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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. She 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.”

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.