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When he moved in behind her. When she felt
one hand on the small of her back, and the other between her legs
urging them apart she managed to ask, “What...” but she was so far
gone she couldn’t finish her sentence.

Could you die from anticipation?

Shane covered her, his heat simmering along
her back as he leaned in close to whisper. “This would be the fast
and hard fucking.”

Bobbi squeezed her eyes shut, his words
exciting her.

Then Shane plunged inside her, hands gripping
her hips for control, and he did exactly what he had promised
earlier…because it was in fact, only the beginning.

Hours later, Shane woke up alone in a tangled
mess of sheets and Pia scratching at his bedroom door.

He rolled out of bed, cursing when he stubbed
his toe against hard edge of his night table as he made his way
over and let the dog in. It was dark, the glow from digital clock
beside the bed telling him it was just past four in the
morning.

Pia rushed past him and jumped on the edge of
the bed, where with a groan, she subsequently turned in a circle
and flopped down. The dog had her own hot pink cushion thing—which
had cost a small ‘effing fortune—but she preferred the comfort of
his bed and honestly, since the little animal had claimed him as
her owner, he’d been unable to deny her anything.

She barked once and nestled into the bed.
Naked, Shane padded out into the main room of the loft. A quick
glance around told him that Bobbi was long gone. There wasn’t a
shred of her clothing anywhere and the only clue that the previous
night hadn’t been more than just a fantasy, was her lingering
scent.

That delicious summery smell.

Just the thought of Bobbi had his body flush
with heat and his cock was already hard and ready for another go
around. He glanced down at himself and swore. If a cold shower
didn’t fix things he’d have to relieve himself manually.

Just one night with Bobbi Jo had done this to
him. He felt like a goddamn teenager who’d just got laid for the
first time.

With a groan he closed his eyes, hands fisted
at his sides as his mind rolled back. Images of her body, her eyes
and her mouth assaulted him and his erection strained even more.
Her smile, her laugh—the way her eyes glistened when he made her
come.

He couldn’t recall—ever—such an intense night
of passion. And considering that he and Bobbi had had their fair
share of explosive encounters in the past, that was saying
something.

After he had taken her the first time, they
had moved to his bedroom where he’d spent the next several hours
reacquainting himself with the delights of her mind and body. Bobbi
had always been generous with her passion and her need to please
and the two of them had loved each other thoroughly.

And now he was alone.

Yet, isn’t that what they’d wanted? One night
to give in to their attraction? One night of sex with no
consequence?

“Fuck me,” Shane muttered as he headed toward
the bathroom and a much needed cold shower.

After having Bobbi in his bed again, did he
really think one night was going to be enough?

A half an hour later he was in his workshop
staring at the table he was nearly finished with. A custom order
for Logan, he’d designed the large piece to be both functional and
decorative. With drawers underneath for storage and a circular
turntable in the center, he’d managed to accomplish his goals. The
matching chairs with rich brown leather seats were a perfect
accessory.

Working with wood had become a passion while
he’d been incarcerated. It had been a lifeline, something to keep
his mind and hands occupied while he served his time.

And right about now, with his mind full of
Bobbi and the line they’d crossed the night before, Shane set out
to drive away the demons inside him. The ones who told him he was a
fool to think he could play with Bobbi and not get burned.

Pushing everything aside except the task at
hand, he put a pot of coffee on and grabbed a brush. With any luck
he’d finish the last coat of stain in a few hours.

Turned out it took more than a few hours but
when he finally set his brush aside, daylight was streaming in
through the windows and his stomach was rumbling.

He was just about to head upstairs for some
food when a sharp bark and the very distinct sound of the door
closing, told him that he wasn’t alone.

It was eleven on Saturday morning. Had Bobbi
come back for seconds?

Shane raked his hands through his hair, and
then shoved them into the pockets of his jeans. Suddenly nervous,
he turned, though the slight smile on his face soon faded and the
blank mask he’d cultivated for years easily slipped back into
place.

His father, James Gallagher stood near the
door, staring down at the circling Pia, obviously annoyed. Shane
could let the little thing go crazy, and lord knows she could run
in circles and bark until the cows came home, but he decided to get
this over with.

“Pia, enough,” he said clearly, pointing up
to the loft. The little dog stopped barking and ran over to him for
a quick rub behind the ears, and then she turned, scooted past his
father and disappeared upstairs.

For several moments the two men studied each
other in silence—James dressed to the nines in an expensive suit
while Shane stood before him barefoot in a pair of old, ratty jeans
and nothing else. He rolled his shoulders, watched his father eyes
narrows as he took in the tat’s that adorned his pectoral, bicep
and shoulder.

His old man’s attitudes would never change,
but his health certainly had. Shane was aware that his father had
been sick several months earlier, but he was surprised at the man’s
pallor and weight loss.

He looked so much like his grandfather that
Shane had to look away, because as much as his father resembled the
late Niall Gallagher, it was in the physical element only. The man
was a bastard through and through and Shane often wondered how in
the hell his grandfather and the sweet gentle woman he remembered
as his grandmother, had ever produced such an arrogant, cold son of
a bitch.

“That your dog?” His father asked.

Shane took a moment.

He hadn’t seen his father in years. Hell, not
since his sentencing. Their relationship had always been strained,
and after the things Shane had learned the day before at his
grandfather’s solicitor’s office, he was more than a little
surprised that his father wanted to discuss his dog.

But hey, he could play whatever game this
was. In fact, it was a welcome distraction.

Shane nodded. “Yeah, she sort of came with
the place.”

James Gallagher took a few more steps, his
expensive Italian leather boots tracking wet snow across the wooden
floorboards as he motioned toward the table Shane had just
finished.

“I see you’ve learned a trade.”

Again, Shane nodded but didn’t bother to
reply.

“Good to know our tax dollars are being put
to use in constructive ways.”

The dig was subtle, but there
nonetheless.

Shane grinned, a cold smile that never quite
made it to his eyes. “I learned to knit too, but I figured there’s
not much money to be made in tablecloths. Though I gotta tell ya, I
can make one hell of a mean granny-square.”

His father’s nostrils flared and his mouth
tightened, but the man simply stared at Shane in silence, his blue
eyes brilliant, as if they held the blue sky in their depths.

“I know you met with Father’s attorneys
yesterday.”

Here we go
.

“Yeah, I finally got around to it.”

James Gallagher’s eyes widened even more and
twin spots of rouge dusted his sharp cheekbones.

“You finally got around to it. Very
responsible of you. Wonderful how you honor your grandfather’s
memory, though when we stop to consider the fact that the old man
put you in jail himself, I’m not surprised.”

A muscle worked its way along Shane’s jaw and
the temper that boiled just under the surface was getting hotter by
the second. There was no way in hell he was going to stand here and
discuss the many sins of his past with his father.

It didn’t matter that James Gallagher was
right.

“What do you want?” he asked sharply,
gathering up his tools and crossing the room to the workbench that
ran the length of the carriage house. He refused to lose his shit
all over the place when his father was around.

“I want to know what you’re going to do with
the estate. I’ll buy it from you for market value right now.”

The hell you will
.

“Not interested,” Shane replied.

Hell, he had no idea what his grandfather had
been thinking. Leaving his entire estate to Shane. The fuck up. The
ex-con. The house alone was worth a fortune, but the property with
nearly one hundred acres of forested land and a small lake to boot,
was worth so much more. And that was only a small part of the
estate. With monies invested, the portfolio was impressive.

And then there were the horses.

Shane heaved a heavy sigh. He didn’t deserve
it and his father knew it, yet Niall had believed in him to the
end.

Three years ago, Shane would have handed over
the property to his father, taken the money and run. He’d have
blown it on booze, drugs and women without thought. Sure he would
have hated himself, but like a freight train running full steam
ahead down the road of excess and misery, he would have been all
over that.

“Not interested,” his father repeated, unable
to hide the surprise in his voice.

Shane started, momentarily gone down memory
lane and turned around, arms folded across his chest as he leaned
against his workbench.

He thought of the letter his grandfather had
written, the one handed over to him by the attorneys—the one he’d
been unable to read.

What the hell
was
he doing?

He’d been in New Waterford for months now and
hadn’t once been back to White Hall. He’d ignored every single
request for a meeting with the lawyers and the only reason he’d
even gone yesterday was because…

Christ, he didn’t even know why. The only
thing he was sure of was that it had been time. Time to move one.
Time to face his demons. Time to face his past.

Time to get his shit together.

If not for himself, then for his
grandfather.

James Gallagher cocked his head to the side
and stared at Shane for several long moments. Eventually his eyes
wandered, behind him, to the portrait on the wall and for a second,
for one brief moment, a wash of pain touched his eyes. But it was
gone so fast, Shane wasn’t even sure he had seen it.

“You still paint.”

Shane said nothing. This had always been a
touchy subject between the two of them. Shane’s need to express
himself artistically, and his father’s need to mold Shane into an
exact replica of himself. In the end his father had lost that
battle and yet, in the end, Shane supposed they had both lost.

“Who’s the old man?”

“No one you’d know.”

James crossed the room and stood inches from
him as he studied the picture. Up close, his father looked tired
and his pallor was pasty. It was unsettling, seeing this larger
than life man, the bastard who’d made his childhood a misery, look
weak and not at the top of his game.

“I don’t know what you’re up to Shane, but I
can’t let you keep White Hall. You’ll run it to the ground and his
legacy will be for nothing.”

“His legacy meant nothing to you,” Shane
retorted, pushing away from the bench and putting some distance
between himself and his father. “Hell, you don’t even live here
anymore.”

James smiled, a wash of winter in an
otherwise stony face. “Not true,” he said quietly. “As of last
Wednesday I’m back.”

James pulled out a pair of leather gloves
from his suit jacket and slipped them onto his large hands. “Celia
and I have bought a condo near the water and our daughter, your
sister Eden in case you’re forgotten her, has already been
registered at New Waterford High. So you see son, I’m not going
anywhere.”

With a curt nod, James Gallagher turned and
left Shane stunned, pissed off, and more confused than ever.

His father was a multi-millionaire who had
finally moved to Detroit several years ago with his wife and
daughter, after commuting for most of Shane’s life. He didn’t
belong in small town America. He sure as hell didn’t belong in
Shane’s town. And no matter what his motives, James Gallagher
didn’t give a flying fuck about White Hall.

So what was he really after?

And when was the last time he had called him,
son?

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

Bobbi whirled around, splashing hot coffee
all over her forearm.

“Shit,” she muttered, though her frown soon
turned into a smile at the sight of her father, already up and
dressed. He looked good.

Her smile widened. He looked better than
good.

“Doing what?” she asked, grabbing the cloth
from the sink and dabbing at her arm.

Her father paused for a moment before
answering, his faded eyes softening as he crossed the room. Freshly
shaven, he smelled of tangy aftershave, and his hair was combed.
The heaviness inside her dissipated as she gazed into his eyes and
the warmth in her heart spread out. She knew these moments of
clarity, of seemingly good health were getting rarer, but she was
grateful—

“Are you worried about the wedding?”

What?

The wedding. Right.

Her heart sank and though she tried, her
smile wavered. Travis Barker pulled her into a hug and she fought
the tears that threatened to spill as his large hand stroked her
hair.