“Hey.”
Startled, Morgan jumped as Cooper came up behind her. He stood a few inches away, yet his scent drifted on the breeze, and she swore she could feel the heat of his body. Shivering, she hid the shudder that rolled over her body, inhaling another shot of air and taking him deeper into her lungs. Dressed in jeans and leather, with a hint of a five-o’clock shadow on his jaw and dark mirrored aviators, Cooper Simon looked dangerously hot.
He slid the glasses off his nose, and the breath caught in the back of her throat—because the look in his eyes was doing all kinds of weird things to her.
Suddenly nervous, she licked her lips. “I…” God. Wait for it. Here comes the word vomit.
“Did the groundskeeper—Mr. Delaney, I think is his name—did he tell you about the ghost that haunts this particular lighthouse? Because it’s a pretty interesting story. I mean, I suppose most ghost stories are, interesting, that is—”
Oh God, stop babbling.
“But this one, well, this one is particularly gory.”
She paused, drawing in a big gulp of air while a slow smile curved Cooper’s lip. And was that a… How in hell had she never noticed that particular dimple?
“He never said a thing.” Cooper’s voice was low and warm, and a fresh crop of goose bumps rolled across her flesh.
Mouth dry, she could barely continue. “Yes, well, supposedly there was a couple that lived here, in the groundskeeper’s house. The woman was from a well-to-do family in Boston, and they didn’t approve of the match. They cut her out of their lives and declared her dead to the family, and though it hurt her, she moved out to this island with her husband, thinking that love was enough.”
A dark cloud passed overhead, taking with it the sun, and she grabbed at the edge of her jacket, pulling it tighter.
“As it turns out, love wasn’t enough. She had a miscarriage that first winter.” Morgan’s gaze sought his. “Can you imagine? All alone out here in the dead of a New England winter, losing your child with no one to help you except your husband. She would have been so afraid of dying. Afraid of the pain, and I’m sure she wanted her mother.” Throat suddenly tight, she had to pause a few seconds before continuing. “By springtime, the young wife was pregnant again, but this time, she didn’t want to stay here. She didn’t want to be alone and afraid. She wanted to go back to her family. Her mother. Her husband refused, and they argued, and fearing for her safety, she fled to the bluff.” Morgan glanced to the edge. “Her husband followed her out, and in a fit of rage, he pushed her over the edge and she fell onto the rocks below.”
If Cooper was shocked by her story, he didn’t show it. Instead, he inched closer. So close she could see his thick, sooty lashes, the subtle flair of his nostrils. That damn dimple that had appeared from nowhere.
“Later that night, unable to live with what he’d just done, the killing of his wife and unborn child, he climbed to the top of the lighthouse and, by the light of the moon, shot himself in the head. They say some nights you can see his ghost wandering the edge of the bluff, searching for his wife and child. Others claim to have seen a headless man near the lighthouse. Always searching for his wife and never finding her.”
Cooper was silent, and Morgan stared up at him for several long seconds. His pupils were dilated, those gorgeous eyes of his all the more intense because of it.
“You have a knack for storytelling.”
She licked her dry lips. “Apparently, so do you.” She frowned, thinking back to their previous conversation. He hadn’t told her anything about his writing career, not really. There was still so much about this man she didn’t know. She opened her mouth, intent on asking for more details but he edged even closer. So close now, she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek.
She froze, all senses on high alert because the look on his face made her insides quake.
“Don’t.” One simple word, yet the tone in his voice was anything but. It was edged with something dark and sinful and wicked.
“Don’t what?” she managed to get out.
“No more talking.”
Her skin felt electrified, as if the sun was sending down little shock waves that sparked against her flesh.
“I thought you liked talking,” she replied, tongue darting out to moisten her lips.
“I do,” he said roughly, planting himself firmly in front of her. “But right now there’re other things on my mind. Other things I like doing a hell of a lot more than talking.”
She knew where they were headed, and God help her, at the moment she so didn’t care. Morgan might be starting down a dangerous road, and chances were it would come back and bite her in the ass, but right now all she could focus on was how good it felt to be responsible for the look on Cooper Simon’s face.
“Other things.” She swallowed, dragging her gaze from his mouth.
He held her gaze a heartbeat longer and then bent lower. “Things I’ve been thinking about all morning.”
His hands slid into the hair on either side of her head, and he cradled her there. For one heartbeat, their eyes met and held, and then with a groan, he slid his warm mouth across hers. The electricity in the air was potent and she swore she heard it sizzle as currents rolled over her. Around her. In her. She ignored everything including the groundskeeper. There was only Cooper.
She tilted her head and opened her mouth, welcoming the hot thrust of his tongue as he tasted her. He pulled her closer, so close she felt his beating heart against her fingertips. So close his hardness pressed into her and an ache bloomed between her legs. Like an old friend, desire swept over her, and she groaned, clutching Cooper as he trailed a line of fire down her throat and back up until he claimed her mouth once more.
Good God, but the man could kiss. He used his tongue and lips, at first gently, and then growing more aggressive.
And his hands… They were everywhere, stroking her butt, cradling her there and pressing himself into her. She was drowning. Spiraling. Awash in sensations long forgotten. And she didn’t give a damn.
The kiss went on forever. No more than the touching of lips, hands—the melting of bodies. No more, and yet so much more. Her skin was on fire, that pulse between her legs burning. And for the first time in forever, she wanted nothing between her and this man. Cotton and denim be damned.
She moved her hips impatiently, and with a curse, Cooper stilled.
“You’ve got to stop that,” he whispered against her mouth. He rested his forehead against hers, and Morgan drew in several ragged breaths until she finally managed to calm her heart.
The two of them stood together for several quiet moments, and then Morgan spoke. Was it her subconscious talking? Did it matter?
“Why are you doing this?” She swallowed hard. “I mean, with me.”
Did she want to hear his answer?
Throat tight, she fought a multitude of emotions that made her knees buckle, and if not for Cooper, she would have fallen on her butt.
She felt his hand on her chin slowly forcing her head up so that she had no option but to look into his eyes. What she saw there scared her. It scared her because something inside her jumped in response. Something that had long been dead.
“Is it so inconceivable for me to want you?”
Was that even a question? The man was part of a family known throughout America. There was a reason they were referred to as the Southern Kennedys. The Simon name spoke of dynasty and privilege. Of Miami Beach, LA, and New York City. Fisherman’s Landing was only a pit stop for Cooper. He didn’t belong here any more than she belonged at some fancy political party or gala or whatever the heck it was people like him passed their time with.
And aside from all that, there was the obvious. She thought of the images and articles she saw when she’d googled him.
“I’m nothing like the women you’ve been with.”
He was silent for a few moments as if considering her words. “I know,” he said softly. His voice was like an intimate caress, and he
bent close to her ear. “You’re a whole new kind of adventure. Come back to my place tonight.” A pause. “Stay with me.”
Just then, her phone pinged in her pocket. And then again. It might have been a cowardly move, but Morgan jumped at the chance for some space. She needed to think. Needed to know if she was insane for even considering Cooper’s request. How could a night with him not end in disaster?
“I should get this.”
Cooper swept one last kiss across her mouth and stepped back. “I’ve got to touch base with the pilot, but we can head back to the mainland when you’re ready. We can hang out here for as long as you want. We can take things slow.” His face darkened—dangerously so—and his voice was low. Sexy. “Think about tonight.”
She watched him walk away from her and, with trembling fingers, retrieved her cell phone. A glance down showed two bars and her sister’s number. Fingering the device for a few more seconds, she hesitated and then, before she could change her mind, held her cell to her ear and walked a few more paces toward the bluff.
“Hey,” she said, watching an abnormally large seagull with wings the color of charcoal. It dove toward the frothy waves and disappeared beneath the water.
“About time.” Sara sounded out of breath and more than a little annoyed. “I’ve been calling you for the last four hours.”
“I texted you and told you I was fine and would be home later.”
“Yeah, well, I just came from Dad’s. He’s pissed.”
The seagull rose into the air and circled, calling out to his cohorts, crying again as an entire horde of the birds descended. Morgan followed its path, absently tucking back a strand of hair off her face.
“Good,” she murmured, turning as the gull changed course. She needed to focus on something other than the imprint of Cooper’s kiss against her mouth. The feel of him at her neck.
“Good? He’s, like, really pissed. He said you poured water over him.”
Absently, she nodded. “I did. An entire jug straight out of the fridge.”
“Well, why in hell did you do that?”
“He was passed out cold, and I…” Morgan straightened her shoulders as if facing off with her sister in person. “I lost it.”
A low whistle sounded in her ear. “You lost it.”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t lie. I kinda wish I was there to see it. He’s been such a bear lately, I’m sure he deserved it.”
A small smile tugged at Morgan’s mouth, though it disappeared just as quick. “He just… I just got…tired of everything.”
“He said you didn’t come home last night. He seemed worried.”
“Apparently not worried enough to call me.”
Silence filled her ear. It stretched for the longest time, but Morgan didn’t have much else to say. She took another step toward the bluff. Where was her seagull?
“Are you really with Cooper Simon?”
She froze and bit her lip, glancing back at the man in question. He was still chatting with the groundskeeper and hadn’t made it over to the chopper.
“Who told you that?”
“I was at the bakery this morning, and Melinda told me that Mrs. Delmonte saw the two of you in Dunn Harbor.”
“We went to La Spagatt.”
“And that you guys ran into Nathan and Christy.”
Tight-lipped, mood decidedly not as happy as a few minutes earlier, Morgan gripped her cell. “We did.”
A few moments passed.
“Good,” Sara replied, her voice soft. “I’m glad Mr. Hot-as-hell Cooper Simon was with you. I bet Christy’s freaking eyes nearly fell out of her head.” That was said with relish. After Nathan and Morgan broke up, Sara’s feelings toward Morgan’s former best friend were frosty to say the least.
Morgan expelled a long, hard breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding in and winced as a wave of dizziness rolled over her.
“Morgan?”
“I’m here.”
“You okay?”
Okay was a relative term, but at the moment, she was pretty sure it applied to her. “Yep.”
“So did her eyes nearly bug out of her head?” Sara chuckled.
“Well, if they did, I missed it.”
“Huh.” A pause. “Nathan called me this morning.”
Wait. What? That was totally unexpected. “Why?” The word was torn from her, and she found herself straining to hear her sister’s response over the cries from the gulls and the sound of the waves hitting the rocks below.
“I don’t know. I didn’t pick up, and he didn’t leave a message, but he called three times, so it seems pretty obvious to me why he wanted to talk.”
With a small frown, Morgan turned as the helicopter roared to life. Cooper stared at her from across the clearing, and even though he was at least one hundred feet away, she felt the intensity of his gaze as surely as if he stood right in front of her. New shots of fire surged over her skin, and she tugged on the collar of her sweater.
“Morgan?”
“Yeah,” she replied, distracted, confused, hot, and way more aroused than she’d like to be.
“He still has feelings for you.”
“Who?” She jerked back as her sister’s voice filled her ear.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sara sounded annoyed.
“Yes.”
“I’m talking about Nathan. I think he still has feelings for you.”
Morgan thought of the text messages he’d left this morning. We need to talk. “God,” she muttered. Nathan was the last person on the planet she wanted to talk to.
“Morgan?”
Her seagull swooped down only a few feet from her and then disappeared below the bluff. So bold and daring. So wild and free from constraint. Maybe it was time for her to do something totally out of character. Maybe it was time for her to live a little, to see if she could dance along the edge and not fall. Maybe it was finally time for her to deal with some of the ghosts from her past. Deal with them and move the hell on.
Cooper watched her, hands shoved into the pockets of his worn denim, the black leather jacket lending an air of danger that she liked. Heck, if she was honest? Not only did she like it a lot, she liked him.
And yet…could she get past her hang-ups? Let someone in, even if it was only for this moment? For tonight? She thought of the heat in his gaze, and an answering burn erupted in the pit of her stomach.
She didn’t think. She just acted. She was about to embark on what just might be the stupidest thing she’d ever done, but she didn’t give a rat’s ass. On account of the no-thinking thing.
With an abrupt turn, she started toward Cooper. “I gotta go, Sara. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? It’s Saturday. I thought we were doing dinner. I didn’t make plans tonight because we were doing dinner.”
“Not tonight.”
“You’re not going home?”
“No,” she whispered and then pocketed the phone. She ignored the twinge in her leg and picked up the pace.
Overhead, the seagull cried out, swooping across the bluff one last time before diving downward toward the churning sea. It dove beneath the waves before surfacing again, and as the sunlight dappled the water with waves of sparkling diamonds, the seagull took flight and disappeared altogether.
21
Morgan Campbell talked a lot when she was nervous. Cooper wasn’t complaining—he liked watching her. Her eyes came alive, and that adorable mouth was something to behold. The flush in her cheeks gave her skin a soft glow, and occasionally, a small dimple on the right side appeared. He liked that dimple.
He’d spent the entire day with her and had learned a few things.
Morgan Campbell didn’t like peas. She ate chocolate-peanut-butter-chunk ice cream like it was going out of style, and was ambidextrous. She believed in God, was a card-carrying Democrat, couldn’t carry a tune to save her life, and was an avid fan of horror movies. She’d won a square dance competition in the fifth grad
e with a boy named Johnny and had been valedictorian at her high school grad. She’d majored in history, and though she’d been to Europe several times, she’d never made it to Ireland, which was the one place on the planet she longed to visit.
“There’s this pub there that’s been open since 1198 if you can believe it! Seriously. 1198.”
“What was that?” He smiled at the look on her face and secretly fist-pumped when she blushed to the cutest shade ever.
“In Dublin. This pub called The Brazen Head. It hasn’t been closed since the day it opened.” Her grin widened. “Did I mention it opened In 1198? I’d love to go there one day and have a pint of Guinness.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I thought you said you didn’t like Guinness.”
“True.” She giggled. “But how can you not down at least one pint of the stuff while in Dublin?”
I’ll take you there. The thought rolled through his head, and for a second, he thought he’d vocalized it. When he realized he hadn’t, Cooper relaxed a bit, eyes still on the woman who’d managed to capture his attention for longer than any other in recent memory. She was funny, charming, smart as hell, and her giggle was like soft rain falling on the roof at his place in Florida. It gathered momentum until it became a full-blown chuckle you couldn’t help but laugh along to.
He liked making her laugh, and he sure as hell wanted to make her moan.
As he stared across the table at her and toyed with his wineglass, his thoughts took a decidedly wicked turn. God, the things he wanted to do to her. The sounds he wanted to hear falling from her lips as he settled himself deep inside her. The look he wanted to see on her face
when he made her come. The feel of her around him. Tight. Wet. Hot.
He knew it would be good. Screw that. He knew it would be smoking hot.
He pushed his wineglass away and gave himself a quick mental shake, because he needed to go slow with this one. And going slow was going to be hard. He leaned back in his chair, watching the play of light on her skin from the nearby fireplace. She was speaking, but her voice trailed off, words falling away like wind dying in the trees, and the two of them stared at each other for so long, the silence became a big thing that pressed into him.
Cooper (The Family Simon Book 6) Page 14
