Cooper (The Family Simon Book 6) (15 page)

M
organ came awake slowly
and took a few seconds to let her eyes adjust to the early morning gloom. She was in Cooper’s bed, and he lay beside her on his back, one arm splayed above his head, the other flung over her belly. The sheets were a tangle around both of them, and she groaned a little as she tried to move her legs.

She was sore—with a wince, she managed to move her right leg—holy hell was she sore. She wasn’t exactly sure what time they’d headed up to Cooper’s room—she only knew they’d been well onto fourths, and fifths. Each of them giving and taking until they’d exhausted themselves.

She stifled a groan. Of course, even then Cooper had come up with another, more inventive way of making love. No wonder she was sore.

She glanced at him, her gaze moving hungrily across the planes of his face. Shadows crept over his high cheekbones and drifted low across his strong jaw. Hair disheveled and sporting several days’ worth of whiskers, he looked sexy as hell. And that mouth, holy hell, his mouth should be insured for millions of dollars, because no one could give pleasure like that.

Still fast asleep, his features were relaxed, and she saw the boy he used to be. God, he was beautiful.

Beautiful.
He’d used that word the night before. Beautiful and Morgan were two words that had been divorced for years.

Suddenly anxious, Morgan carefully detangled her limbs and lifted his arm from her belly. Carefully, she tossed aside the covers and, not bothering to cover herself, slipped from the bed. It was a throwback to the person she used to be, but it was a throwback she didn’t take the time to think about.

A glance at the clock on the table beside the bed told her it was early, barely six in the morning. Stretching muscles that ached and wincing at the sharp pain in her leg, she wandered over to the window, limping a bit. The pain was worth it. A smile tugged at her mouth.

Totally worth it.

She parted the flimsy curtains and spied a robin staring back at her from its perch in the tree across the way. The bird ruffled its feathers, cocked its head, and then, without warning, took off. She watched until it disappeared from sight and then let the curtain fall back into place.

The pile of books she’d spied weeks ago when she’d first cleaned Cooper’s place was still at the end of his bed, and she took a closer look. She ran her fingers down the spines of them, stopping at a few, mouth pursed in amusement. Cooper Simon had an eclectic reading habit. Everything from Aldous Huxley’s
Doors of Perception
, to
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
, Anne Rice, and Nicholas Sparks. Her grin widened when she spied a hardback by Nora Roberts.

She glanced back at the bed, frowning. She knew nothing about this man. Only what she’d read online. There were no pictures on the dresser—hell, there was still a suitcase full of clothes opened and propped up near the window. Nothing personal for her to tap into and nothing personal that spoke of permanence.

He’d be leaving soon, of that there was no doubt, and Morgan had to be okay with that.

An ache bloomed inside her, and she moved away from the dresser, gaze wandering the room until she spied a large mirror leaning against the wall beside the door. She’d not noticed it the night before, and with a few halting steps found herself standing in front of it.

It looked like an antique, with a heavy frame, and at first she looked everywhere but at her reflection. She noticed the paint on the ceiling was peeling, and that the worn wooden planks beneath her feet had been recently refinished. Wallpaper still adorned three of the four walls, and the door to her immediate right led to the bathroom.

Heart picking up speed, Morgan stood trembling. How long did she stand there like an idiot, naked and exposed? She had no idea. It could have been a few seconds or a few minutes. Eventually, her gaze fell back to the mirror, and her large eyes stared back at her.

For someone who’d avoided the sun like the plague over the last few years, she wasn’t as pale as she thought she’d be. Nope. Her skin still tingled from a night of lovemaking and… Her gaze narrowed as she peered closer. Good God, was that whisker burn on her inner thigh? Cheeks warm, she stood straight and, with a now-critical eye, studied the image reflected back at her.

Her long legs were no longer muscular, honed from hours of track, but they were toned and athletic. She was softer now, rounded in the hips, probably from age and the fact that she no longer ran, but her stomach was flat. She trailed her fingers down her lower belly, groaning once more when she spied the telltale signs that Cooper had spent more than his fair share of time downtown.

She’d never had big breasts, but they were firm and rounded, her nipples a light shade of pink. Her hair hung down past her shoulders, and with trembling fingers, she shoved a large chunk of it behind her and turned slightly, eyes on the dappled, damaged skin that covered her right side, shoulder and arm.

No longer was it a shade of angry red. Not like the last time she’d actually studied herself this way. The skin grafts and surgeries had helped, and yet the imperfection was still hard for her to take. She would have turned away, except Cooper sidled up behind her and slipped his strong arms around her waist, effectively trapping her against him.

Slowly, her gaze moved upward until she met his in the mirror. For a moment, she caught sight of something that made her freeze. It wasn’t pity or disgust. It was pain. A reflection of her own.

Never had she felt so exposed, and she swallowed thickly, trying to get rid of that damp lump that kept appearing at the most inconvenient times.

His arms tightened, and she felt the heat of him as he drew her backward. He dropped a kiss to her damaged shoulder, and her heart hurt at the sight. Suddenly rocked by a hoard of emotion and memory, she began to tremble.

“It was a car accident,” she said, the words finding their way out, even though her throat was tight and her teeth clamped down. “I was home from school. Had just won a big meet and was eligible to qualify for the Olympics.” She paused, fighting the tears that stung. “I was so happy. Nathan was coming home, and I…I had everything I wanted. Until I didn’t.”

She paused, hating the taste of bitterness and fear. God, she was so sick of it.

“We’d gone shopping that day. My mom and I. She didn’t want to go. The weather was bad, and they’d been saying all day another storm was coming our way, but she’d promised to buy me a new dress for my engagement party, and I had to have it that day. Nathan and I were announcing the following evening. We were at the mall for a few hours and left the city for home at four o’clock. I remember the skies were angry gray, full of snow clouds. And the winds were high. So strong it whistled and whipped ice pellets at us. I can still hear that sound. It’s one of the reasons I hate New England so much.”

She exhaled. “Mom wanted to stop at a small town up the way. She knew the storm was worsening, but I wanted to see Nathan so bad, I begged her to let me keep going. Told her we’d be fine. Told her the truck was four-wheel drive and nothing could touch us. We were ten minutes from home when my cell phone pinged. I knew it was Nathan. Knew he was worried because we were nearly an hour late with the storm.”

Throat tight, she pushed back that damn lump and plunged forward. She hadn’t told anyone this. Ever.

“I glanced down at my cell. I had it nestled in the compartment between the two front seats. It was only for a second. I saw his name, and then we hit a patch of black ice.” She paused and caught his gaze in the mirror. “Have you ever hit black ice?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “Our car skidded sideways, and I don’t remember much after that. I know that we did a one-eighty and then slammed into a transport truck carrying a load of fuel. We flipped over, my mother was ejected, and I was trapped in the car when it landed in the ditch.”

She closed her eyes. Images and smells inundated her brain with. Cold. Fire. Burning flesh. Her flesh. The light from her cell phone. Nathan’s name illuminated and burned into her brain.

“The trucker pulled me out, or I would have died. But my mom…” Morgan was breathing heavily now, and she shook her head. “She didn’t make it. She died at the scene. I remember seeing her there in the snow. She looked like she was sleeping, you know? And I tried to get to her, but my leg was so busted and my skin was falling off, and then…then I passed out and woke up days after her funeral.”

“Oh, sweets,” Cooper murmured, his hands holding her tight.

“After that, everything I had slipped away. My dreams. My dad. My family. My fiancé and my best friend. All of it disappeared.”

All if it was my fault.

“If I hadn’t looked at my cell for that one second. If I hadn’t insisted my mother come with me. If I—”

She didn’t know tears were coursing down her face until his hand swept across her cheeks to wipe them away. And then he cupped her chin, turned her around, and pulled her close. Morgan couldn’t remember the last time she felt so safe and wanted. So protected.

“Look at me,” he commanded. “Hey.” His fingers forced her head up, and she had no choice. What she saw there surprised her. Cooper Simon looked pissed off.

“What happened to you was a tragic accident. Tragic. Accident. You got that? You hit black ice.”

“But I looked at my phone.”

“You still would have hit the black ice.”

He didn’t get it.

“I should have stayed home. Should never have forced my mom—”

“Don’t do that.” He shook his head. “If your mom was anything like you, I’m pretty damn sure no one could force her to do something she didn’t want to do. The past can’t be changed. Trust me, I’ve tried. It’s a bitch that knows no master, so there’s no point. All you can do is learn what you can from your mistakes and move on. We don’t honor the dead by living our days as if we’d died with them.”

Something in his tone got to her, and Morgan jumped on it. “Have you?” she asked, watching him closely. She was on to something. She felt it. “Have you moved on?”

He was tense, and for a few moments, she wasn’t sure he’d answer her. But then he shrugged and pulled her back into him. He rested his chin on top of her head and slid his hands down her body until they rested at the small of her back.

“I’m trying,” he said simply. A heartbeat passed. “Promise me you will.”

Could she?

Morgan didn’t answer because her vocal chords no longer worked. She sank into Cooper, and when his hands cupped her ass once more—when she felt his burgeoning erection against her stomach—she reached for him because she needed to forget.

She grabbed hold of his mouth and kissed him until she was dizzy. Until both of them were panting and hot and aroused and filled with a need to connect. Cooper was her connection. Her conduit back to the living. Was it a connection that would last? Would it save her?

Or would it bite her in the ass?

He lifted her up into his arms and carried her back to bed. Morgan wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to slay the ghosts that haunted her. But in this cocoon they’d built overnight, right now, here with Cooper, she was more than able to forget about everything except him.

And for now, it was enough.

C
ooper kept
Morgan to himself for as long as he could, but by late afternoon, she needed to get back to Fisherman’s Landing. Her cell had pinged several times, and each time she looked at it, a little bit of the sunshine left her eyes. He tried to convince her to stay one more night, but with a soft smile, she shook her head and said she needed to be home.

He didn’t want to pry—he knew she needed her space, especially after the intense few days they’d shared—but hell, the shadows that clung to her face bothered him, and it took everything he had to let her go without a fight.

It was early Sunday evening. The sun was on its way down, and he’d just dropped Morgan off at her place. They’d shared one last kiss that had them both wriggling in their seats like teenage sex addicts, and then he’d driven off. It was either that or take her in the front seat of his truck; not gonna lie, he was down for that.

Hot under the collar—the thought of heading back out to his place made Cooper twitchy—he didn’t want to be alone. He needed noise. A distraction. Someone to talk to. Cooper abruptly changed course and swung his truck around, heading for the Devil’s Gate. Once in the parking lot, he pulled out his cell phone, and Maverick answered on the second ring.

“About time.” His brother’s voice filled his ear, and Cooper sat back in the truck, thumping his thumb along the steering wheel, eyes on a group moving into the bar. “I’ve called you at least ten times in the last two days, and I’m pretty sure Mom has too.”

“Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“So I hear.”

Shit. He knew the logistics of small-town talk, but hell, already people were talking?

“Mom only called once.” He paused, suddenly alarmed, his thoughts on her cancer. “She okay?”

“Mom’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Then what the hell is the emergency?”

“We should talk.” Maverick sounded way too serious for a Sunday night.

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Where you at?”

“Devil’s Gate. Parking lot.”

“Okay. Give me ten minutes. I just want to see Charlie before I take off.”

Frowning, Cooper got out of his truck. Unease sat in the pit of his gut, and though he tried to shake it off, he couldn’t. He checked his phone—noticing his mother had actually called twice. He debated whether to return the call, but then pocketed the damn thing before heading inside. If his brother said their mother was fine, she was. He’d call her from home.

Less than five minutes later, he was settled at the end of the bar, ordering up a couple of Bud Lights from the largest bartender he’d ever seen. The guy had shoulders any linebacker would be envious of, a beard that would make most bikers jealous, and a mane of hair his cousin Grace would kill for.

“Thanks,” Cooper said, taking the beers from him.

The brute’s eyebrow lifted. “You Maverick’s brother?”

“I am.” Of course, the guy knew he was. This was Fisherman’s Landing after all.

“I like him.”

Cooper nodded. “He’s a good guy.”

The bartender gave him a long look as if sizing him up, but said no more. He moved to the other end as a few more customers sidled up for drinks, and Cooper took a long pull from his beer and waited for his brother. Wasn’t a long wait—you could walk from one end of the damn town to the other in under thirty minutes.

Maverick slid onto the stool beside him and grabbed the second beer. He tipped it back, took a long drink, and then set it down in front of him. He toyed with the label for a few moments and then leaned back, tapping his long fingers against the bar top.

It was a signature move, and Cooper waited for it. He didn’t have to wait long.

“So, Morgan Campbell.”

Cooper took another sip of Bud, hiding the small smile that had sprung up at the mention of her name. “Yeah. Morgan Campbell.”

“Didn’t see that one coming.” A few seconds passed. “You spend the entire weekend with her?”

“I did.”

“The whole town’s talking about it.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Hell, I stopped in at the bakery yesterday to get some of those cinnamon rolls Charlie eats every day, and it was all Mr. Pico could talk about.”

Maverick continued to tap his fingers, and Cooper frowned. His brother was awfully quiet. “You got something to say about it?”

Maverick shrugged. “Not really. Your business is your own, but…” He scooped up his drink, then put it back without taking a sip.

Annoyed, Cooper narrowed his eyes. “Just spit it out, Rick.”

His brother was silent for a few moments more and then swung around on the stool so that he faced Cooper. What the hell? He looked way too serious for Cooper to feel anything other than unease. It punched him in the gut, and he set down his beer.

“Why are you getting involved with her?” Maverick’s gaze didn’t waver.

Cooper’s frown deepened. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Maverick shrugged and took another swig of beer. “She’s not your usual MO is all, and that makes me curious.”

“My usual MO.” Cooper didn’t like where this was going and was beginning to think he should have just gone back to his place.

“She’s not married or engaged or involved with anyone else. She’s not on the prowl looking for a quick screw, and from what I understand, she’s got a shit ton of baggage, which means she’s complicated. We both know you don’t do complicated anymore. So what gives?”

Scowling at his beer, Cooper was silent for a few moments. Hell, what could he say to that? Maverick was, if anything, brutally honest, and always had been. Cooper Simon’s MO wasn’t a secret. He did pursue women whose strings were still intact—strings he had no desire to snip. He was happy screwing the ones who weren’t available in the traditional sense because he didn’t want a relationship.

He wasn’t a commitment guy. That wasn’t him. Hadn’t been for a long, long time.

That stopped him cold. What
was
he doing with Morgan Campbell? Was this just a way to pass time?

Hell, no. It was more than that. He ran his hands over his unshaven face and sighed. “I don’t know.” And that was the God’s truth.

“Well, maybe you need to figure that shit out sooner than later.”

Already ticked off, Cooper didn’t much care for the tone in his brother’s voice. Anger heated his blood, and he slid off the stool. He took a few paces and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. It was either that or hit something.

“What’s going on, Rick? Why the phone calls? Why the third degree? What the hell does it matter to you if I spend a weekend with Morgan Campbell or spend it screwing some socialite from the city? Either way, it’s my business. It’s between me and Morgan.”

“Normally, I’d agree.”

“So what the hell?” Cooper’s face darkened. No longer in the mood for company, he glanced toward the exit.

Maverick sighed and pushed his beer away. “It’s Holly.”

Cooper’s head jerked, and he took a step back. “What about her?” He spit out the words, his jaw so tight, he could barely speak.

“She’s back in the States.”

Shock temporarily stole Cooper’s ability to speak, and he glanced away, thoughts twirling in a hundred different directions. Holly Adams, back in the United States? Since when?

“How do you know?” he asked roughly, any bit of lightness he’d claimed this weekend now all but gone.

“She stopped in to see Mom in Florida the day before yesterday.” Maverick’s face looked pained. “She wants to see you.”

“Not gonna happen,” Cooper snarled, that anger inside him burgeoning into something so big, Mountain Man behind the bar snapped to attention. He felt the weight of the large man’s glare, as well as the curiosity of the few patrons at the bar.

“Maybe you should.”

Cooper’s head jerked back so fast, he saw stars. “Are you kidding me? After what she did? After…” Throat tight, he couldn’t get anything more out. That old rage, the dark thing that he’d tried so hard to bury, surfaced, and along with it came a feeling of helplessness. He’d written off that chapter five years ago, and he sure as hell had no desire to deal with it again.

Ever.

Maverick was now on his feet, and neither one of them cared that they were in the middle of a bar with about twenty to thirty folks paying rapt attention to the unfolding drama. Mountain Man moved a little closer, tossing a rag across his shoulders as he leaned against the bar, dark eyes watching the two men closely.

“Does Morgan Campbell mean more to you than just a weekend in the sack?”

“What the hell does Morgan have to do with Holly Adams? How does Holly even figure in my life today?” He pushed past his brother, but Maverick didn’t back down. He grabbed Cooper’s arm and didn’t let go.

“Holly has everything to do with you and Morgan. Don’t you get it? Morgan could be the one. The girl to fix that piece of you Holly destroyed. But how will you ever know with Holly in the way?”

“Holly isn’t on my radar.”

Maverick shook his head slowly. “She is. You just don’t know it. And until you deal with Holly, she’ll always be there. Whether she’s in Europe or Florida or Timbuktu. You need to face what happened and forgive her. Jesus Christ, Coop. You need to forgive yourself.”

Cooper saw red, and for a second, fists clenched at his sides, he fought the urge to throw a punch.

“That’s never gonna happen.”

Maverick got in his face. “Then you’re royally screwed. You’ll keep running your entire life and end up alone with a bottle of bourbon for company and not much else. Hell, you can’t even face the success you’ve earned, because in the beginning, she had everything to do with it.”

“Fuck you.” Cooper could barely speak. He reached for his keys and started toward the exit. His mood was foul, his anger so palpable that the folks in the bar parted like the Red Sea as he approached them.

Cooper strode across the parking lot and slammed his door shut so hard, the Land Rover shook. He fired up the engine and headed for the open road, his only thought to get back to his place and be alone.

Once there, he cut the engine and sat in the cab of his truck for so long, his teeth were chattering from the cold. Holly Adams. Back in the States.

Cooper slid from his truck and stared up at the star-speckled sky above him. He glanced at his silent home. At the dark windows and empty rooms. He stood there for a long time, letting wave after wave of anger roll over him, until, with an abrupt move, he headed to the back of the house and made his way out to the shop.

He was restless. Full of anger and pain, and he needed an outlet before he did something stupid. He snagged a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard in the kitchen and then settled himself at his desk, booting up the desktop while he poured himself a generous glass of the amber liquid.

He downed the damn thing before the computer was fully functional. And then tossed the glass, deciding it was a straight-from-the-bottle kind of night. He stared out the window into the dark for a long time, fighting memories he had no wish to revisit. That last night had nearly done him in.

With a curse, he opened his document, took another swig of whiskey, and got to work. He was nearly at the finish line with this project, and, fueled by a bunch of stuff he didn’t really want to think about too closely, he set about finishing it.

It was time. Ready or not, Cooper needed to move on.