by Pamela Clare
The talking. The bragging. The flirting. All through dinner she’d known Cooper wanted her. She’d seen the way his eyes lingered on her mouth. Felt that incredible heat across the table. Every time he listened to her talk, even when she was talking about something as mundane as her new addiction to Whitey’s ice cream, his eyes undressed her. He seemed especially entranced when she mentioned picking the miniature peanut butter cups out of her Moose Tracks ice cream and eating those first.
“You know what,” Celina said, exasperated. “This is the part where you walk me up to my apartment and I invite you inside. You ignore the unmade bed and the dishes in the sink and the fact that I’m wearing a white bra that doesn’t match my tiger-striped bikinis. And then you miss your flight back to California in the morning because you’re still here. Upstairs. In my apartment. With me.”
“Celina,” he started, but she cut him off.
“Don’t.” Her heart couldn’t take his gentle rejection. Not again. Not after this crushing day of bullshit. “I don’t want to hear The Speech.”
“I’m not the guy –”
“Stop.” She shook her head, pinched her eyes closed for a moment. “I know this part by heart. ‘I’m thirty-eight. You’re twenty-four. I’m DEA. You’re a Fed. You’re part of my team. I can’t and won’t sleep with a subordinate. I won’t break the rules.’” Celina opened her eyes. “But, wait, I’m not your subordinate anymore, Cooper. Remember? You kicked me off your team. You won’t be breaking any laws, moral or otherwise, if you come upstairs.”
Cooper’s eyes had gone dark and Celina could see he was working hard not to sound pissed when he answered her. Since pissed was his normal MO, there was a definite strain in his voice. “I didn’t personally kick you off the taskforce. That decision was made by Dupé immediately following the Time magazine cover and I concurred with his opinion that you were then ineffective as an undercover agent for my group.”
He paused, ran a hand over his face. “And even though I’m no longer your boss, I still feel responsible for your career.”
“God!” Celina slapped the handrail with her gloved hand. “You are so full of crap. You’re not worried about my career – heck, I don’t even have a job at the moment. You care about your career. You’re afraid having any kind of relationship with a rookie agent like me will scandalize your precious reputation as the SCVC’s agent-in-charge.”
“It’s a school-girl crush, Celina, and it would be wrong of me to take advantage of that.”
“School-girl crush?” The accusation slammed her in the stomach. “You think I’m infatuated with you because I’m too young to know what I want?”
Cooper stepped inside the doorway, the door shutting with a jerk on squeaky hinges behind him. His voice came out low, controlled. “I’ve spent the last ten years with the DEA working my ass off to get where I am, Celina. I deserve the commendations in my personnel file and the respect of my team as well as my superiors. Your career is just getting started and you’re already on thin ice after the media coverage you received on the Londano bust. Now you’ve quit Quarters’ team. The last thing you need is a relationship with me.”
Celina hung her head and looked at her wet boots. “The last thing you need is me,” she countered. She lifted her head and met his gaze again. “So you flirt with me, lead me on all night, and then when you have the chance to make your move, you chicken out. You are so freakin’ unbelievable, Cooper Harris.”
She blinked away the hurt she was feeling. If she could just get him upstairs, she could make him forget his damn logic. She could make him smile and laugh and look at her the way he had over his steak. “Who’s going to know if you come upstairs? You’re two thousand miles from home. No one will know this night happened except you and me.”
“Celina? Is that you?” a voice said from the hallway.
Recognizing the woman’s voice, Celina sighed and leaned over the stair rail to greet her landlady. “Hi, Linda. Did we wake you?”
The forty-something woman rubbed her eyes before cinching her robe tighter and stepping down the hall. Her permed brown hair was flattened on one side, sticking out on the other. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Celina lied. “I’m sorry we woke you. We didn’t wake Jacob, did we?”
Linda shook her head, looked at Cooper. Ran a hand through her hair before holding it out to him. “Linda Findley.”
Cooper shook Linda’s hand as Celina finished introductions. “How is Jacob?”
“He has to be in Iowa City for his pre-surgical blood work at eight a.m. We should leave here by six, but if this snow doesn’t quit soon, I won’t be able to get the car out.” She shook her head and ran a hand through her hair again. “I knew I should have taken him out today and stayed in that hotel near the hospital, but I didn’t want to spend the money. A night in a hotel costs as much as a month’s worth of his anti-seizure medication. But, now…” her voice trailed off. “If I have to postpone that surgery, it will be weeks before he can get his hip fixed.”
Breathing out a sigh, Linda explained the situation to Cooper. “My son has cerebral palsy. His muscles and bones don’t grow at the same rate. He’s had two surgeries already, but his right hip bone keeps dislocating.”
“The snow plows are out but the roads are slippery,” Cooper said. “Do you have anyone who can go with you? Help you out if you have trouble?”
Linda shook her head. “Jacob’s dad left me shortly after Jacob was born. It’s just me and him.”
“If you need help,” Celina told her, “or a ride, call me. I know the local sheriff and can pull some strings. We’ll get Jacob to his appointment.”
Linda laid her hand on top of Celina’s gloved one, smiled up at her. “Thank you, Celina. I appreciate all you’ve done for Jacob already.” She leaned in closer, spoke in a sotto voce voice. “I believe you might be busy come six o’clock.” With a wink, she left Celina and Cooper alone.
They stared at each other in silence. Cooper had shut down. He stood expressionless, just staring at her.
“I have to go,” he said too abruptly. “Take care of yourself.”
Celina watched him walk out the door into the snowy night. Sliding down to sit on the step, she closed her eyes and buried her face in her mittens. Unbelievable.
Cooper sat in the Durango, defroster on high, windshield wipers scraping across the ice frozen on his windshield. He’d brushed some of the snow off with the arm of his jacket, but his fingers froze in under thirty seconds in the blowing wind and he’d hopped inside the SUV for shelter. He was completely underdressed for a Midwestern snowstorm. Completely unprepared for Mother Nature’s raw pillage of the world around him.
Completely unprepared for the assault on his senses Celina caused.
Unprepared was not in his vocabulary. Angry with himself, he dropped his fingers from the vent covers and sat back. It was going to be a few minutes before the Durango was clear enough for him to drive safely. He should check his cell phone. He’d shut it off before arriving at the Mexican place for dinner. No doubt, Thomas had already called to find out where he was, what he was doing since he hadn’t made it back to the hotel. He also needed to program the vehicle’s GPS to guide him from Celina’s street to the hotel since he didn’t know the area and couldn’t get his bearings at night in the middle of a blizzard.
It all seemed like too much work. Telling himself it had been a long day and he was tired, Cooper watched a snowplow’s running lights inch down the street toward him in his rearview. No way did his reluctance to join the real world have anything to do with Celina. No way was his refusal to play with fire making him feel less honorable instead of more.
Cooper stared at the entry door to Celina’s building. He’d done exactly what Celina accused him of…flirting, bragging, charming her pants off. For a few hours, he’d relaxed. Enjoyed his dinner. Laughed a couple times. Desperate not to end the night, he’d offered to see her home, but on the drive to her apartme
nt, all the reasons he’d used before to stay away from her surfaced. He’d tamped them down, ignored them, but they wouldn’t go away. When the time came to actually take her pants off, he’d chickened out.
The snowplow drove by, an inch of snow arcing over the Durango. Cooper swore under his breath as the wipers made another pass and failed to clear the glass. His wheels were now sitting in several inches of snow. If he didn’t leave now, he’d be stuck there until morning.
Stuck in bed with Celina. The thought hit him with the force of a body slam, just like the waves he often rode on his surfboard.
He could, right now, touch Celina, make love to her, wipe the hurt off The New Face of the FBI, and replace it with happiness. What the hell was wrong with him that he would pass that up? When had he lost his ability to throw caution to the wind and actually live his life? He’d been dancing with the devil for too long. It was making him old and…careful. Too careful. There were no guarantees. Tomorrow he could be in a wheelchair like Dyer. Or worse. He might die having passed up the best night of his life.
The snow was coming down harder and Celina’s opinion that no one would know where or how he spent the night echoed in his head. “Okay, Mother Nature,” he said aloud to the snow falling outside. “You win.”
Inside the entryway, Celina was sitting on the second step, head down, face covered with her mittens. Cooper’s breath caught in his throat. She was crying.
Over him.
Another slam of emotions hit him. All this time, he’d kept his distance from her through sheer will power. Seeing her slumped on the stairs, crying because he’d hurt her, did him in. He tried to speak her name, found his throat closed tight.
The door hinge squeaked behind him as he let it shut, and slowly, ever so slowly, Celina raised her face out of her mittens and looked at him.
Tears clung to her eyelashes and her cheeks were moist. But her eyes – damn. Hurt, sadness, confusion mixing in as second by second quietly ticked by.
Cooper found his legs moving forward, his body crouching in front of her. He raised one of his frozen fingers to her cheek and wiped at the tear running down it. Her skin was smooth and soft and oh, so warm under his fingertip.
She turned her head into his hand and his finger fell next to her lips. Still speechless, Cooper let his finger touch the outside corner of her frown. Her lips parted on an intake of breath and he slid his finger across her full bottom lip.
He found his voice, but it was ragged. “God, I want you.”
And then she was kissing him, her lips fire against his. He kissed her back, pushing his body against hers to counterbalance her weight as she threw her arms around his neck. He grabbed the solid wooden spindle of the stair ballast with one hand, the back of her head with the other. His fingers slipped under the knit cap to tangle in her hair.
She drew him against her as she leaned back on the stairs, and he cupped her head to keep it from banging on the edge of the wooden stair behind her. Her tongue was shooting fire inside his mouth, and sweet Jesus, she tasted like spicy salsa and salty limes. Why had he waited so long to do this?
Because he was a stupid, stupid man.
Celina, still kissing the hell out of him, opened his coat. Her mittens were off and her cool fingertips brushed his neck, sending electric sensations shooting right to his groin. He pulled back from her lips and choked out her name, “Celina.”
Her eyes opened to his, and she seemingly read his mind. “Right,” she said, her breath soft on his face. “Not here. Upstairs.”
He nodded, and rising, guided her to her feet. She picked up her hat and gloves, danced up the stairs toward the next landing. His cock was harder than granite and he tried unsuccessfully to rearrange it inside his pants as he watched her heart-shaped ass disappear around the corner.
He ran seven miles a day, surfed when he could, and put in three to six hours a week on the mat in hand-to-hand combat training. But three flights of stairs with a hard-on made him seriously question his stamina.
Until he made it to the top and Celina turned from inserting the key in her apartment door’s lock, giving him that wicked smile of hers, all sex and heat and, Jesus—
He was on her before she could turn the knob.
Pressing her against the door, he kissed her, unzipping her leather coat and shoving his hands inside, past the lining, warm from her body heat, past her shoulder holster and straight to her waist. Fingers working on their own accord tickled her ribs and cupped her breasts. She moaned as his thumbs brushed over her hard nipples.
The door opened, and in they went, sliding off of it. Celina closing it. Cooper pinning her to the inside.
The apartment was dark, but a large west-facing picture window let in enough light for Cooper to see that the wicked smile was still on Celina’s face. She wound a leg around him as her hands unzipped his coat the rest of the way. He let it fall to the floor.
Her coat followed. Then her shoulder holster with a dull thud as it hit the ground. His echoed it.
Thirty seconds later, her jeans were next to the jacket. Together they pushed her turtleneck up and off her head and Cooper ran his fingers over the lacy white bra filled to capacity with soft skin. She unzipped his pants as he groped her breasts, and Cooper absorbed her moan as she rose up on tippy-toes, straining to take him in.
One logical neuron was still firing in his brain. Heady from the intensity, it was all he could do to pull a condom from his wallet and cover himself. It took two tries to open the damn package, mostly because Celina removed her bra and Cooper’s knees went weak from the sight of those plump breasts and dark nipples. As he yanked the condom on, she dropped her bikinis to the floor. Cooper palmed each side of Celina’s bottom as she opened herself to him, her sock-clad feet wrapping around his hips.
Just like in his fantasies, Cooper took her hard, the fire inside him rushing to climax, almost violent in its animalistic need.
Celina took everything he gave and wanted more. She bucked and pushed and grabbed and met every thrust with equal enthusiasm.
Her release came swiftly. She cried his name into the dark apartment, burying her fingernails into his shoulders as she arched against him. Three strokes later, Cooper’s own release hit him like a tsunami, knocking his equilibrium into a tailspin, his breath from his chest. He held her against the door for long moments, legs shaking from the exertion.
In the aftermath, they left the lights off and their clothes on the floor, climbing into Celina’s bed. She snuggled against him, her smile now one of contentment.
Cooper fell asleep, only to awake a short while later to Celina’s lips on his chest working their way downward. As she slid a trail of kisses down his stomach and, ahh, God, made contact under the covers, Cooper buried his hands in her hair and watched the snow falling soundlessly outside the window.
Chapter Eight
Celina felt like she’d just closed her eyes when her cell phone on the nightstand rang. Her body, deeply satiated and tired, was rolling onto its side and reaching for it before her brain caught up. The apartment was still dark; her eyes automatically scanned the red numbers of her alarm clock; 5:35.
This can’t be good.
She interrupted the phone’s second ring, rubbing her eyes, and dropping her head back on the pillow. “Hello?” she said, only then realizing Cooper wasn’t beside her.
Where was he? Her fingers felt the pillow, still indented from his head. It was cold. Her eyes went to the bathroom, noted the door was open and there was no light on. The voice in her ear spoke in a low, quiet tone. “Sleeping well?”
Celina blinked and raised herself up on one elbow, goose bumps rising on her arms. Her brain absently noted Cooper’s clothes were gone from the floor. Gun, jacket. Everything.
The voice came again. “Do you ever dream about me, Celina?”
Her brain engaged, her breath stopping in her chest. She sat straight up, any residue of sleep gone with the thudding of her heart. She knew the voice on the phone a
s well as her own.
“Why are you calling me?” A whisper that gave away her surprise. Her eyes flew to the red numbers again, double-checking the time. What prisoner had phone privileges at that time in the morning? “How did you get my number?”
“Did you think you were safe from me in Iowa? Did you think I wouldn’t find you if you ran?”
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, Celina was up and moving—no direction at first, but moving all the same thanks to a sudden rush of adrenaline. She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder and reached for her yoga pants. The clothes she’d worn the previous night were lying neatly folded on the couch. Her gun rested on top of the pile.
She slipped a T-shirt over her head, wanting to hang up—to sever the hold Emilio suddenly had on her through the phone line—but stopped herself. She grabbed the gun out of its holster and paced to the picture window to look out. The snow had stopped and the traffic lights below blinked their colors over empty streets packed white. Several cars parked along the street curbs were running, exhaust floating in the icy air in clouds as their owners brushed snow and scraped ice.
Taking a quiet breath, Celina forced herself to stay calm. Emilio Londano was not outside. He was four hundred miles away in a maximum security penitentiary. And apparently, he’d bribed a guard for a ten minute call.
But where was Cooper?
“I don’t dream about you, Emilio.” Her voice sounded strong. He has no hold on me.
Moving around her small apartment, she double checked locks and looked for the note she was sure Cooper—the lousy rat—had left her. “And I didn’t run from California,” she added, knowing that Emilio loved to play intimidation games. He wanted to scare her, but she knew he couldn’t hurt her.
Cooper, on the other hand … Celina shut down the sudden pain in her chest. “The Bureau transferred me to Des Moines. A job transfer, that’s all. It had nothing, nothing,” she emphasized the word again, “to do with you.”
Emilio chuckled. “Ah, Celina. The consummate liar. You’re very good at it. Do they teach you that in the FBI?”
