The headlines said it all.
Cooper Simon and Lee Holloway, Who Knew?
Simon Family Playboy Outed as Celebrated, Award-Winning Author Lee Holloway.
Simon Family Secrets Exposed. Get the Scoop on Lee Holloway.
It was a damn circus out there, and Cooper sat in his limo brooding, grateful not only for the darkened windows but for the quiet inside the car. He’d insisted on traveling alone, and his family knew enough to give him the space he required. Parked just back of where he was supposed to get out, he was still debating on whether or not to make an appearance. His agent, Seth, nearly had a coronary when he mentioned that particular fact.
In the end, his mother and Charlie, of all people, had convinced him to come out to Leicester Square for the premiere. Hell, his mother had pulled the Cancer card, said if she could drag her butt to the premiere he could as well. That was low. Her prognosis was excellent, her treatment done, and they both knew it. But it had seemed easier to say yes than to argue with two of the stubbornnest women he knew. Besides, he had a backup plan. He could always change his mind and slip away in the dark. No one would know any better.
So here he was, hiding in the backseat of a limo while around him chaos ensued. The crowds were ten people deep—at least. A loud round of cheers erupted, and he knew Beau and Betty had just exited their limo. There was just his brother, Maverick, along with Charlie and their mother ahead of Cooper. So what the hell was he going to do?
Restless, he kicked out his feet and pulled his cell phone from his pocket, but there was nothing there. No message. No missed phone call. No Morgan. He stared at the blank screen for a long time—as if his eyeballs could somehow make magic happen.
His finger trailed across the last number that had called. Holly. With a sigh, he shook his head. He’d spent a good chunk of his adult years hating her. Hating himself more. If life had taught him anything, it was that carrying around that kind of guilt and hatred was ill-advised. That kind of shit would eat a man alive.
Morgan had saved him. He just hoped Holly would find her own salvation. She’d said as much when they’d talked a few hours earlier.
Another round of cheers sounded from outside, but he did nothing. His driver had been instructed not to move forward unless told to, and Cooper glanced up, uncaring that the publicist was probably freaking the hell out.
His phone pinged just then, and he glanced down, his publicist, the crowd, the entire damn place forgotten as he skimmed the message. It was from his brother.
Get your ass out here.
Scowling, he was about to pocket it when another message came through. This time from Charlie.
You were right.
He stared at the words for a few moments and frowned. What the hell did she mean by that?
His phone pinged. Another message from Charlie.
Morgan’s eyes do change color in the sun.
Wait. What?
You should see it. So beautiful.
Cooper’s head shot up, and his hand was on the door, but the damn thing wouldn’t open. He yanked on it. “Davis, let me the hell out,” he growled.
“Would you like me to move up, sir?”
“I’d like you to open the goddamn door.” Frustrated and angry, he waited.
The lock clicked, and Cooper shot out of the limo, head cranked around as he searched ahead. The crowd roared, but he heard nothing. He marched down the path between the cars and the barricades, moving past security and that frantic publicist who looked as if she was, in fact, losing her mind. He searched the crowd on the red carpet. Saw his cousins Jack and Beau. Their wives Betty and Donovan. He spied Maverick and his mother off to the side, and Charlie…
His heart, already thumping like a damn drum, kicked up another notch, because his sister-in-law stood beside the most beautiful, engaging, infuriating, lovely, argumentative, and amazing woman he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Cooper pulled up short, his gaze hungrily taking in the long, loose waves that fell down her back. She wore a shade of green that clung to her curves, from the high neck to her hips to her feet. A gauzy wrap caressed bare shoulders, and her eyes… They glistened, shining from the flashes from the cameras that surrounded them.
She took his breath away.
Lips parted, she turned toward him, and he didn’t wait. Christ, the hounds of hell couldn’t keep him away. He strode forward, his long legs eating up that red carpet like a starving man at a banquet, and he didn’t stop until he had her in his arms. Until her warmth was pressed against him. Until her scent was inside him.
He held her for as long as he could, and then his hands slid up to cup her face so that he could see—really see—what was going on in her head. The crowd roared its approval, but he didn’t hear a thing. He was so focused on Morgan that a bucket of firecrackers wouldn’t have moved him.
“Hey,” she said, her voice throaty and more than a little raspy.
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You came.” He spoke roughly and was lucky to get the words out.
She nodded. “I read your book.” She smiled through glittery tears. “Your words…the way you saw me. I can’t explain how it made me feel.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I love you, and I don’t want to hide anymore.”
Cooper bent toward her. He groaned and slid his mouth across hers, his hunger and relief getting the better of him. He kissed her long and thoroughly. Until the crowd began to cheer, their voices and clapping louder than ever. He kissed her until his head spun. Until Morgan clung to him as if he was the only thing holding her up.
He kissed her because he knew, unequivocally, that she was his forever girl. Morgan Campbell was the one. He kissed her until she knew it as well.
When he finally dragged his mouth away, Maverick stood a few feet from him, grinning crazily. “You two keep that up and the damn movie will be done and over before you leave this red carpet.”
Cooper slid his hand over Morgan’s and threaded his fingers into hers. “This is going to be a crazy ride. Are you sure you’re up for it?”
Morgan didn’t miss a beat. “A normal girl would be crazy to even contemplate such a thing.”
“True.”
“You’re lucky, then. Because I’m not normal.”
Cooper Simon walked Morgan Campbell into the theater. He avoided everyone and pulled her into the very back where they could have some modicum of privacy. He held her in his arms, stroked her hair, and nuzzled her neck as his cousin Beau brought alive Soft Hands. A movie about a blind man who, in spite of everything thrown his way, found love and purpose and the ability to see the world through the eyes of his lover. His partner.
His forever girl.
Cooper finally knew what that kind of love felt like, and he was damn well never letting it go.
Epilogue
The house was not far from Cooper River in the French Quarter of Charleston. Beautifully kept, the Greek Revival was impressive, its wide porch welcoming. An iron fence surrounded the property and, once through the gate the path leading to the house was lined with black-eyed Susans, purple daisies, and marigolds. The smell of magnolia blossoms filled the air, and Cooper spotted a few bushes near the porch.
“I’m nervous.”
He glanced down at Morgan, his hand linked with hers, and paused at the edge of the porch.
The media frenzy hadn’t cooled off. The notoriety surrounding Cooper and Morgan, coupled with the massive success of Soft Hands, amped up the interest in the couple to a point where it became impossible to ignore. Paparazzi were everywhere, camped outside Cooper’s homes in Florida and California, the Simon family compound in the Keys, their place on Lake Muskoka. They’d even set up shop in Fisherman’s Landing.
It was a crazy roller coaster of a ride, but by the end of the month, Cooper knew he needed to get Morgan away from it all. His woman was one hell of a trouper, but he could see the fatigue starting. It was hard to ignore the photos and stories in print and online—most
of them respectful—but a handful were salacious and exploitive.
He was looking forward to the next month—four weeks with Morgan all to himself—but first they had some business to attend to.
“You ready?” he asked, watching her closely. Her skin glowed, her hair glistened, and those damn eyes that he’d like to drown himself in sparkled. Dressed simply in jeans, Birks, and a white blouse, she looked fresh and healthy and happy. Damn, but it made him feel good to think he was part of that.
Her fingers tightened in his grip. “What if we’ve got this wrong?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
The two of them made their way up the steps. Morgan fidgeted nervously while he waited for someone to answer his knock. They didn’t have to wait long, and a young woman, probably late teens, answered. She was a pretty little thing, with long blonde hair and big brown eyes. Eyes that widened into huge saucers about five seconds after opening the door.
“You guys look like…” she stammered, her face flushed pink as her gaze swept from Cooper to Morgan and then did a repeat. “Oh my God.” She practically squealed and glanced behind Cooper. “This is that TV series, right? Celebrity Show-Up?”
“Liliana, why on earth are you making such a racket? And who’s at our door on a Sunday?” A small, delicate woman appeared at Liliana’s side. Her hair was silver, her skin wrinkled with time, but the curve of her jaw was gentle, the sweep of her forehead elegant. Cooper saw the beauty she’d been in her youth, as well as the grace with which she’d aged.
“I’m so sorry. Let me apologize for my granddaughter. I have no idea what’s going on inside that head of hers, but I swear it sounds as if she’s taken leave of her senses.” The woman smiled at Morgan before glancing back up at Cooper. “Can I help you?”
“But, Nana, don’t you know who they are?”
The woman frowned and raised her eyebrows. “Why, if I knew who they were, child, I’d be inviting them in. Since I have no idea as to their names or what their business is, I’ll take the time and ask.”
“But, Nana—”
“Liliana, I swear you wear me out more than your mama did. Now go fetch me some cool iced tea and set it in the parlor.”
Cooper winked at the teenager and hid his smile when she blushed furiously, her tongue sufficiently tied, as she whirled around and headed toward the back of the house.
The older woman turned back to him, smoothing her hands down the front of her pale pink dress. “Now, what can I do for you folks?”
“We’re so sorry to bother you,” Morgan said. “I’m sure this will seem a bit bizarre, but are you by any chance from Maine?”
The woman smiled. “Why, yes I am. Do I know you?”
Cooper felt Morgan’s excitement. “No, sorry. I know this is going to sound strange, but we’ve—” She glanced up at Cooper, and he squeezed her hand gently. “We’ve been cleaning out the attic at the old McLaren estate in a small town called Fisherman’s Landing, and, well, we’ve found some things.”
The woman’s smile faltered. “Some things.”
Morgan nodded. “A lot of antiques. Paintings. Books. And this journal. It belonged to a V. Ploux.” Morgan reached into the satchel she’d flung over her shoulder and withdrew the leather-bound book. “Is this yours?”
The woman stared at the book for several seconds and then stepped back. “This requires more than a conversation at my door. Please come in.”
Cooper and Morgan followed the elegant lady to her parlor, and they both sat on a long, comfortable settee while their host took the decanter of iced tea from her granddaughter and filled three glasses. When Liliana protested, one stern look from her grandmother was all it took for the girl to exit the room.
“Now then, I suppose introductions are in order?”
Cooper extended his hand, a warm smile in place as he clasped her smaller one. “I’m Cooper Simon, and this is Morgan Campbell.”
The woman’s eyebrows furrowed. “Simon.” She leaned her head back and studied him intently. “You’re one of those Southern Kennedys.”
Cooper’s smile widened. His family had long been known by that moniker. He nodded. “I’m sorry to confirm, but yes, ma’am, I’m one of them.”
The lady’s eyes crinkled as she laughed. “Oh, dear boy. Don’t apologize. I think that young Jack is just what this country needs. I’ve got my money on that boy.”
“He’s one of the good ones.” Cooper felt pride in his cousin. The man was on the fast track to the White House.
The lady took a sip of iced tea. “Now then, I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Veronique Ploux-Gordon, and you’ve already met my granddaughter, Liliana.”
Morgan set down her glass. “Veronique, were you married to Thomas McLaren?”
Veronique’s smile slowly faded, and she shook her head. “No, I was not.”
Cooper glanced at Morgan and saw her surprise.
“Oh,” Morgan replied. “I… We thought you might have been the V. Ploux signed at the bottom of each entry. So this isn’t your journal?”
Again, Veronique shook her head. “No.” Her voice was a soft whisper as she took the book and ran her fingers over the spine. She opened the book and turned several pages, her bottom lip quivering slightly. “But I do know who it belonged to.”
For several long moments, Veronique was silent, and then she set the journal on the table between them and sat back with her iced tea. “This belonged to my sister, Valerie.”
“Oh.” Morgan leaned forward. “Where can we find Valerie?”
Veronique shook her head, putting down her glass of tea. “My dear sister passed away when she was thirty-two.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Cooper replied.
“Yes. It was a tragedy, you know. She was just getting her life back on track after…” Veronique looked pained. “Well, to be frank, after Thomas McLaren broke her heart and left her high and dry with a baby girl, no money, and a ruined reputation. The McLarens never claimed Thomas’s child as their own. He left for the Korean War and never came back.”
Cooper could see this wasn’t the happy story Morgan had been expecting. “Where is their child?”
Veronique sighed. “Her daughter was beautiful. Blonde, blue eyes, and the sweetest smile you could imagine. Valerie called her Angelique, but we all called her Angel. She married a man from Michigan, John Blackwell. He was from a well to do family. A good-looking marine, and they were so in love. She married young and had three boys, and then…” Veronique reached for her iced tea and took another sip.
“She was killed the night of her thirty-second birthday. A drunk driver went through an intersection, and Angel left three young boys behind.”
Morgan’s face was white, and Cooper slid his arm around her. “We’re sorry to hear that,” he murmured.
“Thank you.” Veronique sighed. “Life wasn’t kind to Valerie or her offspring. I often wonder what happened to those boys. After the accident, John didn’t want much to do with anyone, let alone a family he barely knew. I tried to keep in touch, but I think I reminded him too much of the woman he loved.” She paused, her eyes misted. “Those boys would be in their late twenties to mid-thirties now.”
She suddenly got to her feet. “Will you look at the time. I need to get to church.”
“Of course.” Cooper got to his feet. Morgan took a few seconds, her concern genuine.
“I’m so sorry. I know what it’s like to lose someone tragically. To never have the chance to say good-bye.”
Veronique reached for Morgan and took her hands between hers. “Life is life. It’s not cut-and-dried. It’s not clean edges and perfect circles. It’s imperfect and lovely and heartbreaking and tragic. It’s full of laughter and tears and pain and longing. The secret to living life the way God intended is for each and every one of us never to take for granted this gift we’ve been given.”
She patted Morgan’s hand. “I can see this young man loves you, and I see the same in you. T
hink of love like the garden it is. It’s a gift, but it’s fragile. It needs maintenance. Patience. Sacrifice. So take care of it.” She smiled at Cooper. “Take care of each other.”
“That’s the plan,” Cooper said. He nodded to the leather-bound journal on the table. “Please keep this.”
Veronique picked it up and cradled it against her chest. “Thank you.” Her eyes narrowed a bit. “What happened to the McLarens?”
“They didn’t take care of their garden,” Morgan said quietly.
There was a moment of silence, and then Veronique gave them a sad smile. “Well, that’s just heartbreaking, isn’t it?”
Two hours later, Cooper and Morgan were at a small airport outside the city. He’d leased a private jet, and they were just about to board. The wind had picked up, and Morgan’s hair flew all over the place. His gut tightened. God, he loved her hair.
She studied the plane and then excitedly grabbed his hand, and damn but he’d lease a plane every day of the year just to get that look. “Where are we going?”
He’d kept her in the dark on purpose. Just for this moment.
“How does Ireland sound?”
“Ireland?” She laughed, a full-on chuckle that died when her eyes swept up.
Cooper stepped closer. He dropped a kiss to her mouth. A sweet but hungry kiss that had everything inside him tightening with need. He pulled her closer, held her tighter, and then whispered in her ear, “I thought it would be the perfect place for us to spend our honeymoon.”
She stilled in his arms, and he cupped her face, because no way in hell was he missing this. He needed to see her.
“That’s if you’ll marry me.”
“I…what…” She stumbled over her words and then wrapped her arms around him, kissing every inch of his face and then finding his mouth again. When Cooper finally managed to pull away, he was breathing hard.
“Was that a yes?” he asked gruffly.
She nodded. “Yes.”
A sly, wicked smile curved his mouth as he moved her toward the plane. “You heard of the Mile High Club, right?”
She shook her butt in his face as she started up the stairs. “I’m sure you’re a bona fide member.”
Cooper (The Family Simon Book 6) Page 23
