“Come here.” She held out her arms, inviting him to her.
He crawled to her and their mouths instantly collided as his hands went on a frantic journey, brushing along her smooth arms, the sides of her slender waist and hips. He pulled at the front clasp of her bra, releasing her beautiful breasts. “Cooke,” he groaned as he touched and traced, then lapped and suckled at her aroused nipples. She arched, whimpering as he inched his way down, kissing her stomach, ready to turn up the heat. He moved to the floor, kneeling by the edge of the bed, and grabbed hold of her legs, yanking her forward and she gasped. He lifted her hips and invaded her with his tongue.
She jerked and moaned, and her thighs contracted. “Tucker. Oh my god, Tucker.”
He’d never heard anything better. He plunged again, and her fingers clutched in his hair as she cried out long and loud, spasming, pouring around him.
Her gasps filled the room as she rode out her orgasm, and he slid his fingers along her hot, wet skin, tracing, exploring the most secret spots of Wren as her stomach clenched and her muscles shuddered with each hurried breath. He continued his discovery, using teasing strokes, waiting for her to come down from the first high.
She relaxed, and her hands slid to the bed. Their eyes locked, then he shoved two fingers deep and used his mouth, revving her up for the second time. Her brows furrowed and she gripped the comforter, arching her back, tipping her head, and went flying. Writhing, bucking, she called for him.
He started his way up, leaving open-mouthed kisses over her hips and waist, between the valley of her breasts, wanting the rest of her. Their gazes met again as she cupped his face, drawing his mouth to hers. The kiss started slow but quickly turned urgent as she slid her palms down his back and clutched his ass through denim.
He ground himself against her, savoring the feel of Wren’s breasts pressed to his chest and the rest of her hot body beneath his. She reached between them, pulled at the snap on his jeans, and unzipped, tugging his clothing past his hips.
He helped her slide his pants off and tossed them to the floor. She stroked him, cool fingers against hot skin, and he hissed out a breath, resting his forehead on hers as a rush of goose bumps covered his skin. He’d wanted this, Wren’s hands all over him, but there was more. “Wren,” he groaned. “I need you.”
She brought his mouth back to hers, and he pushed himself inside her, fisting his hands against the bed as he moved slowly, savoring her hot, tight wetness.
She clutched his shoulders, whimpering as he held her gaze and thrust deep.
She moaned as his movements grew hurried with the urging of her hips. She slid her hands along his sides and her fingers curled against his waist, clutching as her breathing grew rapid. “I’m going to—I’m going to… Oh, God.”
He pumped faster, and she stiffened, crying out. He captured her mouth once more as he pushed deeper, consumed by a rush of heat. Grunting, he exploded, falling with her.
Minutes passed while he rested his head in the crook of her neck, breathing in her sexy scent while she caressed the skin along the back of his shoulders, and their hearts pounded the same rapid rhythm. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, smiling as he brushed away the damp hair along her forehead. He’d wanted her from the first moment—exactly like this—but never did he imagine it would mean so much. “Cooke, I—”
The wind kicked up with a powerful gust, and they both jumped.
“It’s snowing again,” she said in utter amazement.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Looks like it. Probably will off and on over the next couple days.”
She let loose an incredulous laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much.”
“Welcome to Utah.”
She smiled as she touched the fading bruise at his temple. “We never got around to the firewood.”
He grinned. “I think we kept each other plenty warm.”
She chuckled. “I can’t argue with you there.”
“I’ll go get enough to get us through tonight.” He kissed her chin, then nibbled. “How about you stay here just like this?”
She smiled again as her fingers wandered to his hair. “How about you get the wood and I’ll make dinner? Ms. Hayes brought more than fresh fruits and vegetables when she stopped by. I think I saw fixings for beef stew.”
“And that’s the beauty of cooking with gas. You’ve got a deal.” He rolled off her, untangling himself from her warm body. “Who needs electricity anyway?”
“Me.” She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees.
He studied her, watching as she pulled back. Even after what they’d shared, he was going to have to work for her trust. “Hey.” He reached out, gripping her chin between his fingers. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Push me away before the sheets have even cooled.”
She eyed him as he moved to stroke her jaw.
“I’m not going anywhere. There’s something here. There’s something between us.” He leaned forward and kissed her lips. “You might want to get used to that.” He got up, grabbed his clothes, and left the room. She needed time to think about what he’d just said.
The light flickered and the kitchen plunged into darkness…again. Wren sighed as she scrubbed at the soup bowls, trying to finish the dishes before the water she’d heated turned cold. The thirty seconds of power had been the longest stretch yet—long enough for her to get her hopes up that the electricity might be here to stay. She needed the Internet or her cell signal back. Either would do; she just had to talk to Patrick. The Movenbeck party was well underway at this point. The agony of not knowing how the install had gone was driving her crazy. She could only pray everything went as planned—hopefully better. The Movenbeck project and Lenora’s pool house were worth fifty grand to Cooke Interiors, and word of mouth from a job well done was priceless. She’d had several new referrals in the weeks since Lenora’s impromptu get-together in the newly renovated library.
Wren turned on the tap and rinsed away the suds with icy cold water, then dried the items she’d washed. The light winked on, then off just as quickly. “Oh come on.” She eyed her phone in the candlelight as she shoved away the last of the dishes. Unable to resist, she picked it up, checking for service as she’d done several times throughout the past twelve hours. Still nothing. “Damn it.” How was she supposed to work like this?
With a frustrated huff, she set down the cell and grabbed the washcloth submerged in the warm, soapy water. She wrung it dry and wiped down the counters, pausing as the floor creaked in one of the rooms beyond. The flicker of candlelight cast shadows about the kitchen, and she shuddered. The house was so quiet, and the wind still howled, pounding at the glass, giving her the creeps.
Tucker left her sometime ago to complete his nightly walkthrough. He was somewhere among the maze of rooms, checking windows and doors, making certain the house was secure. Despite all that, tonight she had the willies.
It was tempting to seek him out and make conversation to drown out the worst of the relentless winds, but the afternoon had changed things. She’d tried to keep the evening light while they enjoyed beef stew by the fire, but it had been a struggle.
A wave of flutters erupted in her belly as she thought of their sexy romp—again. Her dry spell was definitely over and her itch officially scratched—and she wanted more. “Stupid,” she muttered, scolding herself as she plunked the washcloth back in the suds, then wrung it dry to attack the stubborn beef broth on the stovetop.
She shouldn’t have slept with him, plain and simple, but she’d quickly lost her resolve to keep her distance when he captured her mouth by the front door. The gentle kiss of last night had been replaced with urgent heat. Desire had instantly consumed her, and she soon found out that Tucker was the best damn lover she’d ever had.
Now that everything was said and done, she could only regret that hormones had overruled practicality. If she could take today back, she would. It would’ve been better to go through life wondering how sex with Tucker could be, but now she knew what it felt like to have his lips brand her skin and his powerful body cover hers. But more than that was the way her heart had flip-flopped as he stared in her eyes while he moved inside her. She’d never felt as connected to anyone as she did in that moment.
The lights flickered again, and she sighed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Sex was supposed to be mutually satisfying and uncomplicated—at least it always had been, but this entire situation was growing thornier by the second. She’d never been in search of romance or a deep, emotional connection, yet Tucker had given her a taste of both, and she craved another sample.
Sighing, she gave the washcloth a final rinse and pulled the stopper from the drain. Why couldn’t he keep it simple? Why did he have to insist there was more here? There wasn’t. She refused to get mixed up with any man. Game over. The end. She and Tucker were not the next Sarah and Ethan or Morgan and Hunter. What her family and friends had was rare, and something she had no interest in.
More often than not, relationships were built on lies and infidelity. She’d witnessed her parent’s farce of a marriage firsthand. If Grant and Rene Cooke had ever been faithful to one another… They hadn’t. So what was the point? Never ever would she put her heart in someone else’s hand for them to discard so easily. Alone was better—always. She was too busy with her career for anything more than a simple date and casual roll in the hay every now and again.
So, maybe Tucker made her feel something powerful and intimate and terrifying, but she would get over it. They’d had sex—nothing more, nothing less. Tucker said he wasn’t going anywhere, but he would move along quickly enough when he realized they’d had a one and done. Sure, they had heat, there was no doubt about it, but eventually heat burnt itself out. Where would Tucker be when the flames cooled? She wasn’t willing to stick around and find out, so their intimate relationship was going to stop right here.
They needed to talk and reach an understanding before this situation got any more out of hand—and there was no time like the present. He was bound to be finished with his walkthrough by now. He’d been gone a while. She blew out the candles scattered around the kitchen and living room, carrying the flashlight Tucker had left with her. Where was he, anyway?
“Tucker?” She walked passed the bathroom, home gym, and office, searching, but he wasn’t there. “Tucker?” she called again, but received no answer. Frowning, she moved through the dark, stopping at the dim glow of light coming from the forbidden hallway. “Tucker?”
He still didn’t answer.
Swallowing, she glanced over her shoulder, growing more freaked out by the second, and dashed down the long hall, despite his requests that she not. She slowed as she spotted him standing in the doorway of the second room on the left, staring. “Tucker?”
His gaze snapped to hers in the shadows of their flashlights.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he replied dully.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
She scrutinized his distant, devastated eyes before he turned his attention back to the room. Curious, she moved to his side and studied the pink-and-white striped bedding and pale, mint-green walls. Funky white painted letters spelled out S-T-A-C-I along the side of a closet, and photographs decorated dressers, the nightstand, and a large portion of a writing desk. A teenage girl’s bedroom frozen in time.
The light in the hall blinked on, casting a strong glow into the room. “This was your sister’s room.” She stated the obvious because she didn’t understand. All of the pictures she could see were of Staci and Tucker and their parents, she assumed, or groups of teenager. In none of the photos did Tucker or his sister look older than sixteen or seventeen—like in the picture by the pool. How old was Staci when she died? Why did his parents keep a shrine to their daughter? “Tucker?”
He looked at her again, but he didn’t see her. He was lost somewhere in his memories.
Despite her plans to keep her distance, she took his hand, unable to stand his obvious anguish.
He squeezed her fingers. “I finally made myself open her door. I haven’t been able to.”
“I don’t—”
“She was everything good. She was the best part of us. A part of me died right along with her.”
Her heart hurt for him, and she pressed his palm to her cheek.
“I heard a bump, but I kept on listening to my music. I thought she was just being clumsy as usual.” A smile ghosted his mouth. “Mom always said they should’ve named her Grace. I didn’t set the alarm that night. I should’ve checked on her, but I didn’t know. Everything might’ve been different if I had known.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “How old was Staci when she died?”
“Sixteen. Just a couple days after the picture was taken.”
She studied the numerous photographs in the room, struggling to decipher the one he spoke of. “Which one?”
“The one in the closet.”
She glanced at the closed closet doors. Tucker wasn’t making any sense, but then she understood. The picture by the pool she found the other day. “The one in your parents’ room?”
“Yes.”
She took a startled step back from the bedroom as everything finally made sense. Staci died in Park City. Right here in this room. “What—what happened?”
“We were supposed to meet JT and Jasmine at ten. She wasn’t up yet. She was always awake before me. I made us bagels and opened her door and…she was dead.”
“Oh, God, Tucker.” He’d not only lost his sister but discovered her lifeless body. “I’m so—I’m so incredibly sorry.” Stepping forward, she closed the door, as if that would somehow banish his pain, and pulled him away from the room. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated as she enveloped him in a hug, laying her head on his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, clinging.
The lights blinked once, twice, sending them into the dark.
She looked up, into his eyes. “Come on. Let’s go down to our room.” She wanted him away from here.
He nodded.
She held his hand, and they walked away from the dread of the forbidden hallway.
Chapter 11
The jukebox rolled into another country song as Tucker plucked up the last enormous beer-battered onion ring on his plate and took a bite. “This was a hell of an idea, Cooke. A hell of an idea,” he said over his mouthful of greasy heaven.
“I know.” She grinned and bit into her own golden-crusted ring. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being trapped in that house for another second. I’ll never take electricity for granted again.” She tipped her cellphone up, glancing at the screen in the candlelight.
“Anything?” He gestured to her phone.
“No.”
Their waitress came by with a pitcher of water. “How is everything?”
“The burger’s great.” Tucker smiled as he glanced at Beth’s nametag. “Have you heard any updates on the power situation?”
“The question of the day.” She smiled.
Tucker grinned. “I bet.”
“Word is it shouldn’t be much longer, thank the good Lord above.” She picked up the glass, poured water, and set it back down. “The power crews are making progress. Rumor has it the resorts might be up and running later this afternoon and hopefully the rest of town by this evening.” She repeated the process with Wren’s glass. “The boys back in the kitchen are fed up with the generators and our limited menu. The dishwasher has to hand-wash everything, and I’m about finished with serving food by candlelight.
I think if Bobby told us we couldn’t run the juke I might quit.” She winked.
“See, Cooke? You should be up and running by tomorrow.”
Wren tipped her phone up yet again.
“Cell tower’s damaged, Honey.”
Wren wrinkled her nose. “I’ve noticed.”
“Heard they’re working on that too. You know, a couple ladies were able to get off a few texts when they were in earlier.”
“I tried that.” She picked up her phone. “But I’ll try again.”
“Signals pretty weak. If you go stand over by the window you might have more luck.”
“Thanks.” Wren immediately got to her feet and made her way to the window Beth had pointed to.
“You folks about finished here, or can I bring you some dessert? We don’t have much—hot chocolate and maybe a couple pieces of apple pie left.”
“I think we’re good with the check.”
“Sure thing, honey.” Beth wandered away to stop at her next table as Tucker watched Wren’s thumbs type rapidly. He was as ready as everyone else for electricity to be restored. He hadn’t had a chance to check in with Owens or Ethan for almost forty-eight hours—definitely not ideal. He’d feel better if he knew what was going on with Wren’s case.
Wren started back to the table, grinning. “I was able to get one bar. I got a text through.” She took her seat. “The Movenbeck job went off without a hitch, and Lenora’s behaving herself. Well, sort of.”
“That’s good stuff, Cooke.”
“Heck yeah it is.” She picked up another onion ring and took a big bite. “I’ve been so worried,” she said with her mouth full.
“I know.”
She tipped her head back and let loose a relieved laugh. “I can’t even tell you how much weight just lifted off my shoulders.” She wiped her hands on her napkin. “Patrick has a breakfast meeting with Lenora and her gardener in the morning, but I’m not going to think about that right now.”
Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) Page 15
