamburger and took a big bite out of it. “You live too much like a bachelor,” he said, his mouth full.

“Aren't we all bachelors?” West asked. Lane lived alone. Supposedly so did Holden though everyone knew Kirsten spent most of her time at his apartment in town.

“Well, I've got Kirsten, and Lane is like an old man, so I would say we've got this eating properly thing down,” Holden teased. “You, on the other hand, probably only have a twelve-pack and those condiments filling your fridge.”

West grimaced but said nothing. Whatever. So Holden was right, so what? He didn't need to be domesticated, to have some woman always telling him what to do. He liked living on his own, not needing anyone. He was perfectly content. If he wanted female company, he went out and found it. It wasn't that hard.

They ate in silence, but West wasn't uncomfortable. This was normal for them growing up. Their parents had civilized conversation—if Dad was even home. He'd worked long hours, and when he was off, he rarely made an appearance, even during mealtime, especially when he and Lane were teenagers. The boys had shoveled food in their faces while Wren did all the gabbing. She was good at it. As they got older, she usually had a friend accompanying her at the dinner table too, resulting in endless, loud female chatter.

Usually that friend was Harper.

Since arriving in Wildwood, his mind seemed to keep circling back to her, and he wondered at that. Wondered too, at the way he'd caught her staring at him just before he left the store earlier today. The look in her eyes had been downright . . . hungry, which had surprised him. And he'd immediately felt an answering hunger deep inside. One borne of curiosity and familiarity, one he wanted to explore further, even though he knew it was a huge mistake.

He blamed it on the kiss they'd shared. Well, kisses. Why else would he be so hung up on a girl he'd known most of his life? Fine, that one summer when he'd gone for it, when he'd been a little drunk and full of liquid courage and basically attacked her—in a good way, not a creeper way—it had been hot as hell.
She
was hot as hell. So damn responsive and soft in all the right places, with those warm, damp lips and sweet sighs and the way she said his name . . .

Frowning, West stood and gathered up everyone's empty plates and crumpled napkins without asking, taking it all into the kitchen and dumping it in the trash. Lane followed him inside, Holden on his heels, the both of them going for the fridge so they could each grab another beer.

“Give us the tour,” Lane practically commanded after he shut the refrigerator door, twisting the cap off the beer he held and tossing it in the garbage can.

West gritted his teeth and did exactly that, hustling them through his new place. The condo was small so the tour lasted approximately thirty seconds, and that worked for him. He suddenly wanted his brothers out of there. Fast.

He wanted to be alone.

“Harper used to live here,” Holden said conversationally as he glanced around the master bedroom, swigging from his beer bottle.

West frowned and turned to look at his brother. “She did?” Well, that didn't really surprise him considering her grandmother owned the place. But he didn't like that Holden knew this, and happened to mention that particular fact while they were in the bedroom, which West could only assume used to be Harper's old bedroom.

West's gaze slid to the bed. Had she slept there? Most likely. And why did that give him a weird, hot twist in his stomach?

“Yeah,” Holden said with a nod. “Before she moved in with her boyfriend.”

West was seriously glad he hadn't been drinking something when Holden made that statement. He probably would've spit out his beer. Harper had a live-in boyfriend? For real?

“Who's her boyfriend?” He was surprised his voice sounded so neutral, so normal. Deep inside that hot twist turned into a full-on painful cramp.

“Roger Bowman,” Lane said, stopping to stand in the doorway. West turned to look at him, wanting to hear more yet not wanting any details about Harper's love life with someone else. He didn't like thinking of her with any other guy.

Meaning he was a selfish asshole.

“He moved here right after you left,” Lane explained. “Runs his own accounting firm.”

An accountant. Of course Harper had found herself a stable, quiet nerd—er, numbers—man. He couldn't help but wonder if good ol' Roger Bowman wore a pocket protector. Glasses maybe? Short-sleeved button-up shirts with a tie that looked like it was strangling him?

Okay, now he was just being a judgmental asshole.

“That's great,” West said with a nod, hating the catch in his throat. “Harper deserves nothing but happiness.”

And he meant every last word.

T
HE MOMENT
H
ARPER
pulled into the driveway of the small cottage she shared with Roger she knew something wasn't right.

She shifted into park and turned off the engine of her Corolla, staring at the house as she listened to the engine tick in the otherwise quiet. It was past eight, and even though the sky was staying lighter later and later as the official start of summer drew closer, there was usually at least one lamp blazing from within the house.

But every window was eerily dark, despite Roger's car parked in the driveway right next to hers. They didn't use the garage because it was too full of Roger's crap, or um, stuff. He was a collector of every video game action figure known to man, from what Harper could see. She understood collections. Her mother and grandmother had been obsessed with Beanie Babies years ago when she was a kid, and they'd done everything humanly possible to grow their collection, always dragging Harper along with them.

Harper prided herself on being a very understanding person, even though that might've meant she was also a very boring person. But damn it, people didn't understand enough most of the time—all anyone usually wanted was to be heard. Acknowledged. She was a good listener. A soother, if there was such a thing. And that was what drew her to Roger in the first place. He was a sensitive soul. Sweet and caring and quiet. Smart. So smart he made her feel dumb sometimes, though he never meant to.

Frowning, she grabbed her shopping bag from her earlier excursion at the supermarket and exited the car, heading toward the front door. Her steps were brisk, her sandals slapping across the sidewalk as she hurried to get into the warm house. It might have been close to summer, but the air still turned cold quick, considering Wildwood's high elevation. She wrapped her fingers around the cool metal door handle, turning it, fully expecting it to be unlocked, but it wasn't.

Huh.

She pulled her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door, bursting in with a soft hello that seemed to echo throughout the tiny house. She set her purse on the table right beside the front door and went into the dark kitchen, putting the few items she'd picked up at the supermarket away in the pantry.

Still no sign of Roger.

Double huh.

Slowly she walked through the house, down the hall toward their bedroom. The door was shut. An uneasy feeling slid down her spine, settling low in her stomach, making it churn. With shaking fingers she reached out, grabbed hold of the doorknob and turned it.