by Silver James
“The cat.”
“Oh. What happens if it turns out to be a Lucy instead?”
He laughed again. “I wouldn’t be surprised, with all that attitude. Serious diva territory.”
Britt stirred, pushing stray strands of hair off her face, blinking the sleep from her fuzzy expression. “Where are we?”
“Home, sweet home. At least for the duration.”
Britt gave him the fisheye and he fought not to laugh. “I have a hotel room calling my name.”
“One without electricity. My RV has lights, air conditioning and indoor plumbing.”
“You have a point.” She gripped his proffered hand to climb out. “Whoa!” She jerked and all but fell into his arms as the cat bolted across her shoulders and leapt to the ground.
Coop couldn’t help the smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward. She was an armful and he liked the feel of her next to him. Liked it a whole lot. She rubbed her eyes and gazed around. “What’s that?”
“My RV.”
She gave an appreciative whistle. “That’s not just an RV. That’s the Plaza Hotel of RVs.”
Coop led her over and opened the motor home’s door, standing back so she could enter first. She stopped dead. He looked over her shoulder, wondering why she wasn’t moving. He propelled her forward. “Showers. We need them. Then sleep, yeah?”
“Shower?” Britt’s eyes drooped and she looked completely exhausted.
“Right,” Coop muttered. He nudged her to the bathroom—and its full-sized shower. “You should grab the first shower and then hit the sack.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Britt?”
She shook herself and glanced up at him. “Right. Shower.” Glancing around, her gaze met his. They were both exhausted—and stank of bayou. Shower. Sleep. And tomorrow? Yeah, he’d do all the things he’d planned to do with her the previous morning, only to discover she’d skipped out on him.
“Do you need help?”
“Maybe.” She sighed. “Okay, probably.”
He stripped them both down, with far less attention to detail than he would have liked. He turned on the water and ushered her into the shower.
Britt was so tired she barely acknowledge the hands soaping her body. This could have been a lot of fun if she’d been alert and less exhausted because really? Cooper was a dream man.
She swayed a little on her feet. The next thing she knew, she was wrapped in a towel and on the bed. Cooper stood, a towel riding low on his hips, with his back to her. Oh, boy. Too bad she couldn’t keep her eyes open.
“Big bed,” she hinted, then yawned hugely.
“It is,” he agreed. He pulled the covers over her and she thought the gesture was sweet. He slipped in beside her and she stiffened. With Cooper’s very hard body next to her, she couldn’t fall asleep. Then he snored softly. Britt relaxed, right into a deep sleep.
When Britt woke up, she kept her eyes closed. Controlling her breathing, she listened. She didn’t remember where she was. Stiff, sore, still tired, with a headache nudging at the edge of her consciousness, she assessed her situation. Soft bed. Light filtering in through blinds. Warm body at her back. Muscular arm draped over her.
“Mornin’, Girl Wonder.”
Cooper. His voice sleep-roughened and as sexy as that hard length pressing against her butt. She was in so much trouble now, thanks to the happy dance her libido was doing. Clearing her throat, she mumbled, “Still sleeping.”
His body shook from laughter. Which translated into her body feeling things that made her want to turn, cup the man’s face and kiss him. With tongue. Despite morning mouth. What was wrong with her?
But the scent of this man and the warmth of his chest pressing against her back, the weight of his arm over her waist? Her mind was going there for sure. Then his lips nuzzled the back of her neck and she surrendered. Sort of. She had one tiny bit of fight left. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
His lips brushed across the shell of her ear. “Trying? No. I am seducing you. Is it working?”
Cocky man. She squirmed a little and his arm loosened just enough that the hand cupping her hip could propel her over onto her back. She gazed up at him, with his amazing blue eyes and a few days’ worth of stubble roughening his face. His lips were perfect—like an artist drew them. His brown hair showed hints of red where the sun caught it.
His fingertips stroked across her cheekbone before tracing her jaw. His gaze was focused on her mouth. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Definitely working.” Then he kissed her. Like he meant it. Lips and teeth and tongue. Searching, nipping, thrusting. Her heart rate kicked up and she melted against his bare chest.
Cooper chuckled against her mouth and she got a wild mental picture of his lips kissing another part of her body and what his laughter would feel like there. Need and desire welled up inside her. The leash she normally kept on her control snapped. She hooked one leg over his thighs and pulled, making space for his hips between her legs. She rubbed against the hard length of his erection and threw caution to the wind. She’d seen so much destruction, the devastation created by both hurricane and flooding leaving people in desperate straits. She wanted another reminder that there was life and laughter and love. Right now, she just wanted to be a woman. Not a storm chaser. Not a weather reporter. Just a woman in the arms of a sexy man.
“Are we doin’ this, Girl Wonder?” Cooper stared down at her, his body relaxed, his expression curiously hopeful.
“What happens if I say no?”
“I take a shower that will leave plenty of hot water for you. And if the cold shower doesn’t work, I’ll take care of business while I’m in there.”
“Business?” she mused. “Do you consider this business?”
“No, ma’am. This...” He waved a hand between the two of them. “Is strictly pleasure. If I take care of things, then it becomes business.”
“Ah.” She strained to reach his mouth. He obliged by meeting her halfway. “Yeah,” she whispered. “We’re doin’ this, Hero Boy.”
“I’m not a boy.” His hand cupped her beneath the sheet.
“And I’m not—” Her breath rushed out as he tweaked her nipple. “A girl.”
He pushed the sheet down and a slow grin curled the corners of his perfect mouth as his eyes crinkled. “I can see that.”
A moment later, he was all over her—touching, cupping, teasing, kissing. His hands were work-roughened but not abrasive. A man with a manicure had never been her catnip. Cooper worked with his hands and she was definitely enjoying the way they worked her. Blunt fingers teased between her thighs, finding her already slick and ready. This guy is not for you, a little voice insisted. It’s bad for business. You need to get your tail in gear and get gone. As his fingers teased her, she tuned out the voice. She wanted this. Him. For now, anyway. She pushed her hand between their bodies and latched onto his erection. He groaned into her mouth as his hand patted the small table next to the bed.
“Dammit, I know there’s one in here somewhere,” he muttered. “Gotta be.”
Britt wondered what he was looking for when he let out a growl of triumph and she heard the sound of foil tearing. Condom. Good to know one of them was thinking.
When Coop rolled over to get the condom on, she noticed a deep scar running across his right thigh. Precaution in place, he started up where he left off—one hand stroking between her legs and his mouth taking her breast like he was starving and she was his favorite meal. He pulled away and looked into her eyes.
“Are you sure, Britt?”
No teasing now, because this much pleasure was serious business. “Yes.”
She spread her knees as he rolled on top of her, bracing his upper body on his elbows and forearms. “Never thought I’d pull something so perfect from the flood,” he murmured, dipping to kiss her again as he pushed inside.
&n
bsp; Britt drew in a shuddering breath. Cooper did the same, then buried his face against her neck and exhaled. The previous night, they’d gone at it hot and heavy, but this? This was so much better. She clamped down on him as he thrust and withdrew, the friction of skin against skin igniting an astonishing awareness. Desire washed through her, seeking out every nerve and every cell of her body until she thought she would burn up.
Her thoughts scattered as sensation took over. Too difficult to think, or do anything but feel the hard length of him filling her. It was all so intense she couldn’t form words, only make tiny noises as she spiraled up and up, reaching for something so profound, so all-consuming that she wanted to scream.
Braced on one arm, Cooper found the one spot that would release her frenzy with his fingertips. Moments later, her whole body arched off the bed and he caught her scream in his mouth as he kissed her with the same intensity. She held him tightly, fingers clutching, holding on. He thrust again and again, and then he groaned his own release and she felt him throb inside her.
He lay on top of her, spent, for several long minutes. Britt didn’t care because breathing didn’t seem all that important. The heat and feel of this man? Yeah, now that seemed crucial to her current well-being.
When he eventually rolled away, after a long and thorough kiss, she turned onto her side, hand tucked under her cheek. Eyelids heavy, she closed them until the bed shifted. With a yawn, she opened her eyes to focus on a very fine butt headed to the bathroom. A moment later, the shower kicked on. She found her watch and squawked. It was way past time to skedaddle. But she didn’t have a vehicle and would have to wait on Cooper. Or find someone else to drive her back to the hotel.
Throwing on her clothes, she headed outside and found a small miracle—another storm team from Channel 2.
She plastered on a big smile and breezed toward where they stood talking to Gil. “Hi, guys. Time to go.”
Three
Three months. He’d nursed his resentment for three months and there, standing across the ballroom, was the whole reason he refused to let bygones be bygones. Cooper hadn’t wanted to come to this cocktail schmooze-fest billed as a fund-raiser for the University of Oklahoma School of Meteorology mobile tornado lab in the first place. Now, he wanted nothing more than to get out of the tuxedo and black tie his mother had forced him to wear. He and his six brothers might all be grown—well, except maybe Dillon, the baby of the family—but when Katherine Barron Tate arched a brow, her boys came to heel without a bark.
So here he stood, a watered-down whiskey in his hand, smiling politely at a weather geek waxing poetic about the revised Fujita scale and the need for more funding for research. Inside, Cooper was glowering at the beautiful blonde dressed in a sexy blue gown and surrounded by a herd of adoring sycophants. Yeah, so what if that was the word of the day on his secretary’s desk calendar. It fit perfectly. Dragging his gaze away from the woman who’d starred in far more dreams than he cared to admit, he scanned the crowd for his mother. Locating her, he extricated himself from the one-sided conversation with the weather expert.
“Wow, that’s awesome and all, but if you’ll excuse me...” He didn’t give the guy a chance to keep talking, ducking through the crowd toward Katherine. A man stopped him before he reached her.
“Well, if it isn’t Cooper Tate. What are you doing here?”
Coop recognized an old fraternity brother. “Hey, Mark.”
The man squinted at him as they shook hands. “I figured I was seeing things. A big oil tycoon like you mixing in with the science nerds?”
Coop glanced around to make sure his mother wasn’t paying attention, then rolled his eyes. “It’s Mom. This is her charity du jour. She was on the OU board of regents when the National Weather Service built their Severe Storms Lab down in Norman.” He nodded toward a handsome man surrounded by a small crowd. “And I think she has a bit of a crush on Dave Edmonds from Channel Two. You?”
Mark made a face and said, “Somebody had to represent my law firm. I drew the short straw.” He switched his expression to a smile as Katherine sailed up.
“Hello, Mark. How are your parents? Did they enjoy their cruise?”
How did his mother know all this stuff? It’s like she kept a dossier on every person her sons had ever met. Or maybe she had his little brother Bridger on retainer, since Bridge worked for Barron Security Services.
“Mom’s ready to sail around the world. Dad’s still grousing about all the golf balls he launched into the ocean. He much prefers his eighteen holes on solid ground.”
Mark and his mom continued to chat. Coop tuned them out. He’d never been one for small talk, especially not when it came to golf—Mark was bragging about being a scratch golfer, whatever that meant. Katherine appeared to hang on every word. Looking for a way to extract both of them, he touched his mom’s arm. “I hate to interrupt but you’d mentioned something in the silent auction you wanted to bid on?”
She hadn’t but if they were walking the long tables circling the room, they could pretend to be engrossed and he could avoid further conversation.
“So nice to see you again, Mark. Tell your parents I said hello.”
Cooper nodded at the other man and steered his mother away.
“That was rude.”
“You were as bored as me.”
“One should always be polite in social situations, Cooper.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Agreeing with her was always easiest. “Oh, look!” He pointed out one of the items—a weekend at the Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado Springs. Katherine didn’t stop so Coop trailed after her. When she did peruse an item, he pulled out his engraved Mont Blanc pen and added a bid to the sign-up sheet once she moved on. Then his mother stopped dead still and eagerly read an item’s description. He came up behind her and read over her shoulder.
!!GO TORNADO CHASING!!
Why did graphics people put exclamation points in front of a header? More to the point, why was his mother so intrigued? He read the description. The high bidder would get to spend a day with a storm chaser from a local television station—one conveniently owned by his cousin Chase’s company, Barron Entertainment. Who had time for that nonsense? Anyone who went looking for tornadoes was just plain loco in his book. Ever since his own up-close-and-personal experience with a twister when he was a kid, Coop was more than happy to give those suckers a wide berth.
Katherine raised her hand shoulder high and palm up. “Pen.”
Cooper obliged. She accepted the pen and bent over the sheet, signed and added a ridiculously high bid. Ouch. He’d make sure his mother did not have the winning bid on this package, though he’d have to twist someone’s arm to outbid her. Bridger was wandering around somewhere and he was an adrenaline junkie. Maybe he could talk his little brother into bidding. There was no way in hell he’d let his mom go.
He looked up and saw the picture attached to the description and read the caption beneath the woman’s very attractive face: DANCE THE TORNADO TWO-STEP WITH BRITT OWENS. His mouth went dry. Britt Owens. Of course it would be her. Sexy-gorgeous even soaking wet and waiting for rescue from the top of her storm-chaser truck. Britt Owens, who sneaked away after incredible sex without a please, thank you or goodbye. Twice!
What was it about this woman? She obviously wanted nothing to do with him and yet he was drawn to her like iron to a magnet. So much for putting their encounter behind him because he was just wasting his time mooning after her, as his family reminded him often. He still wanted to kick himself for telling his brother, Bridger. The big blabbermouth. He was still staring at the picture when his mother elbowed him in the ribs. “Didn’t I teach you not to drool?”
He blinked and by reflex, reached up to swipe at his chin—which was dry. “Dang, Mom. Seriously?”
She laughed, but he only managed to scowl before a local weatherman tapped the microphone on the stage, which caused e
ar-wincing feedback.
“Sorry about that,” the man said with a laugh. “Those in charge informed me dinner will get underway just as soon as we all get seated. Once everyone is served, the entertainment portion of our evening will start. Trust me, this is a show you don’t want to miss.”
Without looking at how she’d signed the bid, Cooper offered his mother his arm and guided her to their table near the front. He seated her then sat on her left so they were both facing the stage but he could keep his eye on the rest of the room. He didn’t like a bunch of strangers at his back. He wanted to see who was coming, but he also wanted to see the annual video they always aired. Maybe there’d be footage of Britt. Not that he cared.
Bridger slid into the chair beside him, a cocky grin on his face. “You still pouting over that little storm chaser?”
He glared at his younger brother. “I don’t pout.”
Okay, his mother and brother laughing at him? That hurt. And no way was his mother winning Britt’s package. Nope. He was wise to Katherine Tate’s ways.
* * *
Britt couldn’t help herself. She sneaked by her package on the silent auction table to check the bidding. The last bid on the list was offered in a flowing, flowery script. Great. Just...great. One of the society ladies so prevalent in the room had decided to sign up for an adrenaline rush. She hated the whole idea of this package. Civilians didn’t belong on the chase. They just got in the way and created problems.
Leaning over to study the page, Britt almost choked when she translated the signature into a name—and saw the four-figure bid amount next to it. Cooper Tate? No. Just...no. With furtive glances, she searched the room. What was he doing here? She knew he was a Tate, cousin to the Barrons who owned the TV station, but that didn’t explain his presence at the gala.
Breathing through the semi-panic attack, she fought for composure. She’d made a crazy mistake last August down in Beaumont. Her face flamed with the memory and she quickly moved away from the auction table, worried about standing out. With luck, no one had noticed her agitation. As people found their seats, Britt headed toward the table sponsored by her television channel. She would not freak out. She couldn’t afford to lose it, not with the station’s chief meteorologist beaming at her. Gah. This whole fiasco had been his idea. The channel paid her more than her salary as an adjunct professor, so she needed to suck it up, buttercup.
