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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