No, she thought, squaring her shoulders in determination. She wasn’t getting married. Ever. No matter how attractive and irresistible she found Cope, she wouldn’t say yes to his proposal.
But sex?
Biting her lip, she glanced back over her shoulder, knowing he was in his bedroom at that very moment, perhaps even naked. Surely she could handle a physical relationship with him, she told herself. One with no strings attached, no wedding plans or happily-ever-afters being mentioned. One with no expectations whatsoever about a future together. She’d simply lay out the ground rules for him, then…
Blowing out a breath, she turned to face the Gulf again. Yeah, right, she thought wryly. As if she hadn’t already made her expectations perfectly clear.
“You can come in now. I’m dressed.”
She glanced back just in time to see Cope turning back into the house. He was dressed, all right, she acknowledged, noting the jeans, shirt and boots before he disappeared from sight. He’d done just as she ordered him to do. So why did she feel this huge sense of disappointment? Why did she suddenly have the urge to cry?
Shaking off the unwanted emotion, she strode for the house.
As she entered the kitchen, he turned from the counter, steam rising from the cup of coffee he’d just poured.
“Do you really believe that tale about Celeste haunting this house?” he asked curiously.
“What other explanation is there for islanders reporting seeing a woman walking along the beach carrying a lantern?”
“An overactive imagination? One too many Long Island iced teas at the tiki hut?”
She lifted a shoulder, as she dug through one of the boxes they’d purchased at the auction in search of another cup. “It’s possible, I suppose.” She washed out the cup, then filled it with coffee. “Or it really could be Celeste,” she said, as she turned, and took the first cautious sip.
Clapping a hand over her mouth, she spun back to the sink and spit out the coffee. “What is that?” she cried, dragging an arm across her mouth.
“Cowboy coffee. Really wakes up those taste buds, doesn’t it?”
She spit again, trying to get the awful taste out of her mouth. “More like kills them.” Frowning, she pulled the carafe from the coffeemaker and poured its contents down the drain. “If you don’t mind, in the future, I’ll make the coffee.”
“Breakfast, too?”
She glanced his way. “You haven’t eaten?”
“I ate a couple of doughnuts left over from yesterday’s breakfast.”
Remembering the stack of pancakes and half-dozen sausage patties she had wolfed down, Deanna felt a twinge of guilt. “I suppose I could cook your meals,” she offered reluctantly. “You did hire me as a cook,” she added, not wanting him to think she intended to do anything more intimate than her job.
“Good. You can start with lunch. For now, you need to start thinking about where you want the furniture. The delivery truck should be here any minute.” He craned his neck, listening, then smiled. “In fact, I think I hear the truck now.”
Stunned to discover that delivery didn’t include assembling and placing the furniture, Deanna stared at the furniture stacked haphazardly around Cope’s bedroom.
Feeling a bit overwhelmed by it all, she wiped her hands across the seat of her shorts. “Well, I guess we might as well get to work. We’ll start with the bed, since its location will determine where the other pieces are placed.”
She turned slowly, studying the possibilities. “If we put it on this wall,” she said, pointing to the long expanse beside the door, “you’ll have the best view of the ocean. Or if we put it there,” she suggested, indicating the wall next to it, “we can place the entertainment center on the opposite wall, and you can watch television from bed.” She glanced over at Cope, who stood in the doorway, a shoulder resting against the jamb. “Which would you prefer seeing? The Gulf or your television?”
“Doesn’t matter to me. Put it wherever you want.”
With the choice left up to her, Deanna caught her lower lip between her teeth and turned to study the room again. “There,” she said, pointing to the wall beside him, her mind made up. “We can angle the armoire across the corner by the window. That way you can enjoy the view and watch television, too.”
He pushed from the jamb. “Sounds like a plan to me.” He picked up one end of the king-size iron headboard Deanna had selected for him the day before and waited for her to pick up the other.
Together they walked the headboard into place and rested it against the wall.
“I’ll get the bed rails,” she offered, “if you think you can manage the footboard alone.”
He lifted the footboard, testing its weight, then nodded his assent. Deanna quickly positioned the bed rails on the floor, while Cope carried the footboard over to line it up with them. With Deanna supporting each end, Cope screwed the bolts into place, attaching each of the pieces together in turn. Once the frame was erected, it was only a matter of dropping the box springs and mattress into place.
Clasping her hands beneath her chin, Deanna stood back to admire the results, pleased at how well the rustic iron complemented the room. “Let’s make it up!” she said excitedly and darted from the room to find the box of linens she’d purchased at the auction the day before.
By the time she returned, Cope had man-handled the armoire across the corner of the opposite wall.
“Perfect,” she said, as she dropped the box onto the floor and began to dig through it. Finding the sheets and matelas coverlet she’d purchased, she stood. “You take care of that side,” she instructed, “and I’ll take care of this one.”
Whipping out the bottom sheet, she fitted a corner over the top edge of the mattress, then smoothed the sheet down and tugged the bottom corner into place, while Cope did the same on the opposite side of the bed. As a final touch, she slipped on embroidered cases and fluffed the pillows, before arranging them against the headboard. “Well?” she asked, anxious to hear his opinion. “What do you think?”
Cope hopped onto the bed and stretched out, folding his hands behind his head. “The view’s great,” he replied, then patted the space next to him. “Come and see for yourself.”
She pursed her lips. “I can see just fine from here, thank you.” She waved a hand at his boots. “Didn’t your mother teach you to keep your boots off the furniture?”
Rolling to sit on the side of the bed, he tugged them off, then caught her hand and pulled her down onto the bed with him.
“Cope!” she cried, struggling to sit up. “Would you please stop? I told you, no touching.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and dragged her back to lie down beside him. “Relax, would you? It’s not like I’m planning on jumping your bones. I just want you to check out the view.”
Frowning, she turned to look out the window. As she did, every ounce of resistance melted from her. It was like looking at a framed piece of art. Beyond the glass, puffy white clouds floated across an azure sky, while white-tipped waves rushed onto the shore. “This view is incredible,” she murmured in awe.
His gaze on her, Cope smiled. “Yes, it is.”
Unaware that he wasn’t commenting on the same view as she, Deanna rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “Wonder if old Fen realized he was doing this, when he had the house built?”
“What?”
“This,” she said, sweeping out a hand to encompass the full wall of windows. “The way this room is positioned, it makes you feel as if you’re on the bow of a ship, totally surrounded by water.”
“Since he spent so much of his time at sea, I’d imagine it was intentional.”
She stared at the scene a moment longer, then asked curiously, “Do you think he and Celeste slept with their bed placed here?”
Chuckling, he rolled to his side and propped his elbow on the mattress and his cheek on his palm to better see her. “If they did, I doubt they did much sleeping. From what you’ve told me, it
doesn’t sound as if he was here that often. I’d imagine, when he was, they had better things to do than sleep.”
The corner of her mouth dipped in a frown. “I don’t even know the man, and I despise him.”
“Why?”
“Because he used her,” she said in frustration. “She loved him, and he used her love to get what he wanted from her.”
“And what was that?”
“Her body. Sex.” She sat up to frown at him. “You’d think, with a woman stashed in every port, he’d have plenty of opportunities to satisfy his overactive sex drive and wouldn’t need to keep Celeste holed up here like a prisoner for those rare times when he passed by and happened to be horny.”
“Horny?” he repeated, raising a brow at her use of the crude word.
“Well, what would you call it?” she wanted to know.
He drew his brow together as if thinking, then shrugged. “Horny pretty well describes him, I guess.”
Smug, she settled back against the pillows. “See? Even you think Fen was a jerk, and you’re a man.”
“Who said anything about him being a jerk? I just agreed that horny was the best word to describe his state of mind.”
“A man who is in a constant state of horniness is a jerk.”
“Now wait a minute,” he said, sitting up. “Being horny isn’t a bad thing. It just means a person is sexually aroused. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“There is when the aroused person isn’t particular about who satisfies those sexual cravings. Sex should be special.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
She ranted on, oblivious to the fact that he had agreed with her. “And it should be shared by two people who love and respect each other.”
He laid a hand on her belly. “We made love,” he said quietly.
She whipped her head around to peer at him. “What?”
“We made love. You and me. Several times. Does that mean that you love and respect me?”
The blood drained from Deanna’s face. How in the world had she talked herself into this corner? she wondered in dismay.
“Well, of course I respect you,” she replied, artfully dodging an integral part of his question. “I wouldn’t have made love with you if I didn’t.”
He leaned to nuzzle his nose in the curve of her neck. “All this talk about making love. It makes me…horny.”
He trailed his tongue up to her ear. Gulping, she closed her eyes.
“We were good together, weren’t we?” he murmured, as he nipped playfully at her earlobe. “Remember the day at the lake, when we went skinny-dipping?”
She fisted her hands in the sheets, able to remember the day all too well. And because she did, as well as what they’d done while skinny-dipping and how she’d enjoyed the experience, she didn’t dare respond.
But Cope didn’t need a response from her. He seemed more than willing to carry the conversation alone.
He slipped a hand beneath her T-shirt. “There’s something about water that adds another level of sensuality to the act,” he said softly, as he trailed his knuckles lightly up her belly and back down, mimicking the sensations of the water pulsing against her skin. “Do you remember how hot it was that day? It had to have been over a hundred in the shade. But we created even more heat, didn’t we?”
He dragged his fingers up again and his knuckles bumped against the underside of her breast. Her belly knotted in reaction, while her nipples hardened, aching for more of his touch.
“That was crazy, wasn’t it?” he said, and opened his hand over her breast. “Making love in broad daylight… Any one of the guests could have happened along and caught us.”
Deanna had known the danger then, as well as she did now. The thought of being caught had only added another level of excitement to their lovemaking.
“Cope,” she began, desperate to make him stop, before this got totally out of hand.
He cupped his fingers over her breast and squeezed, then shifted to press his lips to hers. “What?” he whispered.
His mouth…his taste…the sensual caress of his breath against her lips. With her ability to resist him growing weaker by the second, she flattened her hands against his chest. “No, Cope,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not going to make love with you.”
He drew back to look at her. “Why? It isn’t as if we haven’t made love before.”
Giving him an impatient push, she sat up and jerked her T-shirt back to her waist. “Yes, but that was…then.”
“Then?” he repeated. “What the hell kind of answer is that?”
Jutting her chin, she scooted off the bed. “The only one you’re going to get.”
He vaulted after her and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. “I deserve a better explanation than that.”
She glared at him, then looked pointedly at the fingers digging into her arm.
Though he loosened his grip, he didn’t release her. “It isn’t the sex you’re opposed to. You want to make love to me as badly as I want to make love to you.”
She lifted a brow. “Oh, really? Is that your ego talking? Or have you suddenly become a mind reader?”
“Dammit, Deanna!”
Before she could move away, he’d jerked her to him and crushed his mouth over hers. She pushed against his chest, trying to break free, but he vised his arms tighter around her. Trapped, she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.
But, damn, she could feel. The bruising anger of his mouth on hers. The frustration in the hands that held her against him. And she could taste. Again, anger and frustration. And beneath those emotions lay heat. Passion. A seductive pull that had her closing her eyes and parting her lips beneath his.
He speared his tongue into her mouth and thrust it deep, as if desperate to prove to her that she wanted him. But Deanna didn’t need convincing. She wanted Cope. She always had. Probably always would. But that was also the problem. She didn’t want to want him. Didn’t want to need him with the urgency that had her wrapping her arms around his neck to hold his mouth to hers. She didn’t want to feel the heat that churned in her belly, taste the need that burned the back of her throat.
But it was there. All of it. And more.
She felt the nudge of his knee against hers, urging her back. The bump of the mattress striking the back of her legs. Then she was tumbling backward, the cushiony softness of the mattress breaking her fall.
She felt his weight as he stretched out over her. The tumidity of his erection that pressed against the V of her legs. And the need became unbearable. Blinding. Desperate to touch him, feel his bare skin beneath her hands, she clawed at his shirt, dragging the tails from the waist of his jeans. With her hands splayed over his back, she swept them up, glorying in every pad of muscle, absorbing every smidgen of heat, then pushed them back down until the tips of her fingers were buried beneath the waist of his jeans.
She felt the buck of his hips against hers, the jab of his sex against her groin, absorbed the low groan that rumbled from deep inside him.
Sliding a hand between their bodies, he caught the button at the waist of her shorts. “I love you, Deanna,” he murmured, as he freed the disk.
She went rigid at his words.
Oh, why did he have to say that, she wailed silently. Not when they are on the verge of making love. If she allowed him to continue now, she would be no better than Fen. She’d be using Cope for her own sexual gratification, just as Fen had used Celeste. Not liking the association, she turned her head away, tearing her mouth from his.
“Stop,” she gasped, her chest heaving against his.
He pushed himself up to look down at her. “Stop?” he repeated.
She heard the disbelief in his voice, the anger building, and knew she deserved it. “I’m sorry, Cope. Really. I don’t want to—”
He rolled from the bed and to his feet. “Don’t want to, what? Kiss me? Respond to the feelings that I arouse in you? Admit that you want me, too?�
�� Bracing his knuckles against the mattress, he leaned to push his face close to hers. “Well, what exactly do you want, Deanna?”
Angered by the unwanted tears that rose, she dashed a hand beneath her eyes. “I was going to say I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He stared at her a long, heart-stopping moment, and the anger slowly drained from his face.
“Too late,” he said, and pushed away from the bed. “You did that when you left Texas.”
She swung her legs off the side of the bed. “Dang it, Cope! Why do you insist on making this so difficult? Why can’t you just accept the fact that I don’t want to marry you and go on with your life?”
“Because you are my life,” he replied. “Is that reason enough?”
She huffed a breath. “Don’t be ridiculous. We had an affair. A summer romance. End of story.”
He caught her hand and jerked her hard up against him. “No. What we had was more than that. I know it, and you know it. What I don’t understand is why you refuse to admit it.”
After giving herself adequate time to calm down and regain her composure, Deanna went in search of Cope. She found him busily sorting through the wires needed to connect his new television set to the cable.
“Cope?”
“What?” he snapped.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He spun on the balls of his feet, his mouth open, ready to lambaste her again.
Deanna threw up a hand. “No. Wait. Let me finish. What you said was true. What we shared was more than just a summer romance. But I never intended for you to fall in love with me.”
He stood. “Deanna—”
To the One I Love: That Old Familiar FeelingAn Older ManCaught by a Cowboy Page 25
